The Silent Death

by volker Kutscher

  The secretary reached for the receiver, and Rath went into the back room. The dog followed him to his desk, sat down on its hind legs and watched its new friend curiously.

  ‘Well now, sonny,’ Rath said. ‘If you think I’m going to play with you or take you walkies, then I must disappoint. There’s an expert coming to do all that.’

  The dog stuck its tongue out in response and started panting. It looked as if it was smiling. Rath reached for the telephone.

  ‘Berolina Film Production. How can I help?’ a woman’s voice said.

  ‘Rath, CID. You can fetch your boss to the telephone.’

  ‘I can put you through.’

  ‘Or that.’

  ‘It’s lucky you caught him. Herr Grunwald is very busy.’

  There was a clicking noise, and shortly thereafter a man who sounded like he didn’t have much time. ‘You reported the actress Jean Fastré as missing this morning?’ Rath said.

  ‘That’s right,’ Grunwald said. ‘Have you found something?’

  ‘Only that she hasn’t been in her flat for days, and that she wasn’t intending on being away so long.’

  ‘Has something happened to her?’

  ‘Difficult to say. We’re currently checking the hospitals.’

  The dog seemed bored. It saw the waste-paper basket, sniffed, and made to put one of its paws on it.

  ‘Off!’ Rath cried, and the dog gave a start.

  ‘Pardon me?’ Grunwald said.

  ‘Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you,’ Rath said. ‘I’ve got a dog here. We found it in the flat. Did Frau Fastré have a dog?’

  ‘Yes, a Bouvier called Kirie.’

  ‘Strange name.’

  ‘French. Stands for: la petite qui rit, the little girl who laughs. It was sent over from Belgium. We had to forbid her from bringing the damn thing to the shoot as it spent the whole time yapping. You can’t have that with a talkie. Once upon a time we might have turned a blind eye.’ He gave a brief laugh. ‘There are few noisier things on earth than making a silent film.’

  ‘So, what? She just left the dog at home when she had to go to a shoot?’

  ‘No idea. All I know is she came to the shoot, and the dog didn’t.’

  ‘But leaving the dog alone for a few days would be unusual?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know a lot about my actresses. We have a professional relationship, not a private one. What I do know is that she didn’t appear at the premiere of her new film yesterday, and that’s not like her at all.’

  ‘When did you last see Frau Fastré?’

  ‘A week ago, perhaps.’

  ‘And it was certain that she would come to the premiere?’

  ‘Of course! That’s what the viewers expect, and Jeanette always enjoyed such occasions. She never missed them, which is why we’re so concerned.’ He paused and his voice grew softer. ‘She’s crazy about driving. What if…she was out in the country somewhere…an accident…?’

  ‘Didn’t you try her house yesterday evening?’

  ‘Your colleagues have already asked me that. Of course, I did! We telephoned her flat, then the concierge and, when he said he hadn’t seen her for a few days, we began to wonder and reported it to the police.’

  ‘Leave it!’

  The dog had stood both its front paws on the filing shelves, the lower base of which was tilting forward alarmingly, along with the lever arch files.

  ‘I hope you’re talking to the dog again, Inspector.’

  ‘Can you give me the names of a few people who know Frau Fastré a little better? Those who are closest to her here in Berlin?’

  ‘Difficult. Like I say, I don’t know a lot about her. She spent time with her family in Belgium whenever she could. She’s from Malmedy.’

  ‘Could she be there now?’

  ‘We’ve called, but I’ve told your colleagues all this before.’

  Rath thanked him and hung up. He hadn’t learned a lot, but at least he now knew what the dog was called. There was a knock, and a gaunt officer with a boozer’s nose came in.

  ‘Word is you’ve gone to the dogs, Inspector.’

  ‘Looks that way.’

  ‘Then I’ll take the beastie off you, shall I? We still have room at the pound.’

  The officer took a step towards Kirie, who was sniffing the rubber plant that stood next to the window in the corner.

  ‘Come to Daddy,’ the man said, bending down. She eyed him suspiciously and, when he stepped forward, started growling and retreated into the corner. ‘What’s his name then?’

