‘You don’t think it’s possible that something might have happened to her? Did she really have no enemies, people wanting to harm her, or out for her blood?’
‘That’s a bit much. No one’s out for her blood, even if she is a spoilt little madam who’s always bullying her entourage. Then again, she’s isn’t the only one in this business.’
‘If you had to find Vivian Franck, where would you look?’
‘Me?’ Heyer gave it a moment’s thought. ‘I’d book a passage on the Bremen.’
28
Erika Voss had good news. ‘My sister will help you, Inspector, but she says you owe her one.’
‘I always show my appreciation when someone does me a good turn, you know that.’
‘Hmm,’ his secretary said, grinning. ‘Just go up to the third floor and give Franzi back the book she lent you, and while you’re at it take a look at the open file on her desk.’ She pressed an old, well-thumbed book into his hand. A crime novel.
‘You should work for the secret service, Fräulein Voss. You have real conspiratorial qualities.’
‘Only too happy to place them at your disposal, Inspector. Whenever you need them.’
Franziska Voss wasn’t hard to find. She had the same blonde fringe as her younger sister, but was a little more full-figured. At the other desk sat an old bag, staring through her glasses at a sheet of paper in her typewriter, as if trying to bore holes in it.
‘Ah, Inspector,’ Franziska Voss said, as he passed her the book. Either she had looked at the photo in his personal file, or her sister had provided a good description. ‘That’s very kind of you. Did you enjoy it?’
‘Very exciting,’ he said.
‘Wait a moment,’ she said. ‘I’ve got something else for you.’ She fetched her bag and began rummaging inside. ‘It must be here somewhere,’ she said as she gradually emptied and repacked the contents. Rath cast his eye over the file that lay open on the desk, at the top of which was a medical form attesting that Detective Inspector Frank Brenner had sustained a number of serious injuries. The doctor had diagnosed a fractured ulna, in addition to a concussion of the brain, two missing teeth and a broken nose.
‘There it is!’ Franziska Voss closed her bag noisily. Rath made a mental note of the doctor’s name and address, somewhere out in Reinickendorf, and gave her a friendly smile. She pressed something into his hand.
‘Lipstick?’ he said. ‘What am I supposed to do with that?’
Even the office dragon looked sourly up from her typewriter.
Franziska Voss laughed. ‘Not for you! For Erika.’
Rath took his leave. It was the first time he’d brought lipstick back to the office for his secretary. ‘There were a couple of calls for you just now,’ she said. ‘A man and a woman.’
‘What did they want?’
‘They didn’t say. They’ll call back. I said you’d be here in a few minutes.’
Rath sat down at his desk, lit a cigarette and immersed himself in his thoughts. Who could it be? More well-wishers?
His trip to Personnel had been worth it. As he had suspected, Brenner had really gone to town. The doctor must owe Frank Brenner a favour. He skimmed his report for Dr Weiss once more. He could make a fair copy now he no longer needed to be careful what he said; soon it would be Brenner who had some explaining to do. He typed it himself as communications with superiors were none of Erika Voss’s concern. He proceeded as carefully as possible, checking each key twice before striking down, and finished after about half an hour. It read pretty well, without a single typing error.
Putting the duplicates to one side, he folded the sheets and sealed them in an envelope. He lit another cigarette, and sent Erika Voss upstairs with the letter. No sooner had she left than the telephone rang.
‘Congratulations, Inspector,’ a female voice said. Rath almost choked on cigarette smoke.
‘Forgive me for not singing,’ the voice said, ‘but that was never one of my strong points.’
He still didn’t know how to respond. Fortunately, she carried on speaking. ‘Had a look in your desk yet? A little hint: bottom drawer.’
Rath wedged the receiver against his shoulder and looked inside at a delightfully wrapped package, flat and square-shaped with a bow on top.
‘Speechless?’
He had to clear his throat before he could say anything. ‘I really wasn’t expecting that. You were in my office?’
