The Silent Death

by volker Kutscher

  ‘Kirie,’ Rath replied. ‘Her name is Kirie. A lady dog. I’m looking after her temporarily. Until her mistress is back.’

  ‘Her mistress?’

  ‘A missing actress, but let’s not talk about work. It’s Sunday.’

  At last Charly turned and sat down. She meant to give Rath just a quick hello kiss, but he held her to prolong it, only to be interrupted by Kirie’s barking. ‘Cut it out,’ he scolded.

  Charly couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I see you’ve brought a chaperone.’

  ‘She probably thinks we’ve got something to eat.’

  ‘Well, I hope there will be something to eat today.’

  ‘Of course, and the lady can choose the location. Where to?’

  ‘Which one? Kirie’s a lady too.’

  ‘The two-legged one, if it was up to four-legs here, we’d spend the day digging up bones and chasing cats.’

  ‘How does a long walk by the Wannsee sound? Then Kirie gets something out of it too. We could go across to the Pfaueninsel and have a little something to eat in Nikolskoe.’

  ‘Good choice. We’ll treat ourselves to a trip on the AVUS in honour of the occasion.’

  They weren’t the only ones with that idea. Though they made good progress through Moabit, it was chaos on Charlottenburger Chaussee. The thermometer showed twelve degrees and the first decent Sunday of the year was drawing half of Berlin to the country. The year before, March had tormented citizens with minus temperatures.

  ‘I didn’t know that so many people had cars,’ Charly said.

  As they passed Vivian Franck’s apartment on Kaiserdamm, Rath couldn’t help but think of the dead actress. What devil had done that to her, and how would he feel if something like that happened to Charly? He shook off the thought.

  ‘Are you cold?’ she asked.

  They made a left before Reichskanzlerplatz. Behind the exhibition grounds the road joined the AVUS, and Rath was looking forward to driving the car at full speed when, before they reached the toll gate, Charly asked: ‘Why don’t we go up the Funkturm?’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘Up the Funkturm.’

  Rath pulled over. ‘Because of the dead man I told you about?’

  ‘Of course not! What do you take me for?’

  ‘A detective through and through, even if you’re studying law and employed by the Castle as a stenographer.’

  ‘Perhaps I wouldn’t have thought of it if you hadn’t told me about Krempin. Do you really think I want to secure evidence and question witnesses up there?’ She sounded outraged. ‘It’s such a nice day, and I’ve never been before. Come on! Just a cup of coffee, a little look and then onwards. Lady’s choice, you said so yourself.’

  ‘Fine,’ he sighed and turned the car. ‘A cup of coffee. We can’t leave the dog any longer than that, she doesn’t like it, and I’m pretty sure we won’t be allowed to take her up.’

  Though, as expected, Kirie made a fuss when she was left in the car, Charly managed to coax her into acquiescence. The crowd by the Funkturm was considerably greater than two days before. They were made to queue at the ticket office and again outside the lift. As they joined the back of the queue, Rath noticed how the man in the booth picked up the telephone as soon as he had sold them their tickets, ignoring the two Americans behind them, even though the pair were making their presence felt – the woman more so than the man. He felt ill at ease, imagining himself watched by the cashier as he telephoned. When he realised that Rath was looking back, he quickly turned away, making the Yanks see red once and for all.

  ‘There must be free beer up there,’ Charly said. ‘The queue just keeps getting longer.’

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s making those American tourists impatient.’

  They entered the lift and, luckily, he didn’t recognise the lift attendant. It was tight in the car, smelling of too many different people, and he was glad when they disembarked.

  A man in a slightly rumpled dark suit took Rath by the sleeve. ‘May I see your ticket please?’

  Before he could say anything the man grabbed his ticket. ‘It is you!’ he said.

  Rath didn’t know what he was after, but it couldn’t have been anything bad since the next thing he heard was: ‘Congratulations!’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘May I congratulate you on behalf of the Berlin Exhibition, Trade Fair and Tourist Office. You are the millionth visitor to the Funkturm!’

  Charly burst out laughing, and Rath gave a sour grin. ‘Just a cup of coffee,’ he hissed.

