The Stolen by T. S. Learner Read Free Book Online Page B

I could have him arrested if I wanted. You promised me you stopped?’
    â€˜I have. I just wanted a taste; it’s the only way I can blank the pictures in my head…’ Her voice began to slur and she flopped back onto the bed, her eyelids half-closed. He hated seeing her like this.
    â€˜Why, Liliane? I’m sure if your mother was still alive…’
    â€˜Well, she’s not, is she?’ she managed to snap back.
    He flinched then stroked her hand.
    â€˜Why can’t you tell me what you see? Is it something to do with Mutti?’
    â€˜You don’t understand me at all, do you?’ She stared up at him. ‘But then why should you? When you’re never around… and when you are, you’re always wrapped up in your work or your fucking flute playing…’
    Matthias struggled to keep his temper. Even in her somniferous drugged-up state Liliane had managed to wound him. ‘That’s not fair – I do the best I can.’ He got up wearily from the bed. Despite her accusations he was aware of the equation waiting for him, beckoning like a seductive mirage, something he could understand, escape into – like a cool pool for the brain to swim through, brushing up against all kinds of scientific possibilities – so much easier than the unfathomable emotions of an adolescent daughter. Just then Liliane’s cracked voice broke into his thoughts.
    â€˜Four months, Papa, then I won’t be a minor any longer. I’m going to leave, go travelling. It’s going to be great…’
    â€˜From now on you’re to stay in after school every night until I feel I can trust you again,’ he said firmly, but by the end of his sentence she’d nodded off.
    Matthias sat back down at his desk and stared out at the panorama beyond. How simple other people’s lives looked from afar: the lights of the houses glinting on the other side of the lake, the yellow cocoon of a car as it swung round the hillside, all so uncomplicated and straightforward
while his own felt as if it were careering out of control – Liliane’s problems, the argument with his father, losing finance for the laboratory as well as the impending fundraiser. There was, at least, one definite means by which he could raise some of the money and continue his research, but it would mean forfeiting his financial security – his inheritance. He picked the telephone up and called his broker.
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    Early that evening Timo Meinholt burst through the door of Klauser’s office interrupting the detective who was in the middle of a slice of pizza while studying the evening papers. Timo threw his considerable weight into a chair.
    â€˜Ever thought of knocking first?’ Klauser growled, wiping the grease from his chin.
    â€˜As instructed I started shadowing von Holindt,’ Timo retorted, ignoring his boss’s bad temper. ‘Apart from a trip to his doctor he visited his daughter-in-law’s grave at Friedhof Nordheim cemetery at three p.m. – five hours after you interviewed him. But it was odd.’
    â€˜Odd in what way?’
    â€˜Why would a man in a wheelchair visit the grave of his daughter-in-law on a freezing winter’s day? It’s not the anniversary of her death, and von Holindt is not religious by all accounts. It gets weirder. The first thing Christoph does when he gets to the grave is to reach up to the top of the gravestone and peel away a envelope someone has left there. He looks round then opens it. And I’m telling you whatever was written inside scared the shit out of him.’
    â€˜You sure?’
    â€˜Boss, his hands were shaking so much I thought he was going to have another stroke there and then. Anyhow, just as I thought that was it, I see another man, an overweight one in an expensive suit and city shoes, making his way across the wet grass. Thomas Mueller – two of the most prominent businessmen of this city,