The Wages of Sin: A kidnap, a crucifixion, a murderer on the loose

By Inge Löhnig

The chilling thriller, full of twists

A woman wants only to forget. A man wants only to feel needed. A child disappears without a trace. A kidnapping, a murder or an accident? Among the villagers, fear spreads. There is a sadist in their midst, and it is up to Inspector Konstantin 'Tino' Dühnfort to find him before he strikes again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zaffre
• Release date: May 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781499861730

Book preview

Thursday, 8th May

He quietly pushed the panel aside and peered into the vault through the narrow slit. An oil lamp filled the space with dim light. The flame flickered in the draught, making the shadows dance, creating movement where there was none. But he pulled his ski mask down over his face anyway. Better to be safe. The door creaked softly as he opened it. He picked up the tray and went into the cell. Its damp, cool air had a musty smell.

He paused for a moment to make sure that the boy on the camp bed was actually asleep. Once he was sure, he dragged the box over with his foot and then set down the plate, which had a slice of bread and butter and a banana on it. He loosened the lid of the thermos, so that the boy could open it easily when he woke up hungry and thirsty. The boy’s left wrist was handcuffed to a chain and the tender skin around it was already chafed. He stared at it, mesmerised. The inflamed edges of the wound made him shudder. Without looking away, he pulled the bunch of keys out of his trouser pocket and tightened the cuff. The sight of the sleeping child awoke memories that began to hazily emerge out of the fog. Images that tortured him, that he wanted to forget, that now engulfed him, made his heart stop and drove foul sweat from his pores. Not now! He had to shake them off.

He closed his eyes for a moment, reflected on his task and felt a power flowing through him like an inexhaustible current. The spectres vanished, released him. And he knew that he would prosper in everything he did. They would understand the sign. And if not . . . He unconsciously touched his throat. Then shall thy will be done. Ultimately, it was out of his hands. He sighed. Unable to resist, he ran the tip of his finger through the boy’s blond hair, across his red cheek and over the scrapes on his chin. The scratches had already scabbed over, but some pus had oozed out of one bit and he now felt it on his fingers. The man recoiled. He started to gag. He quickly wiped his hands with a tissue.

The boy’s eyeballs began to twitch restlessly behind his lids. He sighed and turned onto his side. He would soon wake up. The sleeping pills were bitter in the hot chocolate, but he would still drink it if he was thirsty. He had to sleep. It wasn’t to keep him from crying. That was unavoidable, but no one would hear him anyway. He had to sleep so that he didn’t realise what was happening to him. So that the agonising images wouldn’t stay with him for the rest of his life.

He stroked the blond hair again, hardly touching it. He hoped that it would be a long life. But that was not within his power to decide.

* * *

Agnes stood on the front steps and hugged her brother, Michael. ‘Thanks for your help.’

‘Whatever you dream about on the first night in a new home comes true. So dream about something good. OK?’ He winked at her and tried to mask his concern with a smile. ‘I’ll come and see you when I’m back from London.’

‘Don’t worry. I’m fine.’ She wished him a good flight and good luck with the workshop he was going to be leading and then she gently nudged him down the steps.

‘You sure you’ll be all right on your own?’

She nodded. ‘Michael, I’m thirty-five. I’m not afraid of the dark any more.’

‘Well, all right. Then I’ll leave you with these old ruins.’ He looked sceptically at the house, as if he thought it might be haunted.

If I am going to be haunted, Agnes thought, it’ll be by the ghosts that I’ve brought with me.

He gave her one last squeeze, then got into the removal van and waved at her as he drove off. Agnes went inside when she heard the van honking as it disappeared round a bend. The door snapped shut. ‘So,’ she said out loud and listened to her echoing voice. ‘What now?’ There was nothing else to do. Every piece of furniture was in its place. The last of the boxes had been unpacked and her few belongings stored away.