  ‘Perhaps there’ll be a glass of champagne in it,’ she whispered back, and smiled. Meanwhile a photographer had taken up position in front of them. That was all he needed!

  ‘A photo for the papers, please,’ the man in the suit said.

  ‘Do we have to?’

  Instead of answering, the man in the suit shook his hand and turned with a grin towards the photographer. Then came the flash. Luckily it wasn’t a crime correspondent. Rath didn’t recognise the young man who now produced pen and paper. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen.

  ‘Might I ask for your name?’ he said. ‘Do you come from Berlin or are you a tourist? Have you been to the Funkturm before? How do you like Berlin?’

  ‘Have you interviewed people before? Or do you always ask all your questions at once?’ Rath replied. The boy went red.

  ‘Your name first, please,’ he said. ‘For B.Z. and other important…’

  ‘I’m not saying another word to those ink-slingers from B.Z . . . Not even good day.’

  ‘Gereon,’ Charly said. ‘The poor man isn’t asking you to divulge police secrets.’

  ‘So you’re a police officer?’ the boy asked. Rath cast Charly an angry glance.

  ‘Like many thousands of Berliners, I’d like to have a peaceful weekend,’ he said. ‘If you would be so discreet as to avoid naming any names. The lady accompanying me is a famous film actress and doesn’t wish to be identified.’

  ‘An actress!’ The young man took his camera and flashed.

  Rath pulled Charly away, leaving the young journalist gazing after them in confusion. Soon he would be trawling the editorial archives for the film star he had just photographed.

  The man in the suit took their coats and led them to a handsomely decorated table with a prime view of Charlottenburg, only two tables along from where Rath had sat two days before. He couldn’t help thinking about Krempin’s distorted features, about the unreal sight of his face through the panorama window. At least Charly didn’t mention the subject again.

  ‘We have taken the liberty of serving you and your companion a welcoming drink,’ said the man in the suit, ‘on the house, of course.’

  There really was champagne. Own-brand, but not quite as sticky as the bottle threatened, and well chilled. They clinked glasses, although not exactly in a spirit of romantic togetherness. Two waiters stood at their table as well as the man in the suit.

  ‘As a special surprise we’d like to present you with this small gift,’ he said, pressing a dark blue wrapped package into his hands.

  Rath placed it next to the chair and toasted Charly again. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll come back when we can enjoy the view in peace.’

  Charly nodded and drained her glass in one gulp. She could barely wipe the amused grin off her face, even as she drank.

  Rath likewise emptied his glass, took the package and stood up. He shook the man’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for a truly unforgettable experience!’

  He pulled Charly over to the lift. No sooner had the door closed than she snorted with laughter. He looked at her briefly, and could no longer keep a straight face either. Unlike Charly, however, he managed to recover halfway down. The rest of the passengers looked on in irritation.

  ‘Ground floor,’ the lift attendant said, unperturbed, and opened the door.

  ‘I’d never have thought a visit to the Funkturm could be so worthwhile,’ Rath said
, weighing the blue package in his hand. Charly still had tears of laughter in her eyes. They linked arms and together made for the exit.

  ‘Gereon?’ said a slightly hung-over voice from the queue in front of the ticket office.

  Rath turned around. ‘Paul? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Small world. I was giving myself a tour of the imperial capital, seeing as you don’t have the time. Is this the countryside you were so desperate to get to?’

  ‘Minor detour,’ said Rath. ‘There’s no escaping you, is there?’

  ‘I’d have avoided anything with even the slightest tinge of green today, so as not to see you, but how was I to know you meant the Funkturm? I didn’t realise you were so colour-blind.’

  ‘Well, what brings you here then?’

  ‘A tip from reception. First the Brandenburger Tor and Unter den Linden, then up the Funkturm and a little wander on the Ku’damm. That’s what they recommend to unsuspecting foreigners.’ He peered curiously at Charly. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce your companion?’

  Rath cleared his throat. ‘Of course. Charlotte Ritter, Paul Wittkamp, an old friend from Cologne.’

  Paul stretched out a hand to Charly. ‘Less of the old, thanks. You’re showing Berlin to our friend from the Rhine Province?’

