Babylon Berlin (39 page)

‘Stephan was alright.’

‘Even wanted to take me along to the football. I didn’t go.’

‘Do you think he was lonely?’ Wolter asked.

‘He’d left his family and friends back in East Prussia, and whether he had any here…’

‘But Berlin welcomes every new citizen with open arms!’

‘Yeah, and with clenched fists.’ Rath couldn’t help thinking back to his own arrival in this cold, alien city.

Wolter grinned. ‘You just need to strike back.’ He took another sip. ‘It’s funny though,’ he said suddenly. ‘I don’t know either Stephan’s parents or any of his other friends, but now that he’s dead, we’re going to meet them all.’

‘At the funeral?’

Wolter nodded.

‘Have you got enough people?’

‘Brenner’s with us… with
me
in the office
.
And then Gregor Lanke’s arriving on Tuesday.’

‘My sympathies!’

Wolter forced a smile. ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘but better save your sympathy for next week. A funeral with flags, uniforms and a salute. Zörgiebel wants to deliver the eulogy himself.’

‘I can’t think about it,’ Rath said. ‘How am I supposed to look Stephan’s parents in the eye? If I hadn’t loaned him he might still be alive.’

‘You don’t know that!’ Bruno sounded peeved. ‘Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Bülowplatz
is
the wrong place for a police officer when the commies are banding together. It doesn’t matter if you work for Vice or Homicide!’

He stood up and moved towards a dark-coloured cupboard, behind the glass door of which the drinks cabinet was located. He returned with the bottle of cognac.

‘Better it’s on the table,’ he said.

‘Wilful drunkenness is what we’re doing here.’

Bruno shrugged his shoulders and poured. ‘If you can’t get wilfully drunk on a day like today, when can you?’

23

When he awoke the next morning, Rath didn’t know where he was. His head throbbed when he sat up until, gradually, his memory started to return. He had stayed at Bruno’s. They had got drunk, drowning their grief at Jänicke’s death in cognac. At least, that’s what he thought. Only to realise that it wasn’t grief he was feeling, but rage allied with fear. Rage that didn’t know where it was directed; fear that didn’t know what it was afraid of.

He hoped he hadn’t told Bruno too much, but couldn’t remember.

In a corner of the room, next to the chair where he had thrown his clothes, stood his suitcase and a large cardboard box, a reminder that old Behnke had chucked him out and he had no home. Since he didn’t want to impose on the Wolters for too long, he would start looking for a new flat today.

Emmi Wolter knocked at his door. ‘Herr Rath? Are you awake? Breakfast is ready.’

Bruno was already sitting at the table when Rath entered the dining room, freshly showered but still hungover. The smell of coffee hung in the air. Bruno grinned broadly, apparently without a hangover.

‘Sleep well?’

‘The sleep was OK. Waking was the problem.’

‘Sit down, have a coffee and eat something. Then you’ll feel better.’

Breakfast did him good. Emmi Wolter made even better coffee than Elisabeth Behnke.

They took the Ford to the Castle, and it felt almost like the old days. They didn’t talk much during the drive, but Bruno made Rath feel like he wasn’t alone in this city. They parked in the atrium and went together to the conference room where Böhm had arranged an eight o’clock briefing. The room slowly filled until, at eight on the dot, Böhm emerged like a school master sweeping into a classroom, followed by his team. Rath’s heart almost stood still when Charly entered last, closing the door behind her. She took her seat at a table on the platform at the front and laid her pen and paper out. Realising that he wasn’t the only man in the room stealing a glance at her legs, Rath felt a pang of jealousy.

Was she deliberately ignoring him? In vain he tried to catch her eye. She was looking almost constantly down at her pad, and when her dark eyes did gaze into the room they didn’t fix on anything.

Böhm summarised their findings, but Rath was barely listening. The image of Charly kept running through his brain, Charly, Charly, Charly, as he observed her discreetly out of the corner of his eye. He had almost forgotten how good she looked. He rummaged in his coat pocket until he found her stocking, exactly where he had stuffed it yesterday, and couldn’t help but smile.

A sudden bustle of activity interrupted his thoughts. Böhm had finished and people were getting ready to leave. Chairs were being shuffled as a burble of chatter started up and Charly handed leaflets to people on their way out. Rath’s heart pounded as he walked past her and their hands briefly touched. Her gaze was so remote it almost hurt.