She went into the newly fitted kitchen and was once again pleased with the colour combination of spring-green walls and vanilla-yellow cabinets. It gave the room a springtime feel, a sense of optimism. She filled the kettle and got a sachet of Spiritual Harmony tea out of the cupboard. She’d bought it at the shop next to the church; the name had been too tempting. A smile spread across her face. She wasn’t so naive as to believe that a change of scenery and a cup of tea could give her life meaning again. But she had to start somewhere. And with the move, she had finally made her long overdue clean break.

She felt relieved and liberated but also a bit embarrassed. Her parents had meant well. But she couldn’t endure another day of her mother’s solicitude, and her father’s quiet concern had made her increasingly angry. He treated her like she was sick. She knew he couldn’t help it and she’d tried her best not to take it out on him, but his behaviour had pushed her one step closer to her final decision to regain control of her own life.

The water boiled. She made the tea, then took the teapot and cup into the living room. After setting them down on the coffee table, she went over to the window and stared out across the overgrown garden and down to the lake. The light blue of the sky had become a shimmering pale grey. Its reflection made the surface of the water look silver. For a moment, she felt calm. It was as if the storm that had been violently raging inside her on and off for the past year had finally subsided forever. Yes, she thought, it was a good idea to buy this house.

She hadn’t really wanted to touch the money. Profiting from Rainer’s death had seemed equally as bad as continuing to live with her parents. She was caught in this dilemma when she found the house. A small art-nouveau villa with three gables, right on Church Lake. If a new beginning were going to be possible, then it would be there, in that hundred-year-old house with its creaky floorboards, well-worn steps and high ceilings. Her mother had berated her. She told Agnes she was being silly, using up nearly all her savings on the purchase. ‘Child, you will have to start working again,’ she said, as if she thought that was a terrible idea. Just like Rainer.

Agnes felt a bit uneasy. As if the storm was returning. She quickly went back to the sofa and poured herself a cup of tea. As she drank it, her eyes wandered round the room. Her furniture was a combination of old and new. Some of it newly purchased and some donated by Michael and her parents. But there were still no curtains or rugs. There were just a few CDs and a couple of books on the shelves. All of a sudden, she could physically feel the emptiness of the space around her. Maybe she didn’t belong there. She tried to suppress the memory that was creeping in: two tiny empty rooms, an opened lattice window looking out onto a barren back yard, a pocket-sized kitchen, a dented gas stove. With a swift gesture, Agnes gathered up her long hair, tied it into a loose knot and stuffed it inside the neckline of her jumper. She had chosen a life in the country.

Her eyes landed on the Biedermeier writing desk that her parents had given her as a housewarming gift. There was a glass of leftover paint sitting on it that she’d used for fixing a chip in the window frame but still hadn’t cleared away. The photo would look nice on the desk. She went upstairs and got the silver frame from the bedroom. It was one of her most prized possessions. The picture had been taken two years ago on the Atlantic coast. For a moment, Agnes could taste the salty air. She could hear Yvonne’s laughter and the seagulls squawking in the background. She could see Rainer as he helped her steer the bright red stunt kite in the wind. She tried to hold onto the image, but trying just made it disappear faster.

During the past year, when she’d lain awake at night in her childhood bedroom and her thoughts had taken on a ghostly life of their own, there were times when she was tormented, wondering if it had all been a dream. Maybe she had never left her parents’ house, never married, never become a mother. Then she would turn on the light and look at the picture to make sure it had all been true.

Agnes took a deep breath and tried to release some of the pressure in her chest. She put the picture in its new location. Then she looked at the clock. It was already after six – high time she went for a run. She went upstairs and slipped into her jogging gear. As she was putting on her trainers, the doorbell rang. She looked up. Who could that be? She didn’t really want to answer it. She didn’t want to have to shake hands and be nice to intrusive neighbours. Then again, this village wasn’t going to start feeling like home if she just hid alone in her house. But she didn’t have to start today. The doorbell rang again. On the other hand, you shouldn’t just leave your neighbours standing on the doorstep either. Damn that good upbringing, she thought as she went down into the hallway. Her attempts at casting aside her upbringing like a coat she’d outgrown usually failed. She quickly glanced in the mirror. She had lost weight in the past year. Now she inhabited a lean, toned body that was strangely foreign to her. The only thing about her that still resembled her former self was her long blond hair, which Rainer had adored. The bell rang again. Agnes went to the door and opened it. A young woman was standing on her front step, breathless. Her short blond hair stuck out of her bony skull in all directions.

