‘It had to be Vivian Franck,’ said Strelow, shaking his head. ‘That was a real shock.’
‘Do you know the woman?’ Böhm asked. Which suggested that he didn’t.
‘Not personally. But I saw her in Verrucht!’
‘A film actress?’ Böhm mumbled. ‘That fits.’
‘I was going to open the Luxor with her new sound film,’ Strelow said.
‘Vom Blitz getroffen?’ The words slipped out before Rath had a chance to think.
Strelow nodded, but Böhm looked at him disapprovingly. ‘You’re well informed,’ he said. ‘No doubt you spend too much time in the cinema. Do you know the film?’
‘It doesn’t exist yet,’ Rath said. ‘They were about to film it.’
‘Her most expensive production to date,’ Strelow added. ‘Her first full-length talkie. Eagerly anticipated by the whole industry.’
‘Well, nothing will come of it now,’ Böhm said.
‘Do you still need me?’ Dr Schwartz asked in his calm, sonorous voice as he pocketed his notebook. ‘If you want to question the witnesses, perhaps I could apply myself to the remains.’
‘It’s yours, as soon as Henning has everything in the can,’ Böhm said.
No sooner had the doctor taken his leave than Böhm turned the space into an interrogation room, questioning the broker and cinema owner separately. Rath he told to stand aside, but it was unclear whether his purpose was to act as a doorman or a heavy, or something else entirely. Böhm assigned Christel Temme the remaining place at the little table.
The two men didn’t have much to say, apart from the fact that they had found the body. There were no contradictions in their statements. The broker explained that the Luxor had been out of commission since the start of the year because its former owner had taken it to the brink of ruin. Now, thanks to a progressively minded cinema enthusiast – he pointed to the door behind which Strelow was waiting – they were using an opportune moment to convert it into an ultramodern sound film cinema. As for who might have brought the body here, Riedel had no idea. There were no signs of a break-in. Böhm had then asked the broker for a list of everyone who had a key to the Luxor.
While Böhm questioned the two men, Rath immersed himself in his thoughts. The intersection where Vivian Franck had been picked up by a stranger almost four weeks ago was only a few streets away. Had she gone willingly to that ominous stranger waiting by the roadside?
‘Inspector!’ Böhm’s voice startled him. For the first time since that morning, when he had fetched him to his team with a brusque ‘Rath, you’re coming too!’ the DCI had addressed him.
‘Inspector, please check whether the woman has any relatives in the city who might be able to identify her.’
‘Now?’
‘When do you think? We’re investigating a murder.’
‘But I’d need to go back to the station…’
Böhm was unmoved. ‘And when you’ve finished that, you can deliver news of her death. Take Lange from the Winter team if you like. He’s the right man for a job like that.’
‘How am I supposed to get to Alex without a car?’
‘Do I look like your chauffeur?’
For the first time in a long while Rath was obliged to take the underground. He was annoyed: Why had Böhm brought him along, only to make him hang around for three-quarters of an hour and then send him back to the Castle? The journey from Fehrbelliner Platz to Alex took about half an hour, but at least he didn’t have to change. It was his old route, past Nürnberger Platz, and he couldn’t help thinking back to his first few weeks in Berlin, and a journey he had made with Charly. He gazed past his reflection into the darkness and tried to order his thoughts, carried as they were by the rattle and judder of the train.
Vivian Franck was dead.
His private assignment had become an official case.
It would be better if Böhm didn’t learn of his connection to Oppenberg. Somehow he had to sell the groundwork he had carried out privately as freshly acquired and, if possible, collect a few rewards for his endeavour. He had to speak to Oppenberg and the taxi driver as quickly as possible and weave them into the official investigation, but hadn’t managed to get hold of either from the underground station. Oppenberg was back in Babelsberg, while Ziehlke was out and about with his taxi. At least he had been able to keep Erika Voss busy with a few tasks.
By the time he arrived in his office, she had already discovered that Vivian Franck had no relatives in Berlin. Rath was growing to appreciate his secretary more and more. True, she didn’t display a lot of initiative, but any tasks he assigned her, she carried out with care and attention. The documents from the passport office revealed that the dead actress came from Breslau. Erika Voss had already called the local station and was waiting for further information on the Franck family.
