The Ice Queen: A Novel by Nele Neuhaus Read Free Book Online

Goldberg.
    Bodenstein opened his laptop, inserted a CD by Sol Gabetta, the Argentine-French cellist, and sipped at his wine, which was still a little too cold. As he listened to the sounds of Tchaikovsky and Chopin, he clicked through dozens of Web sites, going through newspaper archives and jotting down anything worth knowing about the man who had been shot to death last night.
    David Goldberg had been born in 1915 in Angerburg, in what was then East Prussia, the son of the grocery wholesaler Samuel Goldberg and his wife, Rebecca. He graduated from secondary school in 1933, and then all traces of him vanished until the year 1947. In a brief biography, it was mentioned that after the liberation of Auschwitz in 1945, he had emigrated via Sweden and then England to the United States. In New York, he had married Sarah Weinstein, the daughter of a respected banker of German extraction.
    But Goldberg had not joined the banking firm. Instead, he’d made his career with the American defense giant, Lockheed Martin. By 1959, he was already director of strategic planning. As a member of the board of the powerful National Rifle Association, he’d been one of the most important gun lobbyists in Washington, and several presidents had held him in high esteem as an adviser. Despite all the atrocities that his family had suffered under the Third Reich, he had always felt strong ties to Germany and cultivated numerous close contacts, especially in Frankfurt.
    Bodenstein sighed and leaned back in his chair. Who could possibly have a reason for fatally shooting a ninety-two-year-old man?
    He ruled out robbery as a motive. The housekeeper had not noticed anything missing, and besides, Goldberg had kept no really valuable items in his house. The surveillance system in the house was out of order, and the answering machine that had come with the telephone seemed never to have been used.
    *   *   *
    At the zoo reception, the usual Frankfurt mixture of the old moneyed aristocracy and the brash nouveau riche had assembled, interspersed with celebrities from television, sports, and the demimonde who had generously contributed to giving the apes a new roof over their heads. The superb caterers had made sure that nothing was lacking for the discriminating palates of the guests, and the champagne flowed in rivers. On Christoph’s arm, Pia made her way through the crowd. In her little black dress, she felt acceptably attired. She had also found a flat iron in one of the many moving boxes not yet unpacked and had used it to coax her unruly locks into a proper hairdo. Then she spent a good half hour on her makeup to create the effect that she wasn’t wearing any at all. Christoph, who knew her only in jeans and a ponytail, was deeply impressed.
    “My God,” he’d said when she opened the front door. “Who are you? And what are you doing in Pia’s house?”
    Then he took her in his arms and kissed her long and tenderly—while taking care not to ruin her look. As a single father of three teenage daughters, he was well schooled in how to deal with female creatures and made astonishingly few mistakes. For example, he knew what catastrophic effect a single offhand remark about a girl’s figure, hairdo, or clothing could have; very wisely, he refrained from commenting. His compliments tonight were not tactical, but sincere. Pia felt more attractive under his appreciative gaze than any of those skinny twenty-year-olds.
    “I hardly know anyone here,” Christoph whispered to her. “Who are all these people? What do they have to do with the zoo?”
    “This is Frankfurt high society, and those who think they need to belong to it,” Pia explained. “In any case, they’re going to leave a pile of money here, and that’s no doubt the whole point and purpose of the function. Over there by the table in the corner are some of the truly rich and powerful of the city.”
    As if on cue, at that instant one of the women at the table craned her neck and