‘Hello, I’m your neighbour, Melanie Berger.’ She had lashless aquamarine eyes and a crooked, beak-like nose. She excitedly emphasised every word by flapping her arms around. She reminded Agnes of a headless chicken, although her voice was mellow and pleasant and didn’t match her lean, childlike figure.

‘We need your help. A boy is missing. Jakob. It’s as if he’s fallen off the face of the earth. Everyone’s been looking for him.’

‘And you want me to help with that?’ The question echoed through Agnes’s skull as if it were a lift shaft.

‘Everyone is searching their houses and their land. We’ve already done that. My boyfriend is down by the lake with the fire brigade now and I’ll be joining him to help. There’s quite a lot of land to cover down there,’ Melanie Berger said, spreading out her arms.

She had moved to this village to get some rest and forget about what had happened. Now this. On the very first day. ‘I was just about to go for a jog,’ Agnes replied.

Melanie Berger stared at her. ‘Jakob is only five. He could be hiding in your house. The doors were open all afternoon.’ She sounded like she was actively trying to stay calm.

‘You don’t think I’d have noticed if a little boy had been hanging around here? His parents should call the police.’ Agnes took a step back into the house, as if that could keep the approaching storm away.

The young woman exhaled audibly. ‘They already have. But it’ll be a while until the police get here. Jakob’s parents are half mad with fear. If everyone helps, we’ll find him faster.’

What’s wrong with me? She’s right, Agnes thought, appalled at her own behaviour. She stepped aside.

‘Come in.’

The search took barely five minutes. The boy was obviously not in the house. Agnes pulled on her jogging gilet and went outside with Melanie Berger. The garden was large and towards the far end it was like a forest, which was probably what had originally covered the property.

‘I didn’t mean to snarl at you just then. But my nerves are a bit raw,’ Melanie Berger said apologetically. ‘Jakob is in my kindergarten group. I’m his teacher.’

‘Then we’re even,’ Agnes replied sheepishly. The way she had behaved was just plain unacceptable. ‘I don’t know what got into me just now either.’

They searched the garden, calling out for Jakob, and pushed through branches and twigs, but they didn’t find the boy. While her neighbour took on the shed, Agnes walked over to the former carriage house, which had been transformed into a studio by the previous owner, the painter and sculptor Charlotte Niedermeyer.

The air smelled musty. The room was empty. Cobwebs stretched from the ridge beam to the glazing in the pitched roof. Agnes sat on the windowsill and stared into the garden at the remains of a fallen tree that must have lain there for decades. The bark was gone; the dead wood had taken on a silvery shimmer. Maybe this boy is dead, too. Agnes was taken aback. Why would she think such a thing?

Melanie Berger came in. ‘Anything?’ she asked.

‘Nothing.’ Agnes could see Melanie’s arms shivering all the way up to her narrow shoulders. Some hot tea would do her good. ‘There’s a fresh pot of tea in the house. It’s almost full. Shall we have a cup?’

Her neighbour nodded. ‘Yes, that would be nice,’ she said and followed Agnes inside.

Agnes got a cup from the kitchen and went into the living room, where Melanie Berger was standing at the window and looking out across the lake. Agnes poured her some tea and offered her a seat on the new red sofa.

Melanie Berger sat down. ‘My name’s Melanie, but everyone calls me Melli.’ She put out her hand.

Agnes hesitated a moment, then took the hand and shook it. ‘Agnes. Agnes Gaudera.’

