The Pale Criminal (6 page)

Behind Sheep Rock was a high viewing tower from which it was possible to see the front of the Chicken House, indeed the whole of the Zoo, and I thought it looked like ten pfennigs well-spent for anyone wanting to make sure that he wasn’t about to walk into a trap. With this thought in mind I was meandering away from the Chicken House, and towards the lake when a youth of about eighteen, with dark hair and a grey sports jacket, appeared from the far side of the Chicken House. Without even looking around he quickly picked the Gerson bag out of the wastepaper basket and dropped it into another carrier, this one from the Ka-De-We store. Then he walked briskly past me and, after a decent interval, I followed.

Outside the Moorish-style Antelope House the youth paused briefly beside the group of bronze centaurs that stood there, and, giving the appearance of one engrossed in his guidebook, I walked straight on to the Chinese Temple, where, hidden by several people, I stopped to watch him out of the corner of my eye. He came on again, and I guessed that he was making for the Aquarium and the south exit.

Fish were the last thing that you expected to see in the great green building that connects the Zoo with Budapester Strasse. A life-sized stone Iguanadon towered predatorily beside the door, above which was the head of yet another dinosaur. Elsewhere, the walls of the Aquarium were covered with murals and stone reliefs that depicted the kind of prehistoric beasts which would have swallowed a shark whole. It was to the Aquarium’s other inhabitants, the reptiles, that these antediluvian decorations were in fact preferable.

Seeing my man disappear through the front door, and realizing that the Aquarium’s dark interior would make it easy to lose him, I quickened my pace. Once inside I saw how much more probable than possible this actually was, since the sheer number of visitors made it difficult to see where he had gone.

Assuming the worst, I hurried towards the other door that led out on to the street, and almost collided with the youth as he turned away from a tank that contained a creature that looked more like a floating mine than a fish. For a few seconds he hesitated at the foot of the great marble stairs that led up to the reptiles before walking down to the exit, and out of the Aquarium and the Zoo.

Outside on Budapester Strasse I fell in behind a group of schoolchildren as far as Ansbacher Strasse, where I got rid of the guidebook, slipped into the raincoat I was carrying, and turned up the brim of my hat. Minor alterations to your appearance are essential when following someone. There’s that, and staying in the open. It’s only when you start to cower in doorways that your man will get suspicious. But this fellow never even looked back as he crossed Wittenberg Platz, and went through the front door of Kaufhaus des Westens, the Ka-De-We, Berlin’s biggest department store.

I had thought that he had used the other carrier only to throw a tail off, somebody who might have been waiting at one of the exits on the look out for a man carrying a Gerson bag. But now I realized that we were also in for a switch.

The beer-restaurant on Ka-De-We’s third floor was full of lunchtime drinkers. They sat stolidly facing plates of sausage, and glasses of beer that were the height of table lamps. The youth carrying the money wandered among the tables as if looking for someone, and finally sat down opposite a man wearing a blue suit, sitting alone. He placed the carrier-bag with the money beside another just like it on the floor.

Finding an empty table I sat down just in sight of them, and picked up a menu which I affected to study. A waiter appeared. I told him I hadn’t made up my mind, and he went away again.

Now the man in the blue suit stood up, laid some coins on the table and, bending down, picked up the carrier bag with the money. Neither one of them said a word.

When the blue suit went out of the restaurant I followed him, obeying the cardinal rule of all cases involving ransom: you always go after the money.

With its massive arched portico and twin, minaret-like towers, there was a monolithic, almost Byzantine quality about the Metropol Theatre on Nollendorfplatz. Appearing on reliefs at the foot of the great buttresses were intertwined as many as twenty naked figures, and it seemed like the ideal kind of place to try your hand at a spot of virgin sacrifice. On the righthand side of the theatre was a big wooden gateway, and through it the car park, as big as a football pitch, which backed on to several tall tenements.

It was to one of these buildings that I followed Blue Suit and the money. I checked the names on the mailboxes in the downstairs hall, and was pleased to find a K. Hering residing at number nine. Then I called Bruno from a phone box at the U-Bahn station across the road.