‘Thank you, Fräulein Ritter,’ he said.

He almost forgot to say goodbye to Bruno. His colleague grinned as he made his way back to E Division. Hopefully, he hadn’t said too much last night when he was drunk.

It was only when he was sitting in his little office that Rath took a closer look at the piece of paper. There were a few names on it but he had no idea what he was supposed to do with them. He should have paid more attention, but even now he couldn’t get Charly out of his head. The names were arranged alphabetically, all beginning with the same letter: I.

There was knock on the door. He sat up.

‘Yes.’

‘DCI Böhm would like to return these documents.’

Charly was standing in the door, smiling and offering the Wilczek file.

‘Oh, why don’t you come a little closer? And shut the door behind you.’ She entered. ‘My secretary isn’t here today, so I’m alone and…’ But she had already pressed her lips onto his mouth. The Wilczek file crashed onto the desk and fell to the ground.

They looked at each other for a time in silence. He could have got lost in those eyes.

‘I’m sorry about your colleague,’ she said.

‘I guess it’s just a lousy job.’

‘Was he a close friend?’

‘I barely knew him. He was a pretty taciturn guy. An East Prussian.’

‘He was younger than me, wasn’t he?’

‘Twenty-two.’

‘There are too many people in this country who think they can settle their affairs with guns.’

He nodded. ‘And it’s our job to teach them that’s no solution. Or at least one that’ll land them in jail.’

‘It’s nice here. A few pot plants and you could almost call it cosy.’

He took her in his arms. ‘We have to see each other more often,’ he whispered. ‘I missed you.’

‘If you’re pining for me, there’s always the telephone.’

So, she had taken offence.

‘Guilty as charged,’ he said. ‘But whenever I rang there was no-one there. Maybe I’d be better off writing letters.’

‘Real love letters!’ She sighed theatrically and rolled her eyes upwards. ‘Yes please! I’ll disconnect my telephone!’

‘I’m afraid I’m not very good at stuff like that. Interrogation records and reports are about the only things I write normally.’

‘
The need
to bestow numerous caresses on your person
shall henceforth be
seen as unavoidable.
I don’t have a problem if you write like that. I read sentences like that every day.’

‘I like it when you’re goofy.’

‘Goofy? I’m not really goofy, just in high spirits.’

A thought occurred to him. He went to the coat stand and fetched the stocking from his pocket. ‘
A propos
high spirits,’ he said, waving the rayon stocking. ‘To this
corpus delicti
I owe my temporary homelessness.’

Her eyes almost popped out of her head. Even then they were pretty.

‘My landlady discovered this while she was changing the sheets and gave me summary notice to quit.’

‘No?!’

‘Yes!’

She stood there so dumbfounded that he couldn’t help but grin until they both exploded with laughter.

When they had calmed down, her fingers began to play with his tie. ‘Gereon,’ she said, ‘I have to tell you something.’

‘What is it?’

‘I… Well, you hadn’t been in touch, so I thought I’d try at yours. By telephone, I mean. And… you didn’t pick up, so I let it ring a little longer, and then… then finally someone did pick up. A woman.’

He sighed. ‘A Frau Behnke…’

‘Yes, Behnke. I asked for you and she said you didn’t live there. So I asked whether it was Nürnberger Strasse 28, and all of a sudden she got mad and started bawling like one of the Furies, saying if I dared set foot inside her house again… hers was a respectable house and I was a little tart.’

Rath could picture Elisabeth Behnke changing the sheets in his room; first she finds a lady’s stocking, and then its owner rings.

‘And then?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I was so shocked at her screaming that I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I hung up. She called me a little tart and all I wanted was to say hello!’

‘Grr… I should bite your head off. You’ve made me homeless.’

‘Where are you staying now?’

‘They say the best spots are under Victoria Bridge, but I’m not sure if I’ll stay there. Berlin’s got so many nice bridges it’s hard to decide.’

‘And for real?’

‘For real, a colleague has taken pity on me. At the moment I’m living with Bruno Wolter in Friedenau. No chance of female visitors there either. That’s what you get!’

‘But I’d rather like to pay you a little visit,’ she said and began stroking his chest.