‘I’m sorry I was so snippy with you before.’ Melanie apologised again. ‘But I’m terribly worried about Jakob. I just have too much imagination.’ She stirred her tea even though she hadn’t added any sugar. ‘He might even be back home by now.’

‘Hopefully,’ Agnes said and suddenly saw Yvonne in front of her with her bulging backpack, ready to travel the world like little Hans from her favourite nursery rhyme. Anxiety spread through her. She needed to go for a jog. Physical exercise was the only way she could relax and not think about things. But she couldn’t do that right now. After all, she couldn’t just push Melanie out of the door right after offering her a cup of tea. Agnes sank lower in her chair and crossed her legs. ‘You said that Jakob’s parents have already notified the police. Hopefully the criminal investigation department. Or are the village police organising the search for him?’

‘No, of course not.’ Melanie shook her head. ‘Franz said Munich CID are in charge. Hopefully they’ll bring a search party and dogs.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘We saw your removal van this afternoon and actually wanted to come over earlier and say hello. Franz and me. Franz is my fiancé,’ Melanie said. All of a sudden, her pale eyes lit up and brought an unexpected beauty to her oddly proportioned features. ‘The wedding is in two weeks,’ she continued, as she looked over at the photo in the silver frame on the desk.

Agnes felt her scalp tighten and a shiver ran down her back. She did not want to be asked; she did not want to talk about it. ‘Sorry, but it’s really time for my jog,’ she heard herself say. ‘Come by again tomorrow for a cup of tea.’

* * *

The sun disappeared behind the roofs of the city. Grey twilight descended like a silk scarf over Marienplatz as Detective Chief Inspector Konstantin Dühnfort looked up at the Cathedral of Our Blessed Lady. It was just past six and he wanted to call it a day. His colleague Gina Angelucci had already left and the new guy, Alois Fünfanger, had phoned to say he was going home after the meeting at the forensics department.

Dühnfort was still not sure what to make of Fünfanger. He had been transferred from Regensburg to Munich on the first of May and had been part of his team ever since. At thirty-eight years old, he was not only three years younger than Dühnfort but also clearly in much better shape. His finely sculpted muscles were apparent under the three-piece suits he wore, which suggested that he played sport regularly. When they’d climbed the stairs to the third floor that afternoon, Fünfanger had floated up two steps at a time, while Dühnfort, increasingly out of breath, had huffed and puffed behind him. Yet again, he resolved to get more exercise. But resolutions alone were useless. He simply lacked the discipline for it.

As he cleared his desk, he had the uncomfortable feeling that he’d forgotten something. And then very quickly he knew what it was. He still had no idea what to give his father for his seventieth birthday or if he even wanted to go to the extravagant party in Hamburg that his brother Julius had organised. Julius, the favourite son. The one who lived up to his father’s expectations.

The telephone rang. Dühnfort was startled out of his reverie and picked up the receiver. He listened for a while. ‘How long has the boy been missing?’ He glanced at the cathedral clock. Nearly three hours. And it would be dark soon. ‘Where is that? Mariaseeon. On Church Lake.’ The village was on the district border and only just within their jurisdiction. He thought about it: the boy was only five and had been missing for three hours – time was of the essence. ‘I’ll need a search party and a dozen officers to question the neighbours. And the divers should head over immediately.’ He scribbled down the Sonnberger family’s address in Mariaseeon. He would decide whether or not to deploy helicopters on site. He dialled Gina’s number as he slipped on his jacket.

* * *

At ten to seven, he reached the motorway exit and turned off down the country road towards Mariaseeon. Grey-blue dusk blanketed the countryside, dappling the forest with dark green shadows and painting the alpine peaks a deep blackberry colour against the saffron of the evening sky. An expressionist painting, he thought and changed up into fifth gear.