  ‘Someone has to,’ said Charly.

  ‘What a charming companion. No such luck for me, I’m afraid. I have to explore Berlin on my own.’

  ‘My heart bleeds,’ Rath said.

  ‘Why don’t you come with us, then you won’t have to spend Sunday alone?’

  Rath looked at Charly. Apparently, she was serious.

  ‘Paul wants to go up the Funkturm, where we’ve just been.’

  ‘Perhaps he’d like to change his plans and come with us instead.’

  ‘Before speculation runs wild, perhaps I should say something myself,’ Paul interrupted. ‘That’s a very kind offer, but one I must decline. I’ve already spoiled Gereon’s Saturday evening. He deserves a rest from me today.’

  ‘You won’t be spoiling anything,’ said Charly. ‘If you fancy a little trip to the lake, then come with us. You can see the Funkturm and the Ku’damm another time. Besides…you wouldn’t believe how much I’d like to meet one of Gereon’s friends.’

  It didn’t take much to break Paul’s resistance. ‘What can I say? I’ve no response to an argument like that.’ He gave a particularly impudent grin and together they made their way to the parking lot and the car, where Kirie fell over herself with excitement. Rath let her out.

  She almost tore the blue wrapping paper to pieces. Rath placed the package in the glove compartment, causing the wig to fall into his hands. He had almost forgotten about it. He stuffed it back in with the package, hoping no one had seen.

  ‘Aren’t you going to unwrap it?’ Charly asked.

  ‘Later,’ Rath said, and went round to the back of the car to open out the foldaway seat. It didn’t look especially comfortable, and Paul, who had been allowed use of the passenger seat the evening before, didn’t seem too crazy about it. Even if he claimed otherwise. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘As long as I don’t have to take the dog on my lap.’

  Charly thought differently. ‘We can’t go on the AVUS like that, there’ll be too much of a slipstream. Let’s take the train,’ she decided. ‘Witzleben is only round the corner. It’ll be just as quick.’

  Three-quarters of an hour later they emerged at Bahnhof Wannsee. ‘We can take the bus to Nikolskoe,’ Charly said, ‘or go by foot. It’s four or five kilometres though.’

  ‘We did want to go for a walk,’ Rath said. ‘The dog could use the exercise.’

  ‘Can I take Kirie?’ Charly asked.

  They made their way through the colony of villas, gazing in astonishment. ‘Look at these houses,’ Paul said, ‘each one more palatial than the last.’

  ‘These aren’t houses. They’re estates.’

  ‘If only I were rich,’ Paul said. ‘I’d live on an estate like that, not in some raised ground-floor flat in the Agnes quarter.’

  ‘I think even if I had money, I’d still live in Moabit,’ Charly said.

  Rath said nothing. On the opposite shore he could make out the towers and battlements of the Marquard villa. Even on a sunny day like this there was something forbidding about it. He’d sooner stay on Luisenufer than move in there. Or he could live with Charly in Moabit.

  At some point the line of villas came to an end and they reached the forest. After a time the path led them back to the shore, where they enjoyed fine views of the lake on which the first sailors were testing their rusty boats.

  ‘That’s the Pfaueninsel over there,’ Charly said. ‘Queen Luise’s favourite island.’

  ‘You’re well informed…’

  ‘My father used to bring me walking here,’ she said. ‘He loves it. You can take the ferry across back there, but I think if we keep going a little longer we’ll be in Nikolskoe.’

  They continued along the lake with the Pfaueninsel always in view until, suddenly, in the middle of the forest, a church appeared on their left. Soon they were outside a Russian log cabin, which stood in solitary splendour on a little hill above the lake.

  ‘Nikolskoe,’ Charly said.

  ‘I’d never have thought we were quite so far east,’ Paul said.

  Inside the log cabin was a restaurant. The terrace viewed the lake, and the landlord had optimistically placed the first tables and parasols outside. They had difficulty finding a seat until a waiter led them purposefully to a wobbly little table.

  ‘Do they speak German here?’ Paul asked.

  ‘You can dig out your Russian if you want to,’ Rath said.

