Babylon Berlin (27 page)

The wardrobe was still full of simple but tasteful clothes. He took an autumn-coloured dress from the hanger and examined it. The Countess must be a dainty little thing. He rummaged through the whole wardrobe. There was a winter coat hanging there too – had she scarpered after the heatwave, or had she been forced to leave it behind? The coat must have been older than it looked, a part of the lining was torn. No, not torn, but cleanly unstitched. He took a closer look. It looked as if someone had tried to retrieve something from the lining, and that someone had obviously been successful. He searched the whole coat and found nothing. Now he examined the room more carefully. Nothing, clinically clean. He would have to pay Tretschkov another visit.

A short time later, he stood opposite Frau Schäffner again. She had worked her way up the stairs of the rear building with her pail, and was gazing at him with a face as red as beetroot, dripping with sweat.

‘You’re here?’ Rath was astonished. ‘Weren’t you cleaning the stairs of the front building just now?’

She gasped for breath. Her fat upper arms wobbling as she noisily wrung out the cloth.

‘Did you think my work was done with the front building? You’ve got some nerve!’

He ignored the reproach in her voice. It sounded as if the whole world was to blame for the fact that Margarete Schäffner had to clean the stairs, but especially the Berlin police and Detective Inspector Gereon Rath.

‘Good nerves are a pre-requisite for employment with the Prussian police,’ he said and jangled the bunch of keys.

‘Where am I supposed to take those now?’

‘Give yourself a break and take them back. I’d like to ask you a few questions anyhow.’

‘More questions?’ She let the cloth fall into the metal pail and wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Do you want to take out a subscription, it might make things cheaper!’

Dim but with a ready tongue. He ignored her tone. At least she had stood up and was accompanying him downstairs.

‘Do you know how long Frau Steinrück has been away?’ he asked, still in the stairwell.

‘What do I know? Two weeks maybe. Maybe longer. She was always away somewhere.’

‘Is there someone in the house who knows her better?’

‘Steinrück? You’re joking! She doesn’t mix with the likes of us! We hardly saw her, she was always in bed, and usually out in the evenings.’

‘Like the gentleman here.’

‘Pardon?’

Rath gestured towards the door of the flat they had just passed. ‘Herr Müller,’ he said. ‘He works nights too.’

He held the door to the courtyard open for her, and she heaved her body through.

‘At least Herr Müller has a reason. He goes to work.’

‘And Frau Steinrück doesn’t? She’s a singer, isn’t she?’

‘That’s what she said, but we hardly ever heard her sing. There are other ways for a woman to make money at night.’

‘Did she have visitors from time to time?’

‘From time to time? Again and again, and they were exclusively male!’

‘The Russian whose picture I showed you last week, was he one of them?’

‘How should I know? It was dark when they arrived.’

They had arrived at the front building. She opened the flat, went in and hesitated as Rath remained outside.

‘Well, what’s the matter?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Aren’t you coming in?’

‘Thanks for the invite but I’ve already asked everything I needed to. Goodbye.’ With these words, he raised his hat, turned round and walked away. He could picture her face, even though he had turned his back on her. It took about a second for her to rediscover her voice.

‘To think, I walked across the courtyard for that? You could have asked me that in the stairwell! That’s just…’

When the heavy front door clicked shut he could no longer make out what she was saying. He didn’t even bother to suppress a grin as he made his way past the big windows of the dairy towards the elevated railway.

It was shortly after four o’clock when Rath arrived at the Castle. He hoped he wouldn’t run into Charly, but she must have left the station a long time ago. He could have spared himself the visit to Ilja Tretschkov as he returned from Schöneberg with nothing more than the new suit he bought at Tietz near Alex. A brown cheviot suit for sixty-eight marks was a typical cop’s suit. Not too expensive, in case you made a mess of it on duty.
Or while burying corpses in your spare time.
He had forked out almost twenty marks for a new pair of shoes. Yesterday’s expedition was costing him dear, and he still had to get himself a new coat. In his old trench coat, he looked like a sleuth from the political police.

