‘And the shoot?’
‘Most of your colleagues will also be at Alex. Dressler has almost certainly altered the schedule.’
Meisner sighed and continued wiping greasepaint from his face.
‘Just one more thing,’ Rath said when he was standing in the door. ‘Your hairpiece – is it a spare or did you have to get a new one?’
He didn’t wait for a response but followed Kirie, who was already pulling on the lead, and closed the door behind him.
On the drive home, he made a detour via Oranienstrasse and picked up supper for himself and Kirie from the local Aschinger. This time he played it safe and bought half a dozen Buletten and a little potato salad. At least Kirie wouldn’t be competing for that.
Tonight, their evening walk only took them as far as Oranienplatz. He fetched their supper from the car and took the matted hairpiece along with the little blue package out of the glove compartment. The present from the Funkturm. Charly and her crazy idea!
Charly!
The thought of her cut him to the quick.
The grinning man at her door.
Shit.
‘You dogs have it good,’ he said, holding the Aschinger bag safely away from Kirie. ‘All you think about is eating.’
Kirie looked at him and smiled expectantly.
‘Come on then,’ he said, and the dog trotted ahead across the yard, turning again and again to look at the bag of food. Once inside the flat he gave her a few Buletten, as well as a little food in her bowl. He fetched her some fresh water and opened a beer for himself.
While the dog ate, he looked at the toupee. It was matted and soiled, but perhaps still of some use. If only to snap that arrogant Meisner out of his complacent self-assurance.
The only problem: in theory he wasn’t allowed to be in possession of the hairpiece.
Then again perhaps he wasn’t; perhaps someone else had found it, someone who the police already knew had been at the Funkturm that day.
He took his beer and the Aschinger bag into the living room, made himself comfortable at the table with the tele-phone and, having given the operator the number, took a bite from his Bulette. At that moment Elisabeth Behnke came on the line, his former landlady, who had thrown him out because of Charly.
‘Merthold Meinert, bleathe,’ Rath said.
‘He’s eating,’ Behnke said, ‘as, clearly, are you!’ If there was one thing she couldn’t abide it was bad manners.
‘Jushth a momemt,’ Rath munched down the line. There was a click and he heard her shouting: ‘Herr Weinert, it’s one of your vulgar colleagues.’ It took a moment before someone lifted the receiver again.
‘My dear Binding,’ he heard Weinert curse. ‘Surely the matter isn’t so urgent that you need to interrupt my dinner.’
‘Very urgent,’ Rath said. ‘The Reich Chancellor has pissed on the government bench in the Reichstag, and we need an exclusive.’
‘Gereon, is that you?’
‘Careful with my first name! Behnke might smell a rat, and you’re the one who’ll have to put up with her bad mood.’
‘Thanks for the warning. Where were you on Sonnabend, damn it? Not in that Dreieck anyway. Or at home either.’
‘Something came up, sorry, I tried to ring you,’ Rath lied.
‘And I’ve been trying to ring you for three days!’
‘Best not to mention your name when you call Alex. The journalist Berthold Weinert is on file as part of the Krempin case. If they find out you know me, we could be in trouble.’
‘All right, but back to our abortive meeting. Is the wig no longer of interest to you?’
‘Of course it is. That’s why I’m calling.’ He glanced at the time. ‘Can I bring it round tonight?’
‘I have a reception with the Reich Chancellor.’
‘Tomorrow then.’
‘In the evening, I can’t manage before. I’m up to my eyes in work, and this time, there’s a price.’
‘Which would be?’
‘I need the car.’
‘For Wednesday night?’
‘Inclusive of Thursday morning.’
‘Come by and pick it up, together with the wig.’
‘I’ll come straight to yours from Kochstrasse. Around eight?’
‘OK.’
‘Woe betide you if you should stand me up again.’
‘Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. Cross my heart! Otherwise I’ll address you as Your Worshipfulness for a whole month.’
