‘But no ulterior motives.’
Rath made a deadly serious face and raised his hand as if giving an oath.
‘Seriously,’ she said. ‘I need to leave early tomorrow, and I’m exhausted.’
‘Me too.’
He stood up and took her in his arms, bit her softly in the nape of the neck, and worked his way along her slender throat.
‘Don’t,’ she said, sighing softly. He took her chin in his hands and looked at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly open. Rath closed his eyes too and, just as his lips brushed hers, Kirie started barking. They had to lock her out again, but Kirie gave only a brief protest bark before falling silent.
Rath let Charly use the bathroom first, and drank another glass of wine to the gentle sounds of Louis Armstrong’s Black and Blue. In the middle of the piece, he nodded off, waking with a start when he heard Charly shout, ‘Bathroom’s free!’
He took a final drink, turned the record player off and went into the bathroom. She was already asleep when he returned to the bedroom. The way she lay…her profile on the pillow, the outline of her body as it gently rose and fell under the sheets. His intentions were thoroughly dishonourable when he crawled into bed beside her, but he was much too tired. Inhaling the scent of her warm body, he understood just how much it aroused him before falling instantly asleep.
43
Monday 10th March 1930
The face of a dead woman gazed out at him, larger than life. Rath instinctively applied the brakes and Kirie slid from the passenger seat. A taxi beeped and overtook. Liebesgewitter, it said under the face, behind which a huge flash of lightning split the sky in two. The great Betty Winter’s final film. In cinemas soon.
The billboard was impossible to miss. It spanned the whole width of a scaffold on Moritzplatz. Rath pulled over to look at the gigantic advertisement in all its glory. Had Bellmann gone completely mad, or simply been very shrewd and unscrupulous? The Winter team had been far too fixated on Krempin and completely ignored the producer. Why hadn’t Gräf listened to him? It had been clear from the start that Bellmann was making capital from his star’s death.
On the way to Alex he passed two more giant billboards, from which Betty Winter gazed longingly into the morning.
He was raring to go, a feeling that the spring-like weather only served to intensify. He hadn’t slept so well in a long time. Unfortunately, Charly was no longer in bed when he awoke. It was the sound of her closing the front door that roused him. Her scent lingered on the pillows. He saw that she had fed the dog, brewed coffee and left a note, which he stuck in his jacket.
I did warn you, sleepyhead: I have to leave early.
Hope we see each other soon. C.
Even the note smelled of her, which was why he had taken it with him. Climbing the stairs in the Castle he greeted everyone with a smile, but no doubt it was due to Kirie, who was pulling on her lead, that he met such friendly faces in return.
Erika Voss already knew who they had found yesterday. ‘You poor thing,’ she said, bending over towards Kirie. ‘Now you don’t have a mistress!’
‘Is it only dogs we’re saying hello to these days?’ Rath asked.
‘Forgive me, Inspector, but…the poor animal! Who’s going to look after her now?’
‘We are,’ Rath said. ‘That is, for the moment you are. Can you fetch a bowl of water, and perhaps you could take her for a little walk? She needs exercise.’
‘Of course, Inspector. Poor Kirie. You don’t even realise you’re an orphan.’
Kirie was in high spirits and glad of the water, and Rath knew she was in good hands with his secretary. He closed the door to look through the call logs from Saturday afternoon. There wasn’t much. The last person to have seen Jeanette Fastré alive was her caretaker. She seemed to have lived quite a secluded life, unusual for an actress. At least the call logs clarified the mystery of her name: she was called Vanhaelen, but had taken her mother’s maiden name for the stage.
Before he went to briefing, Rath made a detour to the passport office, and quickly found what he was looking for. Gertie’s name was Gertrud. Gertrud Hagedorn. There were no other Gertie Hagedorns, at least no other women by that name. The address was close to Stettiner Bahnhof as well: Bernauer Strasse 110. It had to be Anton Schmieder’s girlfriend. Rath made a note of the address.
When he entered the small conference room, Gennat was already sitting on the podium studying various files. ‘Morning, Superintendent,’ he said.