When my partner’s old DKW pulled up at the wooden gate, I got into the passenger seat and pointed across to the other side of the car park, nearest to the tenements, where there were still quite a few spaces left, the ones nearer the theatre itself having been taken by those going to the eight o’clock show.

‘That’s our man’s place there,’ I said. ‘On the second floor. Number nine.’

‘Did you get a name?’

‘It’s our friend from the clinic, Klaus Hering.’

‘That’s nice and tidy. What does he look like?’

‘He’s about my height, thin, wiry build, fair hair, rimless glasses, aged about thirty. When he went in he was wearing a blue suit. If he leaves see if you can’t get in there and find the pansy’s love letters. Otherwise just stay put. I’m going to see the client for further instructions. If she’s got any I’ll be back tonight. If not, then I’ll relieve you at six o’clock tomorrow morning. Any questions?’ Bruno shook his head. ‘Want me to ring the wife?’

‘No thanks. Katia’s used to my odd hours by now, Bernie. Anyway, me not being there will help to clear the air. I had another argument with my boy Heinrich when I got back from the Zoo.’

‘What was it this time?’

‘He’s only gone and joined the motorized Hitler Youth, that’s all.’

I shrugged. ‘He would have to have joined the regular Hitler Youth sooner or later.’

‘The little swine didn’t have to be in such a damned hurry to join, that’s all. He could have waited to be taken in, like the rest of the lads in his class.’

‘Come on, look on the bright side. They’ll teach him how to drive and look after an engine. They’ll still turn him into a Nazi, of course, but at least he’ll be a Nazi with a skill.’

Sitting in a taxi back to Alexanderplatz where I had left my car, I reflected that the prospect of his son acquiring mechanical skills probably wasn’t much of a consolation to a man who, at the same age as Heinrich, had been a junior cycling champion. And he was right about one thing: Heinrich really was a perfect little swine.

I didn’t call Frau Lange to let her know I was coming, and although it was only eight o’clock by the time I got to Herbertstrasse, the house looked dark and uninviting, as if those living there were out, or had retired to bed. But that’s one of the more positive aspects of this job. If you’ve cracked the case then you are always assured of a warm welcome, no matter how unprepared they are for your arrival.

I parked the car, went up the steps to the front door and pulled the bell. Almost immediately a light came on in the window above the door, and after a minute or so the door opened to reveal the black cauldron’s ill-tempered face.

‘Do you know what time it is?’

‘It’s just gone eight,’ I said. ‘The curtains are going up at theatres all over Berlin, diners in restaurants are still scrutinizing the menu and mothers are just thinking that it’s about time their children were in bed. Is Frau Lange at home?’

‘She’s not dressed for no gentlemen callers.’

‘Well that’s all right. I haven’t brought her any flowers or chocolates. And I’m certainly not a gentleman.’

‘You spoke the truth there all right.’

‘That one was for free. Just to put you in a good enough mood to do as you’re told. This is business, urgent business, and she’ll want to see me or know the reason why I wasn’t let in. So why don’t you run along and tell her I’m here.’

I waited in the same room on the sofa with the dolphin armrests. I didn’t like it any better the second time, not least because it was now covered with the ginger hairs of an enormous cat, which lay asleep on a cushion underneath a long oak sideboard. I was still picking the hairs off my trousers when Frau Lange came into the room. She was wearing a green silk dressing-gown of the sort that left the tops of her big breasts on show like the twin humps of some pink sea-monster, matching slippers, and she carried an unlit cigarette in her fingers. The dog stood dumbly at her corn-plastered heel, its nose wrinkling at the overpowering smell of English lavender that trailed off Frau Lange’s body like an old feather-boa. Her voice was even more masculine than I had remembered.

‘Just tell me that Reinhard had nothing to do with it,’ she said imperiously.

‘Nothing at all,’ I said.

The sea-monster sank a little as she breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for that,’ she said. ‘And do you know who it is that has been blackmailing me, Herr Gunther?’