‘Well then, it must be serious,’ Weinert laughed. ‘By the way, there was something I wanted to warn you about. There’ll be an article on Krempin tomorrow. He’ll be mentioned by name for the first time. It couldn’t be withheld any longer.’
‘So long as my name doesn’t appear. No matter who asks: I wasn’t at the Funkturm.’
‘You were on Sunday.’ Weinert’s voice sounded as if he was grinning. ‘A few nice photos landed on my desk yesterday. The Funkturm’s millionth visitor. Looks pretty damn similar to you. And that little cutie next to you! A film actress apparently. Seems like it pays to investigate in those circles.’
‘Are you going to publish the picture?’
‘It’s not exactly the silly season, but I think it would be a good filler. Besides, the tourist office has almost certainly sent the press release and photo to the other papers. The millionth visitor is better than the hundredth suicide.’
‘Quit joking, Berthold. If the picture appears somewhere, and one of the Funkturm witnesses recognises me it’ll be goodnight.’
‘I wouldn’t be too worried there. The most likely thing is a nice little text report without the picture. Unless, that is, someone finds out who the actress in the photo is.’
‘They won’t.’
He hung up and ate the Buletten and potato salad. When he had finished he reached again for the telephone. He’d have liked to get drunk with Paul, but the Excelsior informed him that Herr Wittkamp had gone out again.
‘We’ll have to make do on our own,’ he said to Kirie as he attached her lead.
He made his way to the Dreieck with her. The pub was already full to bursting, which wasn’t saying much given the building’s narrow triangular structure. He positioned himself at the bar and ordered a beer with corn schnapps. He wasn’t the only patron with a dog. They clearly served as an alibi for others to get out of the house in the evening. Kirie got along just fine with the alibi-dogs. She sniffed curiously at an ugly Boxer who let the whole thing wash over him with an expressionless face. Schorsch set down a bowl for the dogs, which he filled with water before taking care of his two-legged guests.
With Kirie, Rath thought as he drained the corn schnapps and took his first sip of beer, at least he would find his way home.
48
Wednesday 12th March 1930
Gennat kept the morning briefing short, in view of the round of interviews that was to follow. Rath was doing his best to keep up, but it was difficult. He had tried everything, even a cold shower, but he could still feel the hangover in his bones. Meisner was second in line, immediately behind Cora Bellmann, who was still being treated as a prime suspect since she was the only one police thought might have acted on her father’s behalf.
Before that, it had been Lange and Czerwinski. From the cleaning firm Lange had acquired a list of people who had access to both cinemas. Unfortunately, that was a lot of names – but Czerwinski had discovered something which made Rath sit up and take notice. The cinema in which Betty Winter had celebrated her film premiere in 1925, the Tivoli in Weissensee, had closed in December.
‘Betty Winter, therefore,’ Gennat took up the thread, ‘would have been a likely target for our cinema killer. Film actress, under thirty, first talkie just in cinemas – and the Tivoli would have been the ideal location for the final enactment our perpetrator grants his victims. I would ask you all to bear these possible connections in mind when we start interviewing but, above all, the information Detective Czerwinski is about to pr
ovide. Please continue, Detective.’
‘The Tivoli has already found an interesting new use,’ Czerwinski said. ‘It won’t be turned into a sound film cinema, but rather back into what it was over ten years ago: a theatre. And who will be in charge?’ Czerwinski looked round to check everyone was listening. ‘Victor Meisner!’
That really was news. Rath was annoyed that Meisner hadn’t told him, neither yesterday nor a week ago.
‘It will be called The Betty Winter Theatre,’ Czerwinski said. ‘Not exactly original, but certainly good for business.’
‘Thank you, Detective. We’ll explore that in more detail presently, during his interview,’ Gennat said. ‘Now, to work!’
Rath still had time before it was his turn and returned to his office. Better Erika Voss’s coffee than the sludge in Homicide. He sat at his desk, taking the occasional sip from the steaming mug, lit a cigarette and reflected on matters.