‘At lunchtime when you were out. Have you opened it?’
‘One minute.’ He loosened the bow to reveal a record. An American import, cut only half a year before.
‘I don’t believe it. How did you get hold of it?’
‘There are lots of things you can get hold of in Berlin.’
‘I didn’t realise you knew my taste in music so well.’
‘I know a lot about you. We used to listen to music together from time to time. Or had you forgotten?’
Or course not. He hadn’t forgotten anything, not a single thing. No matter how hard he tried.
‘We haven’t seen each other for ages,’ he said, realising in the same instant how uninspired that was. And that it was a lie.
‘We just about managed it Sonnabend in the Resi.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘It was you who sent Brenner to the floor, wasn’t it?’
‘Word’s got around to you too?’
‘I just saw Brenner lying there and heard later that you were the one who did it. Could it be that you were wearing a captain’s uniform? Then I might even have seen you.’
‘Guilty on all counts, your Honour. Even in the matter of the captain’s uniform.’
‘I didn’t think you were the sort who got into fights at Fasching parties.’
‘Neither did I, but I’d have given Brenner a good clout at a Christmas party or a funeral too if necessary.’
Suddenly her voice sounded more serious than before. ‘Why in God’s name did you do it? Did he insult you? Offend your male pride or some rubbish like that?’
I’d rather die than tell you the truth, Charly.
‘I can’t explain,’ he said. ‘Just that the arsehole was positively begging for it.’
‘There are few people more deserving of a punch in the face than Frank Brenner,’ she said, ‘but you can’t just go around beating up your colleagues.’
‘That’s what Gennat and Weiss said too.’
‘It’s gone to the Vipoprä already?’
‘Zörgiebel might have been more understanding, but he’s away on holiday.’
‘You need to keep your anger under control, Gereon.’
‘There’s just too much of it.’ It was supposed to be a joke but the words betrayed his state of mind.
‘How are you?’ he asked quickly, to distract from himself, and as he uttered the harmless cliché he realised just how much she still affected him. He was anything but indifferent to how she was.
Charly began telling him about herself, and there was a lot to tell: her exams, long hours spent in the library, the envy and lack of understanding on the part of her male colleagues. ‘I’m afraid the legal faculty is overrun with reactionary idiots,’ she said. ‘And these are the same fools who will be representing our constitutional state in future. Goodnight, Germany! I’d like to know how many of my classmates are Nazis.’
‘It’s fashionable to be a Nazi,’ Rath said. ‘But so what? – fashions come and go.’
‘Only that politics is a little more important than a new pattern on the catwalk.’ She paused. ‘I’d like to see you again, Gereon,’ she said at last. It sounded almost affectionate, but perhaps he was just hearing what he wanted to hear. There was a little puppy dog inside him that came running, tail wagging, at the sound of her voice, at even the slightest kindness she showed; a little puppy dog ready to fulfil her every desire, and abase itself completely. He hated this little puppy dog and shooed it away by recalling their final fight, which had been fierce. She had been ready to belt him one, b
ut instead she had simply beaten her little fist on the table and walked out. That was a long time ago, a few weeks before Christmas. He hadn’t seen her since, until the Fasching ball at the Resi.
He tried a casual laugh but only partially succeeded. ‘Only if you can guarantee it won’t end up in a fight.’
‘You know what, Gereon? Fighting with you is still my favourite pastime.’
He was barely responsive after hanging up, hardly noticing that Erika Voss had returned or taking in what she said. She closed the door and left him in peace. He couldn’t think straight; his mind kept returning to Charly. He had been ready for anything, but not for her getting back in touch. Now they even had a date. The telephone interrupted his thoughts. ‘Rath, CID.’
‘Likewise.’ Only one man answered the telephone like that. ‘Congratulations, my boy,’ said Engelbert Rath. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing.’
‘Only slightly.’
‘I just wanted to offer my congratulations, on behalf of your mother too. You know how she doesn’t like speaking on the telephone.’