‘Let’s see, there must be a key for this door somewhere,’ he mumbled and was searching the drawers when the telephone rang. Both of them gave a start. The feeling of tenderness had gone west, his erection too.

‘That’s probably Böhm,’ she said and started barking:
‘Take your filthy hands off my stenographer and get
on with your work!’

She kissed him and left, blowing him an extra goodbye kiss at the door.

He let the telephone ring until she was outside, took a deep breath and picked up, fists mentally raised to parry Böhm’s barking.

‘Rath, Homicide.’

‘Weinert,
Abendblatt
. What’s this I’m hearing? You’ve moved out? Just like that?’ The journalist sounded dismayed.

‘Moved is the wrong word. Old Behnke
threw
me out.’

‘You didn’t get yourself caught did you?’

‘A stocking got itself caught. A lady’s stocking in my bed.’

Weinert laughed. ‘Sorry, but you’re not serious? That’s enough for her to boot you out?’

‘I’d be careful if I were you. Tell your women they should start wearing men’s socks when they come to visit.’

‘Thanks for the tip.’

‘My pleasure, but I’m sure that’s not the reason you called.’

‘I’d like to get together to exchange some ideas. I tried yesterday evening but you didn’t come home. Or at least that’s what I thought – until I realised Frau Behnke had stuck her oar in.’

That suited Rath, he needed to speak to the journalist anyway.

‘When and where?’

‘Should we say right now, at ten in
Moka Efti
? Near Friedrichstadt underground. It’s far enough from Alex that you won’t run into any cops, and close enough to Kochstrasse.’

‘
Moka Efti
? The new place? Isn’t it a bit expensive?’

‘Publisher’s treat. It’s all going on expenses.’

Weinert was already at a table when Rath entered. An escalator led to the first floor and straight into the bar. The dances began here in the afternoon and lasted long into the night, and had already made
Moka Efti
a staple of the Berlin party scene. In the morning, however, it was mostly dominated by shoppers from Leipziger Strasse, taking a break after visiting Wertheim or Tietz. Then there were a few journalists like Weinert from nearby Kochstrasse, as well as the idlers who liked to combine their newspaper reading with a good cup of coffee.

And the coffee really was good. The smell alone was enough to make you wide awake. To wash it down, they had ordered a large bottle of sparkling mineral water. Rath lit an Overstolz and listened.

‘It’s about the dead policeman,’ said Weinert.

‘You weren’t at the press conference.’

‘To hear Zörgiebel pedalling shit about bloodthirsty communists? No thanks!’

‘So your paper didn’t publish anything?’

‘A colleague was there and we published the same crap as the rest. Only, the communist papers see it differently. For them it’s a revenge killing by Nazis or the Black Reichswehr. Politically motivated killing seems pretty doubtful to me. The dead man wasn’t in the political police.’

‘No, the dead man was my colleague. First in Vice, and then in Homicide.’

‘My sympathies.’

‘We weren’t exactly close.’ Rath drew on his cigarette. ‘So, what do you want to know?’

‘The avenues you’re really investigating. Who has the victim on their conscience?’

‘Wish I knew. I’d have solved the case and earned myself a few brownie points.’

‘Only if you serve up a communist. Zörgiebel’s already homed in on Thälmann’s lot.’

‘I’ll see what I can do for you. We’re still at the start of our investigations. I can only say we’re pursuing all avenues, and the communist lead is simply one of many.’

‘Call me when you know more.’

‘If you leave my name out of it. And if you do me a favour.’

‘The Buick’s still in Kochstrasse.’

‘It’s not about the car. I wanted to suggest a deal. It could result in more exclusive information for you. You can tell me about a man who also moved out of Nürnberger Strasse.’

‘Alexej Kardakov?’

Rath nodded. ‘And everything you know about
Krasnaja Krepost
.’

‘The
Red Fortress
? Why are you interested?’

‘Could be the key to solving a spectacular case. If you help me, you’ll get exclusive information.’

‘Don’t talk in riddles. What case?’

‘The one that’s driving Zörgiebel mad because your colleagues are all on his back and he doesn’t have any answers. The dead man from the Landwehr canal.’

‘That’s over since yesterday at the latest. We’ve got a dead police officer now.
That
is spectacular!’