By now Gennat would have the transcript from his interview with Meisner. It was too late to insert anything about The Betty Winter Theatre. Another black mark against his name, no doubt, but there was nothing to be done. Perhaps he could make up for it during the interrogation. He had to force Meisner into such a corner that his only option was to confess. He stubbed out his cigarette and went on his way.
When he arrived in Homicide, Cora Bellmann and Victor Meisner were already on the bench outside Gennat’s office. Rath greeted them with a nod, but they both ignored him.
You won’t be so arrogant when I’m finished with you, Rath thought and went inside. Nearly all the officers who were assisting Buddha with the interrogations had assembled in the spacious office. Reinhold Gräf was pacing up and down nervously. Cora Bellmann’s was the first name on the list.
Böhm sat behind a desk with customary ill temper, leafing through his files. He didn’t seem to have got a lot out of Manfred Oppenberg on this occasion either. When Trudchen Steiner waved Gräf in, Rath realised that he, too, was getting a little nervous. It would be a while before he was called, so he reached for one of the papers on the desk: the Berliner Tageblatt. He found a short paragraph on the Funkturm’s millionth visitor, without name or photo, and continued leafing through. The report on Krempin’s fatal fall was somewhat longer but Weinert hadn’t made too much of it.
Though police have refused to confirm it, our sources suggest that the previously unidentified man who fell to his death from the Funkturm on Friday was Felix Krempin, who is currently being sought in connection with the murder of Betty Winter. As yet it remains unclear whether the fatal fall was indeed a suicide, as initially assumed. As has been reported on several occasions in these pages, the fugitive Krempin is suspected of having manipulated the lighting system in Terra Studios, Marienfelde, such that a thirty-kilogram spotlight fell on the famous actress Betty Winter during filming. Winter was seriously injured, and died shortly afterwards of electric shock.
Famous actress. Betty Winter had only become famous after her death. He was interested to see what would happen at her funeral tomorrow. It might put Horst Wessel’s in the shade.
He glanced at the time and continued reading. The Association of Prussian Police Officers was campaigning for more trust to be placed in Uniform and for the service to be less military. Meanwhile, the dispute over sound film licences, which Oppenberg had spoken about a few days ago, was entering a new phase. Adopting a rather martial turn of phrase, the Tageblatt headline read: Sound Film Separate Peace in Electrical Industry Patent Dispute.
If he understood the complex subject matter correctly, then through this separate peace the American Warner concern had acquired access to the German market. In future, at any rate, German cinema owners will be able to reckon with an increased selection of high-quality sound films, the paper summarised.
There must be a lot of money in talkies if a dispute of such magnitude was taking place behind the scenes. Rath couldn’t help thinking of Oppenberg’s stubborn business associate, Marquard. The diehards were seeing their hopes go up in smoke. Proponents of silent film would soon be fighting a lost cause.
He thought of Anton Schmieder, the blackmailer of the rueful countenance, another one fighting a lost cause.
What was it he had been yammering about?
That he just wanted everything to stay the same.
Things never did stay the way they were. Nothing in life did, not even oneself.
‘Inspector?’
Rath looked up. Gertrud Steiner was standing in the door to Gennat’s office.
To begin with Buddha said nothing at all and simply leafed through the file. Rath doubted whether that would impress Victor Meisner. The man was in film, and would be used to hanging around. He seemed pretty sure of himself. Rath’s parting shot about the toupee yesterday evening didn’t appear to have caused him any further alarm, but perhaps it was all an act.
Rath kept to the arrangement and maintained an icy silence. In the absence of a file to flick through he lit a cigarette. Christel Temme was starting to fiddle with her pencil when Gennat finally began. He snapped the file shut and gave Meisner a friendly look.
‘Congratulations,’ Buddha said.
‘Pardon me?’
‘I wanted to congratulate you on your theatre,’ Gennat said. ‘So, congratulations! Did you inherit it?’