  ‘Kirie. And he’s a she.’

  The officer tried his luck again. ‘Come along now, Kirie, chérie, come along!’

  Kirie was immune to the charms of the Prussian police, however. Her growling grew more threatening, then she gave a few short, firm barks.

  ‘If you’re not willing, then I’ll use force,’ the officer said, making a determined lunge. Kirie effected a sidestep, the lunge came to nothing and the officer wound up on the floor.

  ‘Treat her with care, she’s a pedigree and certainly not cheap. She belongs to a film actress.’

  ‘A pedigree?’ The officer picked himself up from the floor. ‘I’ve never seen a dog like it.’

  ‘She’s a Bouvier. From Belgium, like her mistress.’

  ‘She’s acting like she’s still mad at the Prussians for The Great War.’

  ‘We can trick her,’ Rath said. ‘She likes me.’

  He reached for the lead on the desk and leaned towards the floor. ‘Come along, Kirie,’ he said, and the dog came running to nudge its wet nose against him, wanting to play. He attached the lead. ‘So,’ he said to the officer, handing him the leather pull strap. ‘All yours.’

  ‘Much obliged. Shall we, then?’

  The dog realised what was happening. No sooner had the lead changed hands than she began to bark and strain against the harness.

  ‘Boy, she’s a strong one,’ said the officer, who was having great difficulty hauling her to the door. Erika Voss came in.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ she asked. ‘The poor thing, what on earth are you doing?’

  ‘I know her kind,’ the officer said, his boozer’s nose now glistening. ‘She’ll calm down once we get her to the pound.’

  ‘You brute! Say something, Inspector.’

  ‘But Fräulein Voss! The man is only doing his job.’

  ‘His job? It’s cruelty to animals, that’s what it is.’

  ‘I don’t have to stand here and take this!’ said the officer.

  ‘You heard me, cruelty to animals!’

  ‘Fräulein Voss!’

  ‘Now listen to me, young lady! I’m doing you a favour here. If you don’t want me to – then be my guest. I’ve better ways to spend my time!’ With that, he passed the lead to a startled Erika Voss and moved towards the door. ‘Good day!’

  He almost collided with Andreas Lange on the way out. ‘Who was that?’ the assistant detective asked.

  ‘A colleague from the canine unit, whom Fräulein Voss has just succeeded in scaring off,’ Rath said.

  The secretary looked a little sheepish. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but you saw how the man was treating him, poor thing.’

  ‘He’s a she, and her name is Kirie.’

  ‘A lady dog! That’s how she knew not to go with a wretch like that.’

  ‘So what are we going to do with her now?’ Rath asked.

  ‘Simple,’ the secretary said. ‘One of us takes her home.’

  ‘I’m not taking her,’ Lange said. ‘Impossible! I’ve got…’

  ‘…two cats in your flat. I know,’ Rath said. ‘Perhaps you can help us out then, Fräulein Voss. After all, you’re the one who got us into this.’

  ‘I’d love to, but pets aren’t allowed where I live.’

  Rath looked at his two colleagues as they stood with lowered eyes, and at the shaggy black dog training its innocent, shining gaze on him. When Kirie tilted her head to one side and seeme
d to smile, his resistance was broken.

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll take her. But only until her mistress turns up.’ A smile flitted across the face of Erika Voss. ‘I’ll be charging the food costs to the Free State of Prussia. And you, Fräulein Voss, will see to it that Prussia pays.’

  ‘With pleasure, Inspector.’

  Erika Voss disappeared back to the outer office, leaving the two CID men alone. Lange sat down at Gräf’s desk. ‘It’s dog eat dog in here,’ he said.

  ‘You’re at least the twenty-seventh person to make a joke about dogs today.’

  ‘I just hope you won’t be bringing her to the office.’

  ‘Right now it’s the weekend. Hopefully Kirie’s mistress will have turned up again by Monday.’

  ‘You don’t really think that, do you?’

  Rath fell silent. ‘No,’ he said finally and shook his head. ‘Not from the way it looked in the flat.’

