The Silent Death

by volker Kutscher

  ‘Please excuse our being late, Konrad,’ Engelbert Rath began, ‘but the police service…even in Berlin…my son…!’

  ‘It’s fine, Engelbert, it’s fine!’ The Indian pronounced it ‘Engelbäät’. He had a Cologne accent. ‘My train isn’t leaving for two hours anyway,’ he said, those unknowable Indian eyes seeming almost friendly. ‘So? How is the young Rath? Settled into the imperial capital?’

  Gereon shook his hand. ‘Thank you for asking, Mayor Adenauer.’

  ‘Let’s forget about the titles, shall we? Here I’m not the Mayor, or the President of the Prussian State Council. We’re meeting on a purely private basis. Three Cologners in Berlin.’

  Gereon gave a deliberate smile.

  ‘Let’s go to the bar,’ Adenauer said. ‘I’ve a table booked.’

  A bottle of Zeltinger Kirchenpfad awaited them next to the reserved sign. Their host had left nothing to chance, which was perhaps why Police Director Engelbert Rath got on so well with him, their status as fellow party members notwithstanding. The truth was that Rath’s father had always kept in with those whose acquaintance could benefit his career. Successfully too: he had been the youngest chief inspector in Cologne in his day, and was now police director.

  ‘We can speak freely here,’ Adenauer said, showing them to their places. The waiter filled the two wine glasses and he began.

  ‘Good that your son has found the time, Engelbäät,’ he said. ‘Have you told him what it’s about?’

  ‘It’s too delicate. I thought it would be best if you…’

  ‘Let’s have a toast first!’ Adenauer had a glass of water in front of him, and drank their health.

  The Raths raised their glasses and drank. The wine was far too sweet for Gereon’s liking, but his father’s lips curved appreciatively. ‘A really nice drop, this, Konrad.’

  ‘I know what you like, Engelbäät!’ Their host placed his water in front of him and cleared his throat. ‘So, let’s get to the point… It’s an unpleasant business… most unpleasant…’

  ‘The police deal almost exclusively with unpleasant business,’ said Rath.

  ‘Please, young Rath! Let’s forget about the police. As I said, this is a private meeting.’

  ‘Let the mayor explain, Gereon!’

  It hadn’t taken five minutes for his father to catapult him back to the bad old days. Gereon, the cheeky young fool who’d be better off keeping his mouth shut when the adults had important matters to discuss.

  ‘Your father, Herr Rath, is helping me in a particularly delicate matter, and I must say it’s rather handy that the Rath family is also represented here in Berlin…’ That’s how easy it was for the Cologne crowd to catch up with you, even in the middle of the imperial capital. ‘To cut a long story short, I am being blackmailed.’

  ‘Our lord mayor is receiving anonymous letters,’ Engelbert Rath whispered.

  The Indian nodded. ‘Someone is threatening – how shall I put it? – to make certain information public that the public has no business knowing. And which could drag the good name of Adenauer through the mud.’

  ‘What kind of information?’

  ‘Information that could spell the end of my political existence if the Nazis get their hands on it, or the Communists.’

  ‘I’d need to know a little more than that. If you want me to help you, you’ll have to tell me what it’s about.’

  ‘Glanzstoff shares,’ Adenauer said.

  ‘Shares in American Glanzstoff, the rayon plant,’ Engelbert Rath explained.

  ‘I’ve got loads of them,’ Adenauer said. ‘Absolutely loads. Worth millions… At least, they were worth millions when I bought them two years ago. My entire fortune’s invested in them, and more besides. A loan from Deutsche Bank…’

  ‘I see,’ said Rath, ‘and the share price has been falling through the floor since October.’

  ‘It went through the floor some time ago. I’d never have thought it could slip so far, had always hoped things would pick up again. But these last few months… In short, my debts with the bank are now greater than the market value of my shares. Significantly greater…’

  ‘In other words, you’re ruined,’ Rath said, pleased to register the look of displeasure on his father’s face. ‘How do they mean to blackmail you when you’ve already hit rock bottom?’

  ‘I’ve got friends at the bank who are willing to help me. I just don’t want it to be shouted from the rooftops.’