There was a lot about his job that had become routine, as with all jobs, but children going missing was something he could never get used to. Whenever it happened, he was seized by a restlessness that drove him on as if he was being hunted. Usually, the children turned up within a short space of time and had got lost or were hiding or had defiantly run away while their parents went mad with worry. Dühnfort hoped that this case would be the same and that the parents would soon have their child in their arms again. But more time than usual had already passed.

Why was the boy’s disappearance reported so late? It was uncommon for a small child. What kind of parents am I dealing with? he wondered. Were they indifferent or overwhelmed or maybe even involved somehow?

After a short drive, he reached the village, which was situated on a hill between the large Seeoner Forest and Church Lake. The onion-domed tower of the old monastery church protruded above a group of red-tiled roofs in the twilight.

Dühnfort drove along Dorfstrasse and sensed an unrest that seemed to slosh between the buildings like groundswell. There was a shadowy sort of movement along with muffled cries and slamming doors. He followed the satnav into the centre of the village, passing the square with its maypole and fountain. Just beyond it, he turned off onto Cudheri-von-Isen-Strasse, where the Sonnberger family lived. Dühnfort drove another hundred metres and then stopped in front of a farm. There was a tractor under the barn roof. The smell of manure hung in the air and he could hear cows mooing from the stalls. He went up to the house. A man in a suit opened the door before Dühnfort had even rung the bell. The very neat haircut and guarded smile reminded Dühnfort of his neighbour, an insurance agent. ‘Are you from the police?’

Dühnfort nodded. ‘Mr Sonnberger?’

‘Gernot Mittermeyer. I’m a neighbour. Come in.’ Dühnfort followed him through the hall. ‘Mr Sonnberger isn’t in. He’s out with the search party,’ Mittermeyer said and opened the door to the kitchen. Two women were sitting at a round wooden table that was laid with three place settings and an afternoon snack. As the men entered, one of the women looked up. She had chestnut-brown curls and a face full of freckles. The sleeves of her blouse were rolled up and some floury bits of dough were stuck to her right wrist. She had her left arm round the shoulders of the slender woman sitting beside her. Dark hair emphasised the pallor of the second woman’s face. Worry and strain were visible in the lines around her mouth and eyes. She stared at her folded hands like an oracle ready to prophesy at any moment.

‘Gabi, the police,’ Mittermeyer said. Her head shot up. Intense blue eyes stared up at Dühnfort. They were full of fear but also hope. Hope that he would now have to fulfil.

A boy of around five years old crawled out from under the table. He was holding a toy car.

Dühnfort introduced himself. ‘Mrs Sonnberger,’ he said and extended his hand. ‘We will find your son. A search is already under way?’

‘The neighbours are all looking for him,’ she said. The tendons in her neck stuck out like steep ridges. ‘It’s like a flood.’ Dühnfort sat down and wondered whether she was referring to her fear or the search. Possibly both. The boy looked up at him.

‘That’s Dennis, our son,’ Mittermeyer said. ‘And my wife, Irene.’ He pointed to the woman sitting next to Gabi Sonnberger and she nodded at Dühnfort. ‘I’d better take Dennis home now.’ Mittermeyer took his son by the hand and said goodbye.

‘So, your neighbours and your husband are already searching for Jakob,’ Dühnfort said.

Gabi Sonnberger nodded. ‘Of course, the first thing I did when Jakob didn’t come home for tea was ring everyone in the village.’ She rested her hands on the table.

‘After that, the news spread like wildfire. And now everyone is searching,’ Irene Mittermeyer said. ‘But there’s still no trace of Jakob. It’s like he’s vanished into thin air.’ She shrugged.

‘Can I have a photo of Jakob and a description of his clothes?’ Dühnfort asked.

Gabi Sonnberger nodded. She pushed back her chair, stood up and went over to the kitchen sideboard. She picked up a colourful envelope, the sort that photo labs use to send prints, selected a photo and placed it on the table in front of Dühnfort.