The way things looked, the person Vivian Franck was closest to in Berlin was also the person Rath intended to see next: Manfred Oppenberg.
Before setting out on the long journey towards Babelsberg, he tried the taxi office again, but there was still no sign of Ziehlke. No sooner had he hung up than Erika Voss popped her head in. ‘Assistant Detective Lange is here for you.’
The new man from Hannover was standing behind the secretary. ‘Inspector Rath,’ he said, ‘DCI Böhm said I should place myself at your disposal.’
Böhm wasn’t leaving anything to chance. Rath liked the new man, but even if he didn’t know it himself, Lange was being used as a spy. Still, what were police hierarchies for?
‘Perfect timing, Lange,’ Rath said. ‘You can hold the fort here. I need someone to establish contact with our colleagues in Breslau, where Vivian Franck’s family lives. Fräulein Voss is waiting for them to call back but isn’t authorised to issue our colleagues with instructions.’ He gestured towards Gräf’s abandoned desk. ‘Please take a seat in the meantime – I have an appointment. And if you would like a coffee. Fräulein Voss…’
The secretary smiled. ‘Make yourself at home, Herr Lange,’ she said.
Rath took the AVUS to Babelsberg, as he didn’t have a moment to lose. Wannsee ten kilometres proclaimed big letters by the tollhouse. The fun only cost a mark. He flogged the Buick mercilessly over the arrow-straight track, but it was already almost twelve when he reached the group of studios at Neubabelsberg. This time he didn’t park on Stahnsdorfer Strasse but drove the car directly onto the site. The porter opened the gate when he saw the police badge. The oriental city in which Rath had lost his bearings scarcely a week ago had been stripped down to a shell, and he could already make out the great hall from the gatekeeper’s lodge. He drove the car up as far as the door. Security let him in straightaway.
The set looked similar to that of Liebesgewitter: a drawing room, perhaps a little more elegantly and tastefully furnished than Bellmann’s. On the parquet Rudolf Czerny was rehearsing with a woman who bore a vague resemblance to Vivian Franck. Bellmann had done a better job when he replaced Betty Winter with Eva Kröger, Rath thought. Since he couldn’t find Oppenberg anywhere, he waited dutifully until Czerny had finished rehearsing. The actor recognised him and came over.
‘Herr Rath,’ he said, shaking his hand. ‘What brings you here? Have you found a lead on Vivian?’
‘That depends,’ Rath said. ‘I’d like to discuss it with Herr Oppenberg.’
‘I’m afraid you’re too late. Our producer has just left us for a few hours.’
‘I hope he hasn’t gone to his office; they’re the ones who sent me here!’
‘No, he’s been invited to a lunch, can’t be too far away, I think. But wait…’ Czerny looked around enquiringly. ‘Silvia,’ he called. ‘Can you come here for a moment?’
A lively brunette with a clipboard under her arm hurried over. She was mid-twenties at most, with a severely knotted hairstyle that failed to disguise a pretty face.
‘Silvia, can you tell Herr Rath here where the boss is this afternoon?’
She looked Rath up and down b
efore answering. ‘The invitation is from an important business partner.’
‘Which business partner, and what restaurant will I find them in?’
Again she hesitated a little before answering. ‘Not a restaurant,’ she said. ‘Herr Marquard likes to entertain his guests at home. He has a kitchen to rival the best in Berlin.’
‘Marquard, the cinema owner?’
She seemed surprised that he knew the name. ‘He runs his cinemas purely as a hobby. Well, that’s not quite true – he also owns a film lab and a big distribution firm. One of the largest of the independents. Important if you want to stand up to the all-powerful Ufa.’
‘Like Montana?’
‘And many other smaller firms. Marquard is fighting on our side against Ufa.’
‘And against talkies.’
‘He’s not interested in money. For him, it’s about the art. He isn’t the only one who views sound film as an attack on cinematics. He believes that smaller firms should focus on silent film, especially as Ufa is throwing everything it has behind talkies.’