  ‘That’s what I said to Böhm. He was extremely annoyed that you weren’t there, by the way.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘That you were hard at work, of course.’

  ‘Doing what, exactly?’

  ‘Combing the area around Fastré’s flat, trying to ascertain who saw her last. The usual.’

  ‘And that’s precisely what we’re going to do now. I’ve already spoken to the producer. It wasn’t very fruitful, but we do have a list of names, drawn up by Missing Persons this morning. People who were close to her in the city, and some who had more intimate dealings. We’ll canvass them systematically: when and where did you last see Frau Fastré? The usual questions.’

  ‘I’m afraid something has happened to her.’

  ‘So am I, Lange, but that won’t spare us the grunt work. Does Böhm think there’s a link to the Franck case?’

  ‘No.’ Lange shook his head. ‘At least, he’s hoping there isn’t. If the press get any more fuel for their serial killer theory he’s afraid there’ll be hysteria in Berlin, worse than Düsseldorf even.’

  ‘If people want to get hysterical, then that’s what they’ll do. Not even Gennat was able to prevent it.’

  ‘DCI Böhm impressed upon me that we should proceed as discreetly as possible. On no account should anything be leaked.’

  ‘Easier said than done. That doesn’t just depend on us – Böhm should know that by now. What does he think of our suggestion to search all disused cinemas in the city?’

  ‘Not much. Too costly, and above all too hasty, he says, no need to throw the cat amongst the pigeons. We shouldn’t be looking for possible links to the Franck case. On the contrary, we should be trying to locate evidence which shows there are entirely logical explanations for Fastré’s disappearance.’

  Rath gave an angry shake of the head. ‘Lange, my man, I’m afraid I didn’t hear a word of that. Before we set to work on our list, I’ll telephone the search unit and ask them to find out which cinemas are no longer in use. That way, local stations can carry out the checks. That shouldn’t be too costly, should it? And if the press don’t hear of it, there won’t be any pigeons to throw the cat amongst.’

  ‘Böhm will kill us.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. If anyone’s for the chop, it’ll be me.’

  37

  She is exhausted. It’s no use anymore. He has to end it.

  How many days has she been here now? He doesn’t know.

  What time is it? Morning again? Afternoon? Evening? What does it matter?

  Time no longer exists; it has been banished from this room where daylight does not enter, this room which does not depend on the course of the sun.

  How beautiful she is. He gives her a final jab, and she looks at him with an expression of profound gratitude. She has not only grown used to it, she positively longs for it. Soon she will be summoning her final reserves.

  Since he has taken her false voice, a certain intimacy has grown between them. She has overcome the shock quicker than the first, whom he could only film on one occasion before setting free.

  She has submitted completely to her fate and entrusted herself to his care, as if she knows he will grant her immortality. Even though he hasn’t spoken to her since. Not a single word. He doesn’t want to sully these silent, angel-like beings with the sound of his own imperfect voice.

  He places the glass in front of her, as he has each time in the preceding hours, closes the door and takes his position behind the camera. She knows that he is watching her through the screen. She probably knows he is filming her too, even if the whirr of the camera can’t reach her. The room is soundproof.

  She gazes into the black screen as if she knows he is standing behind the thick glass and yet she sees only herself, in all her perfect beauty.

  He gets some wonderful scenes again, even if the exhaustion is now writ large on her face. She gazes directly into the lens, as if she knows where to look.

  One of those images he will never forget, for which he needs no camera because it is forever burned into his memory, her eyes, her gaze…

  Her gaze that day at the Christmas table… The way Mother places her cutlery to one side and dabs her mouth with the serviette before speaking. He ought to have known it then, the moment she asks her question, her voice warm and solicitous, her eyes ever so cold.

  Richard, are you not well?

  Don’t worry, darling, a little dizzy spell. You’ve only just given me a jab; I’ll be fine in a moment.

  Perhaps you should go and lie down, says the warm voice beneath the cold eyes.

  Certainly not…

  Should I give you another jab?