‘Yes. A man who used to work at Kindermann’s clinic. A male nurse called Klaus Hering. I don’t suppose that the name will mean much to you, but Kindermann had to dismiss him a couple of months ago. My guess is that while he was working there he stole the letters that your son wrote to Kindermann.’

She sat down and lit her cigarette. ‘But if his grudge was against Kindermann, why pick on me?’

‘I’m just guessing, you understand, but I’d say that a lot has to do with your wealth. Kindermann’s rich, but I doubt he’s a tenth as rich as you, Frau Lange. What’s more, it’s probably mostly tied up in that clinic. He’s also got quite a few friends in the S S, so Hering may have decided that it was simply safer to squeeze you. On the other hand, he may have already tried Kindermann and failed to get anywhere. As a psychotherapist he could probably easily explain your son’s letters as the fantasies of a former patient. After all, it’s not uncommon for a patient to grow attached to his doctor, even somebody as apparently loathsome as Kindermann.’

‘You’ve met him?’

‘No, but that’s what I hear from some of the staff working at the clinic.’

‘I see. Well, now what happens?’

‘As I remember, you said that would be up to your son.’

‘All right. Supposing that he wants you to go on handling things for us. After all, you’ve made pretty short work of it so far. What would your next course of action be?’

‘Right now my partner, Herr Stahlecker, is keeping our friend Hering under surveillance at his apartment on Nollendorfplatz. As soon as Hering goes out, Herr Stahlecker will try and break in and recover your letters. After that you have three possibilities. One is that you can forget all about it. Another is that you can put the matter in the hands of the police, in which case you run the risk of Hering making allegations against your son. And then you can arrange for Hering to get a good old-fashioned hiding. Nothing too severe, you understand. Just a good scare to warn him off and teach him a lesson. Personally I always favour the third choice. Who knows? It might even result in your recovering some of your money.’

‘Oh, I’d like to get my hands on that miserable man.’

‘Best leave that sort of thing to me, eh? I’ll call you tomorrow and you can tell me what you and your son have decided to do. With any luck we may even have recovered the letters by then.’

I didn’t exactly need my arm twisted to have the brandy she offered me by way of celebration. It was excellent stuff that should have been savoured a little. But I was tired, and when she and the sea-monster joined me on the sofa I felt it was time to be going.

About that time I was living in a big apartment on Fasanenstrasse, a little way south of Kurfurstendamm, and within easy reach of all the theatres and better restaurants I never went to.

It was a nice quiet street, all white, mock porticoes and Atlantes supporting elaborate façades on their well-muscled shoulders. Cheap it wasn’t. But that apartment and my partner had been my only two luxuries in two years.

The first had been rather more successful for me than the second. An impressive hallway with more marble than the Pergamon Altar led up to the second floor where I had a suite of rooms with ceilings that were as high as trams. German architects and builders were never known for their penny-pinching.

My feet aching like young love, I ran myself a hot bath.

I lay there for a long time, staring up at the stained-glass window which was suspended at right angles to the ceiling, and which served, quite redundantly, to offer some cosmetic division of the bathroom’s higher regions. I had never ceased to puzzle as to what possible reason had prompted its construction.

Outside the bathroom window a nightingale sat in the yard’s solitary but lofty tree. I felt that I had a lot more confidence in his simple song than the one that Hitler was singing.

I reflected that it was the kind of simplistic comparison my beloved pipe-smoking partner might have relished.

In the darkness the doorbell rang. Drunk with sleep I reached across to the alarm clock and picked it off the bedside table. It said 4.30 in the morning with still nearly an hour to go before I was supposed to wake up. The doorbell rang again, only this time it seemed more insistent. I switched on a light and went out into the hall.

‘Who is it?’ I said, knowing well enough that generally it’s only the Gestapo who take a pleasure in disturbing people’s sleep.

‘Haile Selassie,’ said a voice. ‘Who the fuck do you think it is? Come on, Gunther, open up, we haven’t got all night.’

Yes, it was the Gestapo all right. There was no mistaking their finishing-school manners.

I opened the door and allowed a couple of beer barrels wearing hats and coats to barge past me.