‘But Herr Oppenberg sees things differently.’
‘Exactly. Everyone here at Montana sees it differently. Talkies might cost a vast amount of money – hiring the recording equipment from Tobis is expensive enough alone! But Oppenberg says if we don’t keep up we might as well pack it in, and I fear he’s right.’
Rath nodded. ‘And that’s why he’s meeting Herr Marquard today?’
‘He hopes, above all, to persuade him to open up his distribution company to talkies. We had to distribute Verrucht through another company, and even though the film did well enough, it was by no means a financial success. That has to change with our second talkie. My personal view is that at some point Herr Marquard will have to acknowledge that sound film has just as much artistic potential as silent. Only he mustn’t take too long over it. We need him to help us fight Ufa.’
Rath nodded. ‘Even so, I’m going to have to interrupt this important meeting.’
She appeared almost scandalised. ‘A meal in a private residence! I don’t think you can just go barging in. Herr Oppenberg…’
‘Leave Herr Oppenberg to me. He’ll want to see me, trust me.’
‘If you say so.’ Silvia fished out the address of a villa on the Wannsee.
Rath needed less than quarter of an hour. He parked the Buick on a quiet street lined with trees. Behind the trees was a huge building with countless nooks and crannies, oriels and turrets, crowned by an immense keep; a huge castle villa – built according to the Middle Ages model, if not always stylistically accurate. Rath hadn’t seen anything like it outside of the Middle Rhine. In this English-style park, however, the crenellated structure appeared more like a haunted castle that had been magically transported from Sussex to the sand of the Brandenburg March.
The name Marquard was all that stood on the highly polished brass plate. Rath pushed the bell. While he waited, he couldn’t help thinking of the eloquent opponent of sound film whom he had met in Pschorr Haus. So, this was how the cinema owner and film distributor Marquard lived.
He’s not interested in money. True, Rath thought, anyone who lived like this didn’t have to be interested in money, they simply had it. The heavy oak door opened and a white-haired servant surveyed the uninvited guest.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked in a scratchy voice that sounded as if it was rarely used. Must be at least eighty, Rath thought.
‘I’d like to speak to Herr Oppenberg,’ he said politely. ‘I was told…’
‘I’m afraid I cannot disturb the gentlemen while they are dining.’
Rath showed the old man his card. ‘Tell Herr Oppenberg it’s about Vivian Franck, and please ask Herr Marquard to excuse the interruption.’
The servant raised an eyebrow over Rath’s identification before turning silently away.
He returned five minutes later. ‘If you could wait in the vestibule,’ he said, stepping invitingly to the side. ‘Herr Oppenberg will be with you presently.’
Rath entered a hall that was as high as a house and seemed as if it had been built for the latest Nibelung film. At any moment he expected to see Kriemhild, princess of Burgundy, descending the stairs.
Great double-leaf doors led from the hall into another part of the massive building. Only a small, dark oak door seemed out of place and, being more like the entrance to a castle dungeon, probably led down to the cellar. Rath realised he had taken off his hat, a reflex that must have been triggered by the sacred atmosphere of the room and its immense ribbed vault. There he stood, the grey felt hat in humbly clasped hands, examining the knight’s armour and the huge oil paintings on the walls that glorified the darkest episodes from the Middle Ages. He heard steps on the stairs and turned around.
It wasn’t Kriemhild but Manfred Oppenberg, his face filled with fearful anticipation. Things couldn’t bode well if Rath had driven specially out to Wannsee to interrupt a business lunch.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you now of all times, Herr Oppenberg.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Oppenberg said. He gestured towards the front door. ‘Let’s go to the park. I think I need some fresh air.’
As they stood outside on the half landing, Oppenberg nervously patted his jacket pockets. ‘You don’t happen to have any cigarettes on you?’ he asked. ‘Mine are on the table upstairs…’
Rath took out his new case and Oppenberg helped himself. ‘Thank you,’ he said, as Rath struck a match. The cigarette in his hand was shaking slightly. Oppenberg inhaled deeply. ‘I’ll need it.’