  ‘And that’s precisely what these anonymous letters are threatening to do…’

  ‘My opponents have been waiting for an opportunity just like this, both the left and the right, and it’s been handed to them on a plate. What a time for it to happen!’

  ‘Why haven’t you passed the case on to the police?’

  ‘You know yourself that not all officers can be trusted. Something like this needs to be dealt with discreetly. By experienced police officers, but not by the police.’

  Rath nodded. ‘What makes you think I can help you? My father is far more experienced when it comes to police work.’

  ‘The letters are from Berlin, I’m certain of it. And not just because up till now they’ve only been sent to my Berlin office. The blackmailer is in the city somewhere. Take a look yourself…’ He fetched a small bundle of papers from the inside pocket of his jacket and passed one of the pages to Rath.

  Red-coloured pencil. Big block capitals. Crooked letters but legible nonetheless. It looked almost like a little home-made placard.

  FORD STAYS IN BERLIN, it said, OR ADENAUER GOES TO JAIL!

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s the fee,’ the mayor said. ‘The blackmailer doesn’t want money, it’s something else he’s after. He wants to save the Ford plant at Westhafen.’

  ‘The car factory?’

  ‘Only I’m afraid its days are already numbered. There’s nothing more to be done.’

  ‘I don’t know much about that, you’re going to have to explain.’

  ‘Ford is relocating to Cologne,’ Adenauer said. ‘Everything’s signed, and we’ll be laying the groundwork in Riehl later this year. Europe’s most state-of-the-art car factory will make Berlin’s seem old in comparison. Then it’ll be goodnight, Westhafen.’

  ‘And that’s what the blackmailer’s hoping to avoid?’

  Adenauer nodded. ‘It would appear so. Only he’s picked the wrong man. No Adenauer allows himself to be blackmailed! Besides, even if I wanted to, there’s nothing I can do. The same goes for the Mayor of Berlin.’

  ‘Herr Böß has his own problems at the moment,’ Gereon said.

  ‘Tell me about it! The only person who can do anything is Henry Ford, who won’t let a single car roll off the production line in Berlin once things are up and running in Riehl. I can say that much for certain.’

  ‘There’ll be even more unemployed people in Berlin.’

  Adenauer shrugged his shoulders. ‘What do you want me to do? Hundreds of jobs will be created in Cologne instead. That’s how it goes sometimes, it’s the way of the world, and blackmailing people isn’t about to change that!’

  ‘Even so, that doesn’t mean whoever’s blackmailing you can’t still do some damage, and that’s what you’d like me to prevent.’

  ‘Quick on the uptake, your son,’ Adenauer said to Engelbert Rath.

  Rath felt as he had when his mother praised her son’s school grades to assorted friends over coffee. ‘How do you know the blackmailer really has the information he’s threatening you with?’ he asked.

  ‘See for yourself.’ Adenauer passed him another sheet of paper. ‘This is the second page from the first letter.’

  This letter didn’t look like a placard; there was a lot more text too. Typewritten, again in red. Wouldn’t it be unfortunate if the world were to hear what was discussed in passing at the Deutsche Bank’s supervisory board meeting by board members Adenauer and Blüthgen, as well as Bank Director Brüning?

  ‘What�
��s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means somebody knows exactly what’s going on,’ Adenauer said. ‘I want you to find out who it is, and make it clear that it’s him rather than me who will be facing jail time, if so much as a single word of these confidential discussions is leaked!’

  ‘How do you suppose I do that? I’m a police officer…’

  ‘Precisely, you know the best way to handle a thing like this. You won’t regret it, young man. I still have a good relationship with your commissioner. My word counts for something with Zörgiebel, believe me. Your father had already made chief inspector by your age. It’s time you followed in his footsteps.’

  ‘The interior ministry has issued a moratorium on promotions…’

  ‘Because Prussia must save, but there are always exceptions. Even in times like these, outstanding candidates can be rewarded.’

  Engelbert Rath nodded in agreement. ‘Chief Inspector Gereon Rath – it has a nice ring to it,’ he said, and raised his wine glass. ‘To the next chief inspector in the Rath family!’

