Time Heals No Wounds by Hendrik Falkenberg Page B

taking a puff from a thin cigarette. Fritz tried to ignore the perfumed smoke.
    Hannes broke in. “We’re looking for him. He left a note at his office stating it was closed. He’s not at home?”
    “No, he’s not. Maybe he went to the doctor. He complained about a headache earlier. I’ve tried to call him because we’re hosting a small gathering this evening, and he should be here already.”
    “That’s odd. This morning, we met him at his office, and he seemed completely fine. Was your husband forced to close for the day because he suddenly felt sick?” Fritz asked.
    “He’s in good shape. Maybe he caught a summer cold. Or maybe he has an appointment. You can ask his secretary if she knows why he suddenly disappeared.”
    “The office was, as I said, closed. He had told us earlier that his assistant was ill and had not showed up to work.”
    “Why are you searching for my husband?”
    “Mrs. Schneider, were you with your husband on his boat on Saturday?” Fritz asked.
    She exhaled. “That ship is his favorite toy. I have not been on it in ages. He races it so fast that I feel sick every time. But sometimes he takes important customers out with him.”
    “That’s strange . . .” Hannes said, but Fritz cut him off.
    “On Saturday, your husband had apparently not only raced his boat. He laid anchor by a section of beach where, a day later, a woman’s body was found.”
    “He told me nothing of the sort. However, I returned from New York yesterday late in the evening. My sister lives there, and I stayed with her for a week.”
    “Do you remember your flight information?”
    Mrs. Schneider flicked her hair over her shoulder. “You do not think I . . . I arrived on a Lufthansa flight at nine thirty. You can verify that if you would like.”
    “You’re not under suspicion,” Fritz said. “But we do need to investigate all possible leads.”
    “You said your husband sometimes takes special customers out on the boat. Do you know if he had anyone on board on Saturday?” asked Hannes.
    Mrs. Schneider turned to him, paused at the sight of his unique eyes, then looked him up and down. “I have no idea. He runs his business on his own. You’ll have to ask him.”
    “Unfortunately, we’re running out of time. Who else would know his schedule?”
    “His secretary, of course. Leonie Kustermann. She lives at 20 Post Street. Was that everything? I still have to take care of the preparations for the party.”
    “That’s all, thank you,” Fritz said. “Could you please inform your husband when you speak to him that he should contact us? Here’s my card.”
    Mrs. Schneider nodded. “I’ll tell him. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
    She held out her hand, and Hannes wondered if she expected them to kiss it. However, he followed Fritz’s lead and merely clasped it. As Mrs. Schneider turned back inside the house, Fritz and Hannes followed the gravel path back to the gate.
    Hannes shook his head. “She didn’t come across as too worried.”
    “Or particularly sympathetic,” said Fritz. “That white princess radiates cold arrogance. There doesn’t seem to be a close relationship between the two. Who knows what services the young gardener provides here?”
    “You don’t mean that he . . .”
    Fritz waved his hand. “I wouldn’t be surprised. She eyed you up and down. At least now you’ve got another job option. Gardener for a rich, neglected wife.” He chuckled. “Anyway, at least we know the body isn’t Mrs. Schneider’s.”
    “Why didn’t you tell her a woman was on board?”
    Fritz shrugged. “Just a feeling. If she’s having an affair with her gardener, maybe her husband eventually returned the favor and fooled around with a customer. Perhaps the woman pressured him on Saturday, making him commit an irrational act. We should have initially maintained the impression that we only wanted to question him as a witness, but at the same time monitor the property and continue searching for