‘I’ve already told your inspector all this.’
‘You didn’t say anything about the theatre. It is your theatre, isn’t it?’
‘I’m the artistic director,’ Meisner said, ‘if that’s what you mean.’
‘Who bought the building then?’
‘It’s leased.’
‘That’s a lot of money though, and there’s the cost of turning a cinema into a theatre.’
‘We only had to tear out the screen, all the stage machinery was already there. The Tivoli was a theatre before it became a cinema.’
‘All the same it can’t have been cheap. How did you finance it?’
‘I’m not anticipating a large inheritance from my wife, if that’s what you mean, Superintendent. I told your inspector all this yesterday.’
‘Then tell me how it’s being funded.’
‘I have a silent partner. Cora Bellmann bore the costs, and she also stands to benefit the most financially. I’m only interested in the artistic side.’
‘What does Bellmann think about his daughter setting something like this up with one of his actors, and probably with his money too?’
‘It was his idea. We’ll be able to transfer original material from the screen to the stage, and vice versa. It stands to reason, especially with the advent of talkies.’ Meisner came to life discussing his plans. ‘The Betty Winter Theatre will be a people’s theatre. Not like the one on Bülowplatz for those Communist muddle-heads, but in the truest sense of the word. We’ll perform the plays that people want to see when they need a break from the everyday. Plays that speak to the heart, plays in which it’s all right to smile every now and again.’
‘You’ll be making theatre for people who would otherwise go to the cinema.’
‘If you like, yes.’
‘And the famous Victor Meisner will play the leads…’
‘Only to start with. I’m the manager, but we need to gain an audience, and that will work best with my name.’
‘Then why is it called The Betty Winter Theatre?’
‘It’s the least I owe her.’
‘Did your wife intend to perform too?’
‘Smaller roles, perhaps, for my sake, but no more than that.’ Meisner shook his head. ‘You couldn’t talk to Betty about theatre. All she saw was film, film, film. She made far more of an impression on the screen than onstage. It was a wonder how celluloid transformed her.’
‘Then why did she want to leave Bellmann’s company?’
‘Probably because he was too tight.’ Meisner refused to get worked up. ‘It was about money, of course, but she also saw greater artistic possibilities for herself with this new producer.’
‘They wanted her, not me. That wasn’t at Betty’s discretion. When you’re married to an actor, that’s the kind of thing you have to deal with. I didn’t begrudge her it. Unfortunately…’ He covered his eyes with his hand.
‘Who is this mysterious producer who wanted to sign Betty Winter, but not Victor Meisner?’
‘She didn’t want to say until everything was done. She was superstitious like that. To this day, I still don’t know who courted her.’
‘But you would have stayed with Bellmann?’
‘I did stay with Bellmann. I feel very happy there. I’m his most important male performer; I can film anything I want with him, crime adventure, comedy…’
‘Then why are you opening a theatre? It makes it look as if your film career is stalling.’
‘You really don’t understand anything about our industry.’ Meisner shook his head. ‘My own theatre has been my dream for as long as I can remember. It won’t stop me from making films. I just might make a few less.’
Gennat nodded thoughtfully.
‘We must ask you again to recall what happened on the twenty-eighth of February. Above all, where you were yourself.’
‘Your colleague has already asked me that, so I sat down yesterday evening…’ Meisner took a sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. ‘…I lived through the terrible day for a second time in my mind, and noted everything down: when and where I was, and where Betty was too, so far as I can speak for her.’ He passed Gennat the piece of paper. ‘I have taken the liberty of writing out a fair copy.’
Gennat looked at the paper as if he had just received an Easter egg for Christmas.
‘I must say this is rather unusual,’ he began, before Meisner interrupted him.
‘It’s for you. Take it. I have a copy. You can compare it with the other statements.’
Buddha accepted the paper gingerly and began to read.
Rath was furious. It was time to knock the slippery, pretentious little shit off his perch.
The Silent Death Page 41