‘Me too,’ Rath said, lighting an Overstolz. Gradually they made their away along the gravel path, down to the lake. Rath waited a moment before speaking.
‘I’m very sorry, Herr Oppenberg,’ he began at last, and watched Manfred Oppenberg stiffen in his elegant suit, ‘but we’ve found Vivian Franck.’ Oppenberg didn’t say anything, nor did he take another drag on his cigarette. Slowly the colour drained from his face. ‘Homicide are now conducting an official investigation. I wanted to come myself to tell you in person… I’m truly sorry.’
Oppenberg pointed to a bench on the side of the path.
‘I need to sit down,’ he said. ‘Even if I’ve been expecting to receive news like this since our last conversation.’ They sat and Oppenberg gazed silently towards the silver grey shimmer behind the trees. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Rath described where and how they had found Vivian Franck’s corpse.
Oppenberg listened in composed silence for a moment and then spoke so quietly that his words were scarcely audible. ‘Find the man who did this, Herr Rath. Find him and I will reward you handsomely!’
‘Catching killers is what I do,’ Rath said. ‘And it’s the Free State of Prussia that pays me, not you.’
‘Nevertheless – a little reward couldn’t hurt.’
Rath shrugged. ‘In a case like this – I don’t know. This is no ordinary crime, no ordinary murder. Perhaps it was just an accident: a drugs accident, and her companion disposed of the body. Anything’s possible.’
Oppenberg shook his head indignantly. ‘No, not an accident! Did you investigate my suspicion that Bellmann had hired someone from the underworld…?’
‘My contact is asking around,’ Rath lied. ‘Do you really think Bellmann is capable of something like that? Of ordering a murder?’
‘That scoundrel’s capable of anything. Any crime.’
‘He feels the same about you.’
‘Of course, slander is one of his specialities. I had nothing to do with Betty Winter’s death. How many times must I tell you?’ Oppenberg stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Two film producers killing each other’s actresses? Doesn’t that sound ridiculous?’
‘You’re the one who set me on that track. We’ll see how ridiculous it is. Have you any enemies apart from Bellmann? Did Vivian Franck? Enemies capable of something like this?’
Oppenberg considered for a moment. ‘For all her popularity, I’m certain she didn�
��t just have friends. That’s how things are in this profession. The public only sees the adulation, it sees nothing of the jealousy.’ He gazed briefly at the lake before continuing. ‘But enemies who would do something like this? Not in the industry, at any rate. Perhaps you should take a look at the local SA’s membership list, those thugs. Maybe you’ll find the killer there.’
‘You’re saying the Nazis would kill an actress because she works for a Jew?’
‘She didn’t just work for a Jew. Vivian is…was a Jew herself. Not a particularly devout one, but those idiots don’t care whether we visit the synagogue or not. For them it’s about our race. As if we were dogs or horses, not people.’
‘You think the Nazis would do something like that? At a time when they’d sooner present themselves as victims?’
‘I don’t know what to think,’ Oppenberg said, ‘except the Nazis are no victims!’
Rath tossed his cigarette into the nearest shrub and stood up. ‘Herr Oppenberg,’ he said. ‘There’s something unpleasant I still have to ask of you. I need you to identify Vivian’s corpse.’ Oppenberg nodded. ‘I don’t want to take up any more of your time. You’re in the middle of an important meeting…’
The producer stood up as if in slow motion. ‘It all seems so ridiculous now,’ he said. ‘What am I fighting for now that Vivian is dead? Talkies were her future. Marquard liked Vivian, worshipped her, even. She was my best argument to give up his outmoded resistance and finally invest in sound. And now?’
‘But you’re still shooting. I was in the studio just now.’
‘Yes, we’re shooting,’ Oppenberg sighed, ‘but the new actress is a catastrophe! At least, if you keep picturing how Vivian would have played the scene.’
The castle towers of the Marquard villa loomed threateningly over the bleak, wintry park. Behind one of the tower windows, Rath noticed a white figure watching them. At first he thought it was the old servant, but it must have been someone else – unless he had exchanged his black suit for something lighter.
Slowly they made their way back to the house.
The Silent Death Page 24