He placed the paper bags with his shopping on the desk. Bruno and the rookie still weren’t there, and he decided to put on his new things. He was in the middle of stuffing his shirt into his new trousers when the telephone on his desk rang.

‘Rath, CID.’

‘Likewise.’

There was only one person who answered like that. Police Director Engelbert Rath. Great! The last thing he needed right now was his father’s well-meaning advice.

‘What a surprise,’ Gereon groaned into the receiver. ‘How did you know I was in the office?’ He wedged the receiver fast with his shoulder and carried on getting dressed.

‘I’m a criminal investigator, my boy,’ said Engelbert Rath, laughing his short, loud laugh. Even through the telephone his father sounded like someone who’d lay a hand on your shoulder and slip a cigar into your mouth while he chewed your ear off. ‘All joking aside, your landlady told me you were working this afternoon. It’s good to show a little commitment.’

Elisabeth Behnke had answered his telephone. What business did she have in his room? Nosy cow! A good thing he had taken the little suitcase with him this morning and disposed of the contents.

‘And yourself? You’re still in Krebsgasse, are you?’

‘Impressive powers of deduction, my boy!’

‘Call it investigative instinct,’ he said, fastening his belt, ‘you ought to send your secretary away earlier. There are no typewriters clattering next door at home. How is mother doing?’

‘Oh, you know, her knee. But otherwise she’s fine. She sends her love.’ Engelbert Rath’s voice took on a familiar, paternal tone. ‘You should get in touch with her,’ he said. ‘She’d like to know very much how you’re faring in Berlin.’

‘Would she like to know how her son in New York is faring as well?’

‘I don’t know what you’re getting at.’

‘If she wants to know how I am, then she should ring me and ask.’

‘You know how she is. She doesn’t want to impose. It’s just she’s always so pleased when you get in touch.’

‘I’ve hardly been away two months.’

‘Please, I’m asking you, boy.’

‘Fine, I’ll ring her one of these days.’

‘There, you see! And what’s the latest with you?’

I buried a person yesterday
, Gereon thought,
but otherwise it’s business as usual.

‘I’ve had a lot on my plate. We’ve got a big operation on tonight…’

‘The raid? Karl told me about it.’

So the old man had been speaking to Dörrzwiebel on the phone. At least that meant top brass were aware of E Division’s work.

‘You’re doing a good job, my boy,’ his father continued. ‘The commissioner thinks very highly of you.’

‘Not just because of my surname I hope.’

‘Now, don’t be so sensitive!’

‘It takes a little getting used to when your own father calls your superiors by their first name.’

‘But you know all about that.’

Gereon knew all too well. At police headquarters in Cologne, Police Director Engelbert Rath was not only a high-ranking police official, but a legend. Someone with whom nearly all high-ranking officers in Krebsgasse were on first-name terms – and for the most part proud of it. Gereon had seen his transfer to Berlin as a chance to escape his father’s shadow. But that shadow was far-reaching.

‘So what did old Dörrzwiebel say?’

‘You know I don’t like that nickname!’

Of course he knew. That was the reason he had used it.

‘Sorry. It just slipped out somehow.’

‘You’ve settled in well with Vice squad in the meantime, I hear.’

‘It’s not exactly my favourite department, even if there’ll be lots going on tonight for a change.’

‘Thanks to your work, my boy! Believe me, those at the top are aware it was you who made the decisive breakthrough. Maybe you’ll get to work in a more interesting department soon. Karl said that you’ll soon be assigned to a homicide team.’

‘That’s normal here. Nothing unusual, everyone gets a turn. And then after four weeks, you have to step back in the ranks.’

‘Could be. But Karl knows you from Cologne, and he knows you’ve no business being in Vice. There’ll soon be a post free in A Division that needs to be filled by an inspector.’

‘Aha!’ He already sensed what was coming.

‘Karl would like you to fill it. Naturally he can’t argue your case in front of Gennat using your testimonials from Cologne. That remains classified, we don’t want the old stories to resurface. But he wants to give you the chance to show your talent.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He felt his tone become more aggressive. Couldn’t the old man just stay out of his life for once?