  Gereon raised his glass and smiled, but only sipped at the sweet liquid. Chief Inspector didn’t sound too bad at all, and he wouldn’t have that twit Böhm telling him what to do.

  ‘Inspector Rath?’

  The waiter’s voice only served to remind him of his current rank. The man’s gaze surveyed the group briefly before ruling out its two older members and alighting on Gereon. ‘Telephone for you, Herr Rath.’

  It was Czerwinski. They had finally caught Glaser. The lighting technician had come home that evening. All they’d had to do was pick him up.

  ‘He’s all nicely wrapped up and waiting for you at Alex,’ the detective said. ‘Thought you might like to have a little chat with him tonight. Your girlfriend was kind enough to tell us where you were. I hope we’re not interrupting anything.’

  Rath was about to have a go at the fat lump for his lack of respect, but chose to hold back. Czerwinski had done a good job, and it wasn’t often you could say that. ‘I’ll be with you shortly,’ he said.

  ‘I’m afraid duty calls,’ he said as he returned to the table with his hat and coat.

  He offered Adenauer his hand. ‘Many thanks for inviting me here, Herr Mayor,’ he said.

  ‘Take the letters with you.’ Adenauer passed him the bundle across the table.

  ‘Well, my boy,’ said Engelbert Rath, standing to say goodbye to his son. The police director attempted something approaching a hug but was forced to admit defeat. Otherwise so commanding, Engelbert Rath could only offer his son an awkward handshake. ‘Take care. Can you find your own way out? I still have matters to discuss with the mayor.’

  ‘It’s OK, Father.’ Rath cleared his throat. ‘Will we see each other tomorrow?’

  The police director’s face froze. ‘Mother…we…’ he stammered. ‘Well…I promised your mother I wouldn’t leave her too long. I’m taking the night train.’

  ‘Not staying in Berlin a moment longer than necessary – is that right, gents?’

  The remark was supposed to disguise his disappointment, but somehow he didn’t get it quite right. As much as his father’s unannounced visit had angered him, he was equally hurt that Engelbert Rath – in the middle of Carnival – had only come to Berlin to do his old friend Konrad a favour. But then, he knew his father, what else should he expect?

  ‘Well, safe trip home then,’ he said and made for the exit without looking round, descending the steps into the rain. Outside, he took a deep breath before returning to the car. He spent the next few minutes sitting behind the wheel observing Wilhelmplatz at night. Apart from a few pedestrians emerging from the underground, and the two uniformed officers in front of the hotel, the square was completely empty. The city’s nightlife was happening elsewhere.

  Rath couldn’t remember having made any promises to Adenauer, but he felt the weight of the letters in his inside pocket, and knew he had an assignment that could help him make Chief Inspector.

  His mind turned to Kathi, waiting for him at Luisenufer, and he was glad he could still head out to Alex. Hopefully she’d be asleep when he got home. He started the engine and drove off. It would do him good to spend a little time focusing on someone else’s life. What kind of man was this Glaser? he wondered.

  In the meantime he must have realised that running wasn’t a solution, especially now, awaiting interrogation in the Castle. You couldn’t escape guilt like that, someone’s death. No matter how far you ran, no matter how quickly; nobody knew that better than Gereon Rath. It was a burden you carried with you for the rest of your life.

  Behind the construction fences at Alexanderplatz, the police headquarters rose dark into the night sky. Red Castle was the name Berliners gave to the mighty brick building, which had turned out bigger than the City Palace. Unlike the palace, however, it still had a function. His colleagues simply called their workplace Castle, a name that was reassuring somehow, and fitting too, even if Rath’s former stamping ground in Cologne appeared far more medieval than its Berlin counterpart. The façade actually invoked the Florentine Renaissance, but somehow the Prussians even managed to turn the building’s delicate motifs into a forbidding stronghold.

  Rath parked the Buick in the atrium, where a riot squad was just getting into a car. Once in the stairwell, however, he was on his own again. The endless corridors on the first floor were deserted, but brought to life now and again by the faint echoes of steps, voices or slamming doors. In Homicide, only the late shift was still present, an inspector and an assistant detective: Brenner, one of Böhm’s bootlickers, and Lange, the new man from Hannover, who had been transferred to the Castle a few weeks back.