Gennat responded with a grunt, and continued reading. Rath looked for a free seat as more and more homicide detectives poured into the room. Finally Böhm arrived and, right behind him, arm still in a sling, Frank Brenner.
Just you wait, Rath thought, I haven’t finished with you.
Brenner cast him a hostile glance as he sat down. Lange was the last to appear, taking his seat next to Rath. The voices in the room died only as Böhm approached the lectern.
‘Dear colleagues,’ he began, ‘before we make a start, allow me to welcome back Superintendent Gennat. He will be taking charge of Homicide again as of today.’
That was the best news Böhm had announced for a long time. Gennat stood up, and the officers drummed respectfully on the table tops and chairs.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ Buddha said. ‘It’s good to be back.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve already seen some of you in Weissensee, yesterday evening. It’s quite something to be greeted by a corpse, but we’ll come to that later. I’ll familiarise myself with all ongoing homicide investigations as quickly as possible. In the meantime, DCI Böhm, please continue as if I weren’t here.’
‘It’s not so easy, Sir.’
Buddha, who really was hard to ignore, took as little offence at the friendly laughter Böhm’s words provoked as at the words themselves. He listened as the DCI provided a summary of the preceding weeks, from the Winter and Franck cases to Krempin’s spectacular death. In the process it became clear that Böhm was treating Krempin’s fall as suicide as much for its public effect as anything else. The press were more restrained when it came to suicide, as long as they didn’t know who had died. So, Böhm also considered foul play to be a possibility. Interesting. Next he showed them the work of the sketch artist: a grim-looking face.
‘This man was seen at the Funkturm,’ he explained. ‘He was one of the first to appear by the corpse, along with a journalist…’ Böhm looked inside his notebook. ‘…Berthold Weinert. The curious thing is that a number of people saw him go up the Funkturm afterwards. Curious, but perhaps there’s a simple explanation. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to identify the man. This Weinert didn’t know him either.’
‘He looks like Inspector Rath,’ someone said, and everyone laughed. A few people turned to face Rath, who joined in with the laughter.
‘I don’t think it’s so funny!’ Lange said, in a loud, firm voice. ‘I need to say something here. I find it more sad than funny that every portrait drawn by this sketch artist resembles one of our colleagues. We engaged the man to draw the wanted poster for the stranger in Wilmersdorf, in the Franck case, and the result was a picture that my mother could have hung in her parlour, so closely did it resemble me. These sketches are of limited use. We should leave the man to work as a court sketch artist, rather than consulting him again. The alternative would be to arrest myself and Herr Rath as prime suspects in the two homicide cases.’
‘Hmm,’ Gennat said, ‘perhaps you are right, but that’s down to the artist and not the method. In principle, I believe that a wanted sketch will meet with more response than a personal description, but in this case the debate is futile. If we want to keep the matter discreet we cannot issue a description, whether sketched or written. Carry on, Böhm.’
‘Since Herr Lange already has the floor,’ Böhm said, ‘perhaps he can report on what he and Herr Rath learned about Jeanette Fastré when she was still a missing person case.’
Lange knew what was expected of him and let Rath
take the initiative. Briefly listing what they had found in the flat, including the dog, he reported on the meagre results of Saturday afternoon’s telephone calls. ‘She had few friends in the city, if any,’ he concluded. ‘The last person to have seen her alive appears to have been her caretaker, who isn’t too concerned about what’s going on around him. That was on Tuesday evening. Yesterday we found her dead in Kosmos, a disused cinema in Weissensee, as part of a search action that I…’
Böhm interrupted. ‘That’s not relevant, Herr Rath. Thank you for your contribution.’ Rath sat down.
‘Now we come to the corpse,’ Böhm continued. ‘Everything seems to point to the same perpetrator as with Vivian Franck. That, or the first murder has inspired a copycat, thanks to the press. Again we find ourselves with an actress, evidence of an injection, and a corpse in a disused cinema. It also seems likely that Fastré has had her vocal cords removed.’
Since Böhm wasn’t saying anything new, at least not for those who had been in Weissensee yesterday, Lange fetched an apple from his briefcase, polished it on his sleeve and bit into it so loudly that Böhm interrupted his report. ‘Bon appétit,’ he said, and everyone laughed. Lange went red.