‘Thank you.’
‘How are things in Berlin? Karl tells me the Communists are making trouble again?’
Karl. Police Director Engelbert Rath spent more time telephoning Berlin Police Commissioner Karl Zörgiebel, whom he knew from Cologne days, than he did his own son.
‘Dörrzwiebel’s back from Mainz?’ Gereon said. ‘There’s been absolutely no sign of him here at the Castle.’
‘Stop using that unspeakable nickname.’
The commissioner was known as ‘Dörrzwiebel’ on account of his dessicated onion-like complexion.
‘As far as I know the Communists have simply called on workers to strike, and Zörgiebel’s forbidden it again. He doesn’t seem to have learned anything from last year.’
The police had upheld Zörgiebel’s May demonstration ban at the cost of more than thirty fatalities.
‘Karl knows what he’s doing, you have to act quickly against the Communists.’
‘It isn’t our job.’
‘Let’s put politics to one side,’ Engelbert Rath said. ‘I don’t want to fight with you. How are things going otherwise? Made any progress?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Any leads? Have you taken a look at the factory?’
‘I’ve had too much on my plate, and there’s not much I can do without a list of names.’
‘That should have arrived long ago, together with our card.’
‘I’ll take a look in the mailbox.’
Engelbert Rath cleared his throat. ‘Gereon, I’m not sure you’re taking this assignment seriously enough. If you want to make chief inspector you have to work for it. Something like that doesn’t get handed to you on a plate.’
‘You should know.’
‘And so should you! This isn’t just about a promotion. The mayor is trusting us to help him out of a tricky situation. If you betray that trust, you’ll be dragging the good name of Rath through the mud.’
‘But your name above all.’
‘Start taking this more seriously and see that it’s done.’
‘Aye aye, Sir!’
Rath hung up. His father was right, but he didn’t have to admit it just yet. He reached for his hat and coat and said goodbye to Erika Voss. There was nothing more he could do in the office anyway.
29
Westhafen was more or less on the way to Reinickendorf, meaning Rath could kill two birds with one stone. A metal sign on the brick façade announced that the Ford Motor Company manufactured their automobiles in a warehouse on the quayside. He parked the Buick out front by the admin building since he didn’t want to roll up in a rival product.
Large, wooden crates were being loaded by crane and stacked next to the shop, at the other end of which dozens of spotless Ford A models were lined up, all of them painted red-black. Bruno, his first boss here in Berlin, had driven one just like it. A few men were hanging around outside the shop, turning eagerly as an iron door opened and a man in grey workers’ overalls appeared on the loading platform.
‘We could use two auto locksmiths for the next shift!’ he shouted.
Four men peeled away from the group and stood next to Rath, who was already on the platform steps.
The foreman made his choice. Paying no attention to a man in a suit waving his engineering diploma, he instead gestured towards a powerfully built worker in a boiler suit and a small, nimble-looking man in a thin jacket. ‘You,’ he said. ‘And you.’
The pair climbed the steps, while the other two returned to the group of unemployed. Rath followed them up the stairs.
‘I’m sorry,’ the foreman said, ‘but we only need two.’
The two workers eyed Rath suspiciously. He flashed his badge. ‘CID,’ he said. ‘I need to have a look around your plant.’
‘What’s this about?’ the foreman asked, but before Rath could answer he shouted at the two unemployed men. ‘Are you here to work or stare? Go inside and report to Section D. You’ll be briefed there.’
The smaller man opened his mouth but his partner pulled him through the door before he could speak. Probably for the best, if they didn’t want to lose the work, Rath thought.
‘So,’ the foreman said, ‘what’s this all about?’
‘I can’t tell you anything about the background to the investigation, but I can assure you that I will respect any trade secrets. You can tell me as much as you would any journalist.’
‘It’s only management that speaks with journalists.’
‘I’m certain that you can help me, Herr…’
‘Bahlke, shift supervisor.’