So this is Jakob, he thought. The boy was holding up a plastic dinosaur and baring his teeth. The first of his baby teeth had fallen out, leaving a big gap in the upper row. Dühnfort knew how proud children were when that happened. Jakob’s eyes were blue like his mother’s.

He jotted down what Jakob was wearing: jeans, trainers with Velcro fastenings, and a red jumper. ‘Might Jakob have gone to the lake . . .?’

‘No. Certainly not.’ Gabi Sonnberger tried to make her voice sound firm, but Dühnfort could hear the fear in it. ‘He still can’t swim. We’ve forbidden him from going to the water by himself. And he obeys our rules.’ It sounded like a question.

Two cars drove up to the farm, one after the other. The engines went quiet, the doors slammed. The doorbell rang. Irene Mittermeyer went to answer it and came back with Gina Angelucci and Alois Fünfanger. Gina was wearing her usual cargo trousers, which she had in every colour. This evening they were bottle green. She greeted everyone and sat down at the table. Alois Fünfanger’s suit looked freshly pressed, even though he’d been wearing it all day. How does he do it? Dühnfort wondered and looked down at his own wrinkled chinos and crumpled shirt.

‘Jakob was last seen at half past three,’ he said, after he’d introduced his colleagues.

Gabi Sonnberger nodded. ‘He was with Dennis.’

‘But you only reported him missing just after six. Why so late?’

‘I thought he was still with Dennis.’ Gabi Sonnberger pressed her hand over her mouth.

‘Jakob was supposed to stay with us until half past five. But I let him go home at three thirty,’ Irene Mittermeyer said. ‘The boys had a row and then Jakob wanted to go home.’

‘Was it a serious fight, something that could have made Jakob want to run away or hide?’

Dennis’s mother shook her head. ‘You know how kids are. They both accused each other of being stupid and said they didn’t want to be friends any more. It happens all the time and then they make up again after.’

‘You didn’t accompany Jakob?’

‘It’s not far. He’s done it by himself many times before.’

‘Jakob is allowed to go that way on his own,’ Gabi Sonnberger said. ‘Since he started at kindergarten,’ she added.

It was easy to see how it had happened. It wasn’t carelessness or neglect that had led to the boy having gone missing for more than two hours without anyone noticing, but rather a lack of communication.

Alois cleared his throat.

Dühnfort looked up. ‘Yes?’

‘Sunset is around half past eight. We still have time to deploy the helicopters in daylight. I’ve already requested two and they’re in position, just waiting for us to give them the go-ahead.’

This pushiness surprised Dühnfort. Given that he was the team leader, it would have been better if Alois had consulted him. He looked over and saw Gina chewing on her fingernail and Alois watching with his eyebrows raised. Anyway, all that mattered at present was that they find the boy quickly. ‘Good. They should get moving immediately. You take over coordinating them.’

He asked Gina to take charge of questioning the villagers while he led the search party. ‘They have thermal-imaging cameras and night-vision goggles on board,’ Dühnfort said to Gabi Sonnberger, as Alois left the kitchen. ‘We can also find your boy in the dark.’

‘We once found a little squirt sleeping under a clothes rack in a department store while two hundred police officers were searching for him in the pedestrianised area outside,’ Gina added.

Gabi Sonnberger looked up but couldn’t muster a smile.

Dühnfort wondered if he should stay and wait for Jakob’s father. But organising the search for the boy had to take priority. ‘Whatever it is you’re afraid of, it’s almost certainly not what’s happened,’ he said and hoped that he was not mistaken.

Friday, 9th May

It was shortly before 7 a.m. when Dühnfort arrived back in Mariaseeon. The air was still cool and the bright blue sky promised spring temperatures. He parked in front of the bakery and bought a croissant and a cup of coffee. He took his breakfast back to the car, where the roof served as a makeshift table. He yawned.

Just before 2 a.m. he had reluctantly closed down the search for Jakob. It was a cold night and the trees of Seeoner Forest weren’t that leafy – ideal conditions for thermal-imaging cameras – but the helicopter crew had still only managed to scare a pair of lovers in their car.