Rath looked at the apple, and some memory was aroused, some image that refused to let him alone, until suddenly he knew what had been on his mind this whole time. The fruit bowl in Jeanette Fastré’s flat that had been plundered by a hungry dog. Apples, oranges and a nondescript fruit with furry brown skin, which only revealed its bright green flesh and little black seeds when cut open. The one thing Kirie hadn’t bitten into. ‘Yangtao!’ he cried out.
‘Pardon me?’ Böhm said. ‘Was that a sneeze, Herr Rath? Or was there something you wanted to say?’
A few colleagues laughed. Böhm was in a humorous mood.
‘I just realised something,’ said Rath. ‘A possible link that I still don’t quite understand.’
‘Are you going to share it with us?’
‘It could be a coincidence…’ Rath cleared his throat. ‘So,’ he said. ‘It concerns yangtao, the Chinese gooseberry, an exotic fruit. I ate it myself for the first time a few days ago in a Chinese restaurant, when we were asking after Vivian Franck. Just in front of where she got out of the taxi – probably her final taxi ride.’
‘And?’
‘The staff didn’t recognise her photograph, but they did recognise Betty Winter.’
‘It’s not unusual for actresses to visit exotic restaurants.’
‘I think there were a few yangtao in the fruit bowl at Jeanette Fastré’s flat. Perhaps Kronberg’s people should check it out.’
‘I don’t have to tell you, I hope, that the Winter case doesn’t have the slightest bit in common with the other two cases.’
‘Betty Winter was an actress.’
‘That was enough for the press to establish a correlation, but not us.’
‘But now there is a second correlation,’ Rath said. ‘The fact that Fastré’s fruit bowl contained the same exotic fruit found in Betty Winter’s stomach. On top of that, Winter frequented a Chinese restaurant located at the same intersection where Vivian Franck was picked up by her probable killer.’
‘So, we should start looking for a triple murderer amongst Berlin’s Chinese population? Or what are you trying to say?’
Böhm got a laugh or two, but Gennat cut him short. ‘Leave it, Böhm. Herr Rath is not wrong: that is indeed highly unusual. We may not know, yet, what we can conclude from it, but we should keep the information at the back of our minds and, at the very least, verify where these yangatang-things…’
‘Yangtao,’ Rath said.
‘…where they can be obtained in Berlin. If you could take care of that, Inspector Rath?’
Rath could think of more exciting assignments, but nodded all the same. Gennat having taken his side and put an end to Böhm’s mockery was compensation enough.
They were spared Kronberg’s report today. The head of ED had already visited the Fastré flat with his people and had only given Böhm a preliminary summary, which the DCI himself had read out. The ED team still hadn’t analysed a number of clues. It was certain, however, that there was no evidence of a break-in, just as with the Luxor. If they could narrow down the list of key owners and see whether there was any overlap between the two cinemas, it would be a step in the right direction. Otherwise, the man who had planted the corpses must be a champion burglar capable of cracking complex security locks, which seemed unlikely.
They had found numerous fingerprints, but hadn’t even begun analysing them. They were still right at the start, and faced with a giant riddle.
‘We might have another lead in the Franck case,’ Böhm said. ‘The stranger who picked her up on Hohenzollerndamm – Oppenberg, her producer, knew about it because he hired a private detective when Franck was still a missing person case. Inspector Rath, have you spoken to the detective in the meantime?’
Shit!
‘Not yet, I’m afraid. I just haven’t got around to it, especially since we are now investigating another fatality and…’
‘…you have failed to do your job again…’
‘It’s all right, Böhm.’ Gennat had interrupted Böhm for a second time. ‘Herr Rath can still look into it. For the time being, there are more important things. Let’s use our imaginations instead.’ He looked round the room. No one was laughing anymore. ‘We’re not dealing with an ordinary killer here. So, think about what kind of person it could be.’ It was so still you could hear the clock on the wall ticking. ‘Why,’ Gennat continued, ‘does someone plant the bodies of actresses in old cinemas after making them up as if for a film shoot – and removing their vocal cords?’ Again, Gennat looked round the room. ‘Does anyone have any suggestions? If so, please feel free to share them, no matter how strange. They might just help us track the perpetrator down.’
