Authors: Volker Kutscher
Babylon Berlin
Volker Kutscher
was born in 1962. He studied German, Philosophy and History, and worked as a newspaper editor prior to writing his first detective novel.
Babylon Berlin
, the start of an award-winning series of novels to feature Gereon Rath and his exploits in late Weimar Republic Berlin, was an instant hit in Germany. Since then, a further four titles have appeared, most recently
Märzgefallene
in 2014. The series was awarded the Berlin Krimi-Fuchs Crime Writers Prize in 2011 and has sold over one million copies worldwide. Volker Kutscher works as a full-time author and lives in Cologne.
Niall Sellar
was born in Edinburgh in 1984. He studied German and Translation Studies in Dublin, Konstanz and Edinburgh, and has worked variously as a translator, teacher and reader. Alongside his translation work, he currently teaches Modern Foreign Languages in Harrow. He lives in London.
Other titles in the Gereon Rath series
Der stumme Tod (The Silent Death)
Goldstein (Goldstein)
Die Akte Vaterland (The Fatherland File)
Märzgefallene (The March Fallen)
First published in Great Britain
Sandstone Press Ltd
Dochcarty Road
Dingwall
Ross-shire
IV15 9UG
Scotland.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the publisher.
First published in the German language as “Der nasse Fisch.Gereon Raths erster Fall” by Volker Kutscher © 2007, 2008 Verlag Kiepenheuer & Witsch GmbH & Co.KG, Cologne/ Germany © 2007, Volker Kutscher
The right of Volker Kutscher to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the>Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
Translation © Niall Sellar 2016
The publisher acknowledges support from Creative Scotland towards publication of this volume.
The translation of this work was supported by a grant from the Goethe Institut which is funded by the German Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Sandstone Press [Ltd] acknowledges financial assistance from XPONorth (Writing & Publishing) in the publication of this book.
ISBN: 978-1-910124-97-0
ISBNe: 978-1-910124-98-7
Cover design by Mark Swann
EBook by Iolaire Typesetting, Newtonmore.
Contents
Part 1 - Dead Man in the Landwehr Canal
Spree-Athen is tot,
Und Spree-Chicago wächst heran.
Walther Rathenau
The Dead Man in the Landwehr Canal
28th April – 10th May 1929
When would they return? In the darkness even the smallest noise seemed infernal; the quietest of whispers grew to a roar. Silence itself became an interminable throb in the ears. He had to pull himself together but the pain was driving him mad. He had to pull himself together, to ignore the dripping sound of his own blood as it hit the hard, damp floor.
He had no idea where they had dragged him. Somewhere no-one could hear. A cellar perhaps? A warehouse? The room had no windows and there was only a faint glimmer of light, the same glimmer he had seen from the bridge as he gazed at the lights of a departing train, lost in thought. About the plan. About her. The blow had plunged him into darkness.
He shuddered against the ropes, the only things holding him up. His feet couldn’t carry him, they hardly resembled feet anymore, and his hands no longer functioned. He put all his weight onto his arms to avoid touching the floor. The rope chafed. He was sweating all over his body.
The images kept reappearing: the heavy hammer, his hand, tied to the steel girder, the sound of his bones splintering and the unbearable pain, his cries that had grown into a single, loud cry. Unconsciousness. Then waking from the dark night, his extremities wrenched in pain. But the pain hadn’t penetrated to his core.
They had enticed him with pain-removing drugs, trying to bend him to their will. He had to fight against his weakness. The sound of his own language had almost overwhelmed him, but their voices sounded colder and more sinister than the ones he remembered.
Svetlana had spoken the same language, but how different she had sounded! Her voice had sworn love, divulged secrets, been intimacy and promise itself, brought the great city to life once more. Even in foreign parts he could not forget the city. It was still his city: a city that had deserved a better future. Still his country: a country that had deserved a better future.
Hadn’t she wanted the same thing? To oust the rogues who had seized power. He thought of the night they had spent lying awake in her bed, a warm summer’s night that now seemed an eternity away. They had made love and confided their secrets, melded them into one big secret so that they might realise their dreams.
Everything had gone so well, but someone betrayed them. They had abducted him. And Svetlana? If only he knew what had become of her. Their enemies were everywhere.
He had known their questions in advance, answered without giving anything away. They hadn’t even realised. They were stupid. Their greed made them blind. He couldn’t let them know the train was already on its way. Not when the plan was almost complete.
The first blow was the worst. Everything that came afterwards merely served to disperse the pain.
Now, the certainty that he would die made him strong enough to endure never walking, never writing, never touching her again. He had made his peace with memories, but she was a memory he would never betray.
He had to get to his jacket and the capsule in its lining. If he had realised it was a trap, he would have bitten it long ago. In the darkness, he could just make out the outline of the chair it was resting on.
They hadn’t tied him. After they had pulverised his hands and feet, they had simply hung him on the ropes so that they could work on him again when the pain roused him from unconsciousness. They hadn’t left a guard behind, so certain were they that no-one would hear his cries. This was his last chance. The effect of the drugs was waning and, without the support of the ropes, the pain would be so unbearable that he would probably faint. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. Now!
He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, stretched out both arms. First his elbows and then his whole body lost their hold and the lumps of mash that were once his feet touched the ground first. He cried out even before his upper body smacked against the concrete floor, where he writhed until the pain finally began to subside. Now he could move, could crawl forward on his elbows and knees, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
Soon he reached the chair and dragged down the jacket with his teeth, secured it with his right elbow and tore at the lining. The pain only made him angrier until he prised it open with a loud rip.
All at once he was sobbing uncontrollably and memory seized him, just as a predatory cat seizes and shakes its prey. He would never see her again. He had known it ever since they lured him into their trap, but now all of a sudden it was brutally clear, and he loved her so much. So very much!
Slowly he regained his composure. His tongue searched for the capsule, tasting dirt and lint, before it finally alighted on the smooth, cool surface. With his incisors, he carefully removed it from the lining. It was in his mouth now, the capsule that would end everything. A triumphant smile flickered across his pain-stricken face.