  ‘The first landlord was actually a Russian,’ Charly said. ‘Ivan Bockov, the King’s coachman. When the cabin was finished, in 1820, he became the custodian. In those first few years it was mostly the King who came for tea but, little by little, the cabin became a popular destination. Bockov provided his guests with hearty food and entertainment, even music for dancing. He was a pretty decent piano player. The King forbade it when he found out, but Bockov continued in secret. Nikolskoe was simply too popular. That’s how it all started. It’s not exactly your average tourist café.’

  The waiter who appeared shortly afterwards at their table didn’t give a particularly Russian impression. He seemed more like a sullen Berliner. ‘Solyanka’s finished,’ he said, when Rath tried to order something to match their surroundings. He recommended the Wiener Schnitzel and, given the lack of alternatives, that’s what all three chose.

  ‘Is it still illegal to serve food here?’ Paul whispered. ‘The waiter looks like he just got out of jail.’

  ‘Welcome to Berlin,’ Rath said.

  ‘Careful,’ said Charly. ‘You’re here with a Berliner!’

  ‘The exception proves the rule.’

  The waiter came with their drinks and a bowl of water for the dog. He was fond of animals at any rate. Paul chose the wine, and it was very good.

  ‘So, you’re a travelling wine salesman?’ Charly asked.

  ‘I have a wine store which we’re hoping to expand, to bring a more high-quality Rhine wine to the capital.’ Paul raised his glass. ‘Now that we’re armed at last, don’t you think it’s time we dispensed with the formalities? If not, I’ll get confused and start calling Gereon “Herr Rath”, which is something I’ve never done. So, I’m Paul.’

  ‘Charlotte.’

  They clinked glasses, and Paul gave Charly a kiss on each cheek.

  ‘Can I join in?’ asked Rath. ‘Even if we already call each other by our first names.’

  ‘Why? You haven’t said I should address you formally.’

  Rath felt himself growing jealous, as if Paul had stolen Charly’s laughter from him. They had once clashed over a woman, and it had nearly destroyed their friendship. Since then they had sworn not to let anything like that happen again. Friendship had to take precedence over any love affair.

  But Charly w
asn’t just any love affair. He heard his name and realised that Paul and Charly were talking about him. ‘How did you two meet?’ she asked.

  ‘In school. I was new to the class, my parents had moved from Neuwied. I didn’t know anyone and the first thing Gereon did was throw a wet sponge at my head when the teacher wasn’t looking.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘The only free seat was next to me, and I didn’t want the new boy to sit there,’ Rath said. ‘But the others also wanted him to get the sponge. They passed it back from the front row until it reached me. The thing was soaking wet. I think we’d actually been planning for the teacher to sit on it, old Bremser, but then the new boy came in.’

  ‘And?’

  Rath shrugged his shoulders. ‘Paul didn’t react at all. His face was dripping with chalk-soaked water, but he took his seat calm as you like. The one next to me.’

  ‘Then we had a little chat in second recess, quite an intense one actually. And we’ve been friends ever since.’

  ‘Me with my swollen lip and you with your black eye, or was it the other way around?’

  ‘No idea,’ Paul said. ‘We were both marked for a long time at any rate. Something like that creates a bond.’

  ‘Really!’ Charly laughed. ‘I just hope you don’t have to beat each other up every half-year to renew your friendship.’

  ‘We don’t see each other that often.’

  ‘What made you throw a sponge at the new boy?’

  ‘Gereon has always been a little headstrong,’ Paul said. ‘Has he told you about the time he stirred things up at Sunday mass in St Bruno’s? In Holy Cologne at that!’

  This wasn’t a harmless anecdote anymore. This was a test. Paul wanted to know how serious it was between him and Charly. Very serious, my friend, very serious. You’ll see!

  ‘What happened?’ Charly asked.

  ‘Not much really.’ Rath lit a cigarette before telling the story. ‘My brother and I filled the incense globes with hashish.’

  ‘Hashish?’

  ‘From the police inventory. They confiscated it from some poor artist, and Father brought it home and showed it to us at table. To warn us or something like that.’