‘Don’t get angry. You know the commissioner sets great store by having every employee deployed according to their skills. Karl has already spoken with the chief of homicide about the possibility of giving you some responsibility as part of one of their teams. If you deal with that successfully, my boy, and we have no doubt whatsoever that you will, then you’ll have an excellent chance of taking up that free post. Good news, isn’t it?’

As if in a trance, he stared at the map on the end wall of the office, on which they had marked the most depraved places in Berlin with little multi-coloured flags. The old man had set it all up beautifully. There it was, Detective Inspector Gereon Rath’s big chance! Zörgiebel himself wanted him ushered into A Division. With a little nudge from Engelbert Rath.

‘No-one’s said anything to me about working in Homicide yet,’ he said. ‘Let alone what great things I’m supposed to do there.’ It was a half-hearted protest. He was angry with himself, and not just about his response. Whenever he spoke with his father, he ended up feeling like a little boy.

What had he managed to achieve in a week? He had startled an underworld boss, set the Russian camp in Berlin against him, and secretly disposed of a corpse at night. Quite a balance sheet! If his father had phoned the day before, then none of that would have happened. No gunshot, no dead man. He would have continued performing his duties in E and calmly awaited his transfer to A. So many ifs and buts.

His thoughts were interrupted by Engelbert Rath’s impatient voice.

‘Don’t you think?’ the telephone groaned once again. He had no idea what this
don’t you think
referred to.

‘Sorry?’

‘Are you listening to me at all?’

‘The connection was very bad just now.’

‘I said that officially you don’t know anything about it either. But I suppose it’s better you’re informed, don’t you think? You know my motto: knowledge…’

‘…is power.’

That old slogan. Rath had always thought his father would’ve been better off in the political police.

18

Although the sun had disappeared behind the houses many hours before, there was still a pleasant summer warmth on the streets. The audience from
Theater am Nollendorfplatz
was spilling out of the evening’s final screening, as two trucks turned the corner and hurtled into Motzstrasse. The cinema-goers gazed after the vehicles, whose tyres came to a squealing halt a few metres behind the American church. The tailboards opened almost simultaneously and men in blue uniforms sprang one after the other onto the asphalt. It seemed like something was about to happen!

A few curious cinema-goers were obviously anticipating the continuation of the film in real life and strolled over. Others moved off discreetly in the opposite direction. Some revellers had reason to avoid contact with the police, even as onlookers.

Rath stood next to Wolter by a green Opel on the opposite side of the road, observing the spectacle. Stephan Jänicke was sitting in the back with a pale man, whose hands were cuffed to the canopy hinge. They had overpowered the lookout, who had been hanging around discreetly outside
Pille
, only a few minutes before. Following a brief tête-à-tête inside the vehicle, Uncle had had no trouble in extracting the secret knock which, as if by magic, would open the steel door of the cellar bar. He climbed out of the vehicle and gave the plain-clothes officers at Nollendorfplatz the agreed signal. It took less than two minutes for both trucks to roll into position.

Rath and Wolter crossed the street, and the officers looked at them expectantly, ready for action. Having received a brief wave from Wolter, they followed the two CID officers through a courtyard entrance. Uncle descended the steps and knocked on the basement door. Three times short, twice long, and a hatch opened in the steel door. The muffled sound of music could be heard.

‘You’re a little late, sweetheart,’ said a surprisingly high-pitched voice. A pair of eyes could just be made out in the hatch, pupils dancing nervously from right to left. Someone was missing the guard who normally escorted the guests to the door.

‘Where’s Johnny got to?’ All of a sudden the voice sounded suspicious, and no longer so inviting.

‘He’s gone for a piss,’ said Wolter, at the same moment sticking the barrel of his P.08 through the hatch. ‘But my friends and I can come in anyway, right?’

The door opened to reveal a gaunt transvestite in a velvet green dress, whose slightly too muscular arms were raised in the air.

‘Did Red Hugo send you? You must be suicidal if you think you can make trouble here. You’re not coming through with that!’

‘We’re not suicidal, but we do have plenty of back-up.’ Wolter gestured towards the top of the stairs with a brief toss of the head. ‘And besides, we have uniforms, my dear. Get ready to spend a night in Alex.’