‘Then, Herr Bahlke, let me have a quick look around. Explain to me roughly how everything works, and I’ll be on my way. Five minutes.’
Bahlke yielded. ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘But there isn’t much to see.’
There was a hellish din in the shop. ‘It’s best if we go up here,’ Bahlke shouted over the noise, and pointed towards a steel staircase. The stairs led up to a room with an overview of the shop. ‘The shift supervisor’s office,’ Bahlke said. ‘You get a view of everything from up here. You need it too.’
Rath gazed beneath him. A caravan of half-finished vehicles moved at a snail’s pace through the shop and workers were everywhere assembling parts. At each station the frame of the car grew: steering, seats, wheels, and finally the engine and body, which arrived from above, floating down into the chassis to make the finished product, a Ford Model A.
‘Sixty cars a day,’ Bahlke said proudly. ‘Individual parts come from overseas and we assemble them here, using the American conveyor belt system.’ He pointed to a station along the line where a red-haired man was showing the two new recruits how to fit the engines. The bodies were already approaching from above. ‘You see the site of the marriage? Section D is where the body is fitted to the chassis, just after the engine has been installed.’
The red-haired man looked up at precisely the moment Bahlke pointed at him. Even from here Rath could see the worker grow wide-eyed and set to work with renewed vigour. Standing up here was like being in a display case on the Ku’damm. Every worker could see them through the great glass window, and they all realised they were being watched. It kept the workers on the go, along with the relentless march of the conveyor belt.
‘Impressive,’ Rath said. ‘What happens if someone needs the toilet?’
‘Then he works his way forward. For longer breaks, he organises a stand-in, which is deducted from his wage. You only get paid for the work you do.’
‘Do you always recruit your workers like that?’
Bahlke shook his head. ‘Most of them applied the usual way, but there are more and more awaiting their chance outside. We pay well, and the more work you do, the more you make. No one pays as well as Ford. No sign of the financial crisis here. I’m telling you: in five years’ time the Berlin Ford plant will be as big as Siemens!’
This man has no idea what’s coming, R
ath thought. The blackmailer was not only well informed about the state of Adenauer’s finances; he also had exclusive knowledge of Ford’s move to the Rhine. Knowledge is power. Rath couldn’t help thinking of his father’s motto. It sounded like an instruction manual for blackmailers. ‘Who’s to say you’re not picking up criminals when you take men straight from the streets without papers?’
‘I see how they work first. If I’m satisfied, they take their papers to Personnel. Why do you ask? You’re not looking for criminals here, are you, just because the prison’s around the corner?’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not looking for anyone who’s escaped from Plötzensee. I’m interested in any possible link between your workers and Deutsche Bank. Who might have a connection?’
‘There are almost three hundred people working here. How am I supposed to know that? Your best bet would be the people in the wages office, not the workers here.’
Rath nodded. ‘Can you tell me how to get there?’
‘You see that door?’ Bahlke pointed across the hall to a steel door behind the engine assembly. ‘Go through there to Admin, and ask for Personnel. Oh, what the hell? I’ll take you myself.’
The red-haired assembly man seemed to think the shift supervisor was pointing at him again. Rath could see him getting more and more nervous, as if he thought he was about to get the sack. They descended the stairs until, suddenly, a loud horn sounded, drowning out the factory din.
‘What’s that?’ Rath shouted in the shift supervisor’s ear. ‘Fire alarm?’
‘No. It means someone hasn’t completed their work on time and is causing a hold-up.’
‘Leaving their workplace without getting a stand-in.’
Bahlke shrugged. ‘Or just dawdling.’ The horn sounded a second time and the assembly line ground to a halt. ‘Shit!’ He dashed off.
Rath tried to keep up. Stopping at the first station he reached, Bahlke snapped at a worker tightening padded seats. ‘What’s going on? Which idiot turned off the conveyor belt?’
The worker shrugged his shoulders. ‘I think there are problems on the marriage line.’
The Silent Death Page 22