  Father waves her away, but soon it becomes worse. There is sweat on his forehead, he starts to speak incoherently. Before dessert, Albert and Mother carry him to the sofa in the library where it is quiet and dark. They have to support him, so weak is he suddenly, this powerful, old man with the biblical beard.

  When they look in on him quarter of an hour later, he is no longer moving. Dr Schlüter is called, but the senior medical officer can only pronounce the death of his old friend. Richard Marquard, head of a vast financial empire, is dead, deceased on Christmas Eve 1925, before the exchange of gifts.

  At the time he attached no significance to the glance Dr Schlüter cast his mother. He took if for sympathy, for compassion, and not for love.

  He believes Mother’s tears. Because he still doesn’t know she has gone mad.

  When he checks his insulin ampoules a few days later, he is surprised there are so few; he had thought he could get by for longer. But he thinks nothing of it. Dr Schlüter will get him more.

  After the death of his father, the senior medical officer comes by more and more often to comfort them. Mother is grateful, but soon it becomes too much for her; all too often the doctor disrupts the togetherness of mother and son.

  Her tears soon dry.

  She is happy when she is alone with her son. And he is glad he can console her about the death of her husband.

  Then Dr Schlüter dies too. Only a few months after Father, on the same sofa.

  This time the results are clear: death from hypoglycaemia. For some years, the senior medical officer had been suffering from mild, age-related diabetes, which he treated with small doses of insulin to continue eating and drinking normally. It is inexplicable that the experienced physician should have administered himself the incorrect dose.

  Once again there are insulin ampoules missing from the cupboard, and the memory of Christmas Eve returns with a vengeance. He is standing next to his dead father again, and this time sees clearly how Dr Schlüter takes the syringe and smells the hypodermic needle. Sees the brief moment of shock, of horror in the doctor’s eyes as his gaze flits to that of Mother.

  He knew! The doctor knew!

  And yet he covered for her.

  Why?

  Now he is lying there himself, dying a miserable death from too much insulin. And there are only two people who know the truth.

  Mother and s
on.

  And now? What is he to do with her? With a murderer in the house? He cannot give her up to the police; she is the only person he has left.

  Why did you do it? he asks after Dr Schlüter’s funeral, when they are back alone in the house.

  Because you are my son and I love you.

  She smiles blissfully as she says it. At last she has her son to herself.

  Father had it coming for a long time, she says. Have you forgotten how he tormented you?

  And Dr Schlüter?

  What do they want from me, all these men? It’s you alone that I love! Come to me, my boy! No one will torment you anymore.

  You are mad. He doesn’t say anything else. Just these three words.

  She smiles blissfully. My darling boy.

  And when he locks her up, when she is locked up by her own son, she laughs her laugh for the first time, that unbearable squealing laugh which drowns the whole house in madness, and sits at the window and stares at the lake for hours on end.

  Her gaze fixes on the screen. She seizes the glass, drinks from it ever more greedily, but it’s no good, not this time. She throws it against the wall when she realises it contains only water.

  No juice, nothing sweet, not this time.

  Her gaze. The recognition. The understanding. So much expression in that gaze. At that moment he feels a love for her such as he has never felt before.

  It is the best film he has ever made.

  38

  No sooner had the car door clicked shut than the dog was making a fuss. Kirie reared on her hind legs, pressed her front paws against the passenger door and barked at the window, which steamed up immediately. Nor did the barking stop when Rath opened the door, only now the dog was also wagging its tail, and jumping up and down agitatedly on the leather upholstery. He could barely grab hold of her collar to put her back on the lead.

  ‘Looks like you’re coming with me,’ he said. ‘So behave yourself! We don’t want you peeing on a stranger’s carpet.’

  As it turned out they didn’t get that far. Before passing through to the rear building, Rath rang the caretaker’s door. It wouldn’t hurt to get a little information about the tenant before their visit. A woman in a stained apron opened the door and looked at them suspiciously, first at the dog and then at Rath. Her face was clearly divided into horizontal and vertical lines: the nose a narrow strip, beneath it thin lips pressed together.