  ‘Evening,’ Rath greeted his colleagues. ‘Where are Czerwinski and Henning?’

  ‘I sent them home,’ Brenner said.

  ‘What makes you think you can give orders to my people?’ Rath snapped.

  ‘What do you mean, your people? I’m in charge of the late shift, and as far as I know neither of them are on it. We’re to avoid unnecessary overtime. Orders from above.’

  ‘They’re both part of my team, and they’ve just brought in a suspect. I hope you haven’t sent him home too.’

  ‘Don’t panic, Inspector,’ Brenner grinned. ‘Your package is sitting all nicely wrapped in custody.’

  ‘Then what are you waiting for, Detective?’

  ‘Waiting for?’

  ‘Get your arse in gear and make sure my man is ready for questioning in five minutes at the most!’

  Brenner reached for the receiver.

  At the door Rath turned round once more. ‘And another thing, Detective,’ he said, friendly once more, ‘if you ever give orders to my people again I will kick up such a fuss that not even Chief Inspector Böhm will be able to help you. Clear?’

  ‘I wouldn’t talk so big if I were you,’ Brenner grumbled, before putting the call through.

  Rath had to walk a few paces along the corridor to get to his office. Somewhat removed from the other rooms in A Division, it had been the only one available when he first joined Homicide. It was pretty cold. The heating was on low, so he kept his coat on for the time being. Taking a seat in the outer office, at his secretary’s desk, he leafed through the personal file on Glaser, which Czerwinski had left alongside the man’s papers. The dates tallied with those from his passport.

  Barely ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door and a guard pushed a pale, intimidated-looking man into the room. ‘Here he is, Inspector.’

  Rath posted the guard outside and examined the suspect. Glaser had halted by the door and was looking about him uncertainly. Perhaps it was no bad thing that he’d been left to stew in custody. He smelled ripe.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Rath said, leafing through the papers. Glaser shuffled forward and sat down. Rath said suddenly and without looking up, ‘Your name is Peter Glaser…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Born 25th September 1902.’

  ‘Yes.’

  �
�Resident at Röntgenstrasse 10 in Charlottenburg.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Since November 1st 1929 you’ve been working as a lighting technician at La Belle Film Production in Marien…’

  ‘Pardon me?’ All of a sudden the man, who up until now had been hunched in his chair like a limp dishrag, sat up straight.

  ‘Nothing about you being hard of hearing in the file.’

  ‘That’s because I’m not.’

  ‘I asked where you work.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’ His voice sounded as if he had just woken up. ‘You read the file and told me where I’m supposed to work. Something to do with film, but it isn’t true.’

  ‘Then why is your name in this file?’

  Glaser shrugged his shoulders and gave Rath a belligerent look. ‘You’ll have to ask whoever drew it up. My personal file is with Siemens & Halske. I’m an electrician at the Elmowerk.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Can’t you keep up?’ Glaser was beginning to get the upper hand. He had even stopped shivering, despite the cold. ‘I work for Siemens! At the Elektromotorenwerk, the electric motor plant. I’d just got back from my shift when your colleagues grabbed me right outside the door to my flat, handcuffs, pistol, the lot. I just hope my neighbours didn’t see. That Knauf next door is a nosy bat.’

  Rath looked at Glaser’s passport. The man in the photo and the man in front of him were the same, no doubt about it.

  ‘Got the wrong man?’ Glaser asked.

  Rath snapped the document shut. ‘We’ll soon have this sorted.’

  That soon turned out to be optimistic. Rath offered the increasingly unruly Glaser hot tea until, finally, after three-quarters of an hour that dragged interminably, the guard pushed a thoroughly dishevelled-looking Heinrich Bellmann through the door. On the telephone, Bellmann hadn’t given an entirely sober impression, and now brought the smell of alcohol with him.

  ‘Good evening, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise you work in the middle of the night too.’

  ‘Please, have a seat.’ Rath offered him a chair by the desk.

  ‘Please excuse my condition, I had a little too much…it’s not normally my way…but Betty’s death… I’m only human after all!’