Exhausted, Dühnfort had fallen straight into bed. Images from the evening floated around him like ghosts as he dozed off. The arc of the searchlight over the forest, the divers sliding from the lifeboat into the dark lake, Gabi Sonnberger’s scared expression. The troubles of the day had crept into his dreams, eventually driving him out of bed and back to Mariaseeon.

Until they found some clues as to Jakob’s whereabouts, he had less to do than he’d have liked. Even so, he had requested reinforcements, because the Seeoner Forest was too large for him to be able to comb through it quickly with a hundred-man search team. Alois would take over questioning Jakob’s relatives, as well as organising an incident room.

Dühnfort washed down the last bite of croissant with coffee. Maybe Jakob had just run away? But he could see no reason for it. From what he’d been told, the fight with his friend had not been very serious. I should speak to Dennis, Dühnfort decided. And there was also the possibility that the two boys had a secret hiding place and that Jakob was there, safe and sound. But Dühnfort doubted that. The people of Mariaseeon had searched their houses, gardens, stables and barns well into the night and hadn’t found the slightest trace of the boy. Perhaps there was someone who actually didn’t want to find him. Dühnfort’s train of thought had finally reached the point he feared the most: someone had kidnapped Jakob. Speculation. What we need are facts, he thought and tossed the empty paper cup into the bin.

He stood in front of the long village square that Jakob must have crossed that day. The road diverged at the top of the square, splitting into two one-way streets that wrapped round the neatly groomed green space. At the bottom of the square, the two lanes converged again. In addition to the bakery, where Dühnfort was standing, there were a number of other shops: a chemist’s, a bookshop and a stationery shop. On the opposite side of the square was a small hotel called Zur Post, the town hall and the church. The small road where the Mittermeyers lived, Klosterweg, branched off from the square a bit further south. According to the investigation thus far, Irene Mittermeyer was the last person to have seen Jakob. Dühnfort glanced at the time. Five past seven. Maybe it was too early, but he didn’t care.

He walked across the square and rang their doorbell.

Dennis’s mother had circles under her eyes and her grey complexion suggested that she’d had little sleep. She was wearing a light blue velour tracksuit.

‘Good morning, Mrs Mittermeyer,’ he said.

‘Oh, Mr Dühnfort, is it good news . . .? Have you found Jakob?’ A warm glow flashed across her face and then immediately turned into an anxious smile as she seemed to realise that the finding of Jakob could also be bad news.

‘Not yet. May I come in for a moment?’

She held open the door and he followed her into the kitchen. It smelled of coffee and toast. Gernot Mittermeyer and Dennis were sitting on a pinewood corner bench having breakfast. Dennis was still in his pyjamas. He was kneeling on the bench, hunched over a bowl of pastel-coloured cereal rings and milk. He slurped from a spoon that was too big for his little mouth.

‘Dennis, mind your manners.’ Gernot Mittermeyer folded the paper, gave his son a disapproving look and stood up. ‘Do you need me?’ he asked. ‘I’ve actually got to be at the office.’

‘You weren’t home yesterday afternoon?’ Dühnfort asked.

‘I didn’t get home until seven. And by then half the village was in turmoil.’ Mittermeyer grabbed the briefcase that was resting on a chair and then turned to his wife. ‘See you this evening, dear, and don’t drive yourself mad. The police will find him.’ As he spoke, he looked over at Dühnfort with an expression that seemed to say: don’t disappoint me. Then he ruffled Dennis’s hair. ‘Cheers, comrade.’

‘Bye, Daddy,’ Dennis said as his father left the kitchen.

What a nice family, Dühnfort thought, as a dull pain rolled down his throat and settled in his stomach. Irene Mittermeyer offered him a seat. He sat next to Dennis, who looked at him attentively.

‘Mrs Mittermeyer, I would like to know what happened yesterday afternoon.’

She sat down