‘A pervert!’ Brenner cried without raising his hand. ‘He fucked the women…I mean engaged in sexual intercourse with them, then killed them. And, to prevent them screaming: wham! Away with their vocal cords.’ He gestured towards his throat. A few colleagues nodded their agreement.
‘We still don’t have any indication that a sexual crime has been committed,’ Böhm objected. ‘We don’t even know if he actually kills them, or, at least, how he does it. Nor is it clear if the second corpse’s vocal cords are missing yet.’
‘Then he used a French letter,’ Brenner grumbled.
‘We shouldn’t rule anything out so long as we lack the relevant exclusion criteria,’ Gennat said, and Böhm, who was about to make another objection, closed his mouth before saying anything.
Lange raised his hand. ‘Perhaps it’s an act of revenge, or sabotage. Film types waging war on one another, with the help of the underworld.’
Gennat made a few notes.
‘The whole thing is staged,’ Rath said, inwardly thanking Charly for the tip. ‘Someone’s trying to tell us something – us, or more likely, the public.’
‘Tell us what?’ Gennat asked.
Rath shrugged his shoulders. ‘That’s precisely what we have to find out. If we know that, it could lead us to the perpetrator.’
‘If that is so, then perhaps we should wilfully misunderstand him,’ Lange suggested. ‘How about we inform the press that a dangerous sex offender is on the loose, someone who has it in for attractive film actresses?’
Gennat shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re probably right, Herr Lange. We might provoke him that way, but we wouldn’t have any control over the consequences. We would most likely trigger another killing, and no one here can answer for that.’
‘We need to get him to make mistakes.’
‘Not mistakes other people pay for with their lives.’
Lange nodded and sat down. There were no further requests to speak.
‘Gentlemen, I thank you for your contributions,’ Gennat said. ‘With that, we have reached the end of our meeting. Your tasks for today will be allocated subsequ
ently in Homicide, and we will meet again tomorrow. We will continue to adhere to Herr Böhm’s practice of regular morning briefings, at least for the time being. It has proved to be worthwhile. Good work, Böhm.’
‘Thank you, Superintendent,’ Böhm said, and turned again to face the room. ‘That’s it for now. Any questions?’
That was how the DCI always ended the meetings, yet until now no one had taken his invitation seriously and he didn’t realise at first that Rath had stood up.
‘If I might say something else…’
‘Inspector Rath?’
‘Even if the Franck and Fastré cases have priority, I would nevertheless like to draw your attention back to the Winter case. In my opinion, it has not been solved with the death of Felix Krempin.’ Rath cleared his throat before continuing. ‘I noticed something this morning. Heinrich Bellmann has launched a huge advertising campaign for his new film, in which he is exploiting the death of his lead actress.’
‘That might be tasteless, but it isn’t against the law,’ said Böhm, who was already packing his things.
‘It’s a motive,’ Rath said. ‘The whole time he’s been giving us this sob story, while simultaneously harnessing the media to make headlines out of Betty Winter and her final film. He’s been doing it since the day she died. Now, to cap it, there’s this publicity campaign fronted by a dead woman.’
He had aroused Gennat’s interest again. ‘You mean to say that Betty Winter is of more use to this Bellmann dead than alive?’
Rath shrugged his shoulders. ‘What I want to know is where all that money comes from. This morning alone I saw three giant billboards. Who can say how many more there are in the city? It must cost a fortune. Usually Bellmann promotes his little films with notices in the daily press, so how do you explain that for this one he’s making more of a ballyhoo than Ufa?’
‘Some greedy vulture senses the chance of a lifetime and stakes everything on it,’ Böhm said. ‘That isn’t a crime either.’
‘True, but it is unusual,’ Gennat said. ‘Clearly we should be sounding him out a lot more thoroughly than we have done already. Than you have done already, Inspector Rath, Chief Inspector Böhm!’
The Silent Death Page 35