‘You wear a toupee, don’t you, Herr Meisner?’ he asked suddenly.
There was profound silence. Gennat looked on with irritation, while Christel Temme briefly ceased writing.
‘You know I do!’
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘Because I didn’t think it was relevant. To my knowledge, Bellmann wears dentures. Did he tell you that?’
‘Where were you on the seventh of March around lunchtime? Do you have that in writing too?’
‘What day was that, Friday?’
‘You know perfectly well it was Friday!’
Meisner shrugged. ‘I’m not so good with dates, hopeless without my diary.’
‘Did you follow Felix Krempin up the Funkturm or did you wait for him there?’
Meisner looked at Gennat helplessly. ‘Sorry, Superintendent. I don’t know what your colleague wants from me, I really don’t. Perhaps you can explain?’
‘We just want to know where you were on Friday lunchtime,’ Gennat said. Rath was about to say something else, but Buddha silenced him with a gesture as forceful as it was discreet.
‘Friday? I was home between twelve and two. If the schedule allows, then I have a little afternoon nap.’
‘Were you alone?’
‘I’m a widower. What do you think? No doubt the concierge can confirm I was there. All the same, I don’t quite understand why…’
‘All right, Herr Meisner, that’s it,’ Gennat said. ‘I don’t think we have any more questions for the time being. Thank you for coming. Now, you may leave. Please continue to place yourself at our disposal.’
‘Of course.’
Victor Meisner departed with a shake of the head and a sidelong glance at Rath.
Gennat waited until he was outside and for a time said nothing, simply played with his file. Then he exploded.
‘Am I talking to a brick wall here, Rath?’ He shouted so loud that Christel Temme dropped her pad. ‘What did I say to you only yesterday?’
‘That I should only intervene in interrogations if we have arranged it beforehand, Sir.’
‘Correct. Something did stick after all. What in God’s name was that nonsense about a toupee?’
‘I wanted to confuse the suspect, Sir. Shake him out of his arrogant self-assurance.’
‘Well, you did a splendid job, I must say! All you did was confuse me! As well as poor Fräulein Temme. You derailed the entire interview.’
‘Listen, that stuff about the written alibi is a joke, it can…’
‘Do you really think I wouldn’t have grilled him on that if you hadn’t got in the way?’
‘He did it, Sir, I know it. Meisner deliberately killed his wife. He knew exactly what he was doing with the water. He meant to finish her off when he saw the spotlight hadn’t killed her. He looked so horrified because she was still alive.’
‘Why would he want to kill her?’
‘Because he hated her. Because she was better than him and the vain little twerp couldn’t stand it. He used the opportunity…the spotlight…’
‘If everything you’ve just told me is true,’ Gennat said, ‘then you’ve made an even bigger mess of things than I thought!’
It didn’t seem like today was Rath’s lucky day. Not wanting to go through Homicide, past Böhm, he took his leave through the door that led directly into the corridor. When he emerged, Manfred Oppenberg was already sitting on the wooden bench. Rath didn’t deign to look at him, and the producer likewise refrained from expressing any joy at their reunion.
He was annoyed at Meisner and his performance, but he was even more annoyed at himself and his own stupidity. He had underestimated Victor Meisner. The man wasn’t so easy to rattle after all. Those turns as a sobbing bundle of nerves – what a farce. The real Meisner was an ice-cold, calculating, unscrupulous son of a bitch, a series of masks that could be removed in turn, the way you peeled and peeled an onion until nothing of it remained.
He went into his office to fetch his hat and coat. ‘Can I leave Kirie with you for a while, Erika?’ he asked. ‘I have to head back out to question a witness, and can’t take the dog with me everywhere.’
Erika Voss sighed, but said yes.
He was in luck; the concierge was sitting in his lodge.
‘No dog today, Inspector?’
‘Still at obedience school.’
‘I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Herr Meisner isn’t here today either. Didn’t you find him yesterday?’
‘I have a few questions for you. My colleagues might not have been interested, but I am.’ Rath took out his notebook to highlight the importance of the conversation. ‘Yesterday you were recalling a fight between Herr Meisner and his wife. I’d like you to tell me what it was about, as far as possible.’
The concierge scratched his head under his bonnet.
‘She wanted to make films with another producer. He could forget about coming with her. I’m not prepared to carry you anymore, she said. You’re the millstone around my neck.’
Rath wrote down everything he said. ‘You also mentioned something about her good name, and the fact that Betty Winter wouldn’t lend it. Can you remember anything more about that?’
‘It was about a theatre, if I understood correctly. He wanted her to perform, but she said no. When he asked her what she thought of the name she said: Forget about it, I certainly won’t be lending my good name to that!’
‘Did you catch which theatre they were talking about?’
‘I didn’t hear a name, but it must be somewhere in Wei…’
The concierge interrupted himself mid-sentence and turned bright red. ‘Good morning, Herr Meisner,’ he said.
Rath turned around. Victor Meisner looked about as friendly as a jar of pickled gherkins. ‘No getting rid of you, is there?’
‘It’s one of my most salient qualities,’ he replied. ‘For my part, I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you were filming in Marienfelde.’
‘The shoot’s been cancelled today, thanks to your hard-working institution. There isn’t a soul there.’ Meisner fumbled the door key out of his pocket and pressed the button for the lift. ‘Did your boss give you a good dressing-down just now? Remind you how to comport yourself?’
The lift door opened and Meisner entered.
He made to take his leave with a smile but just before the door closed Rath jumped in beside him. The smile froze.
‘What kind of methods are these?’ Meisner asked as the lift started. ‘Are you going to beat a confession out of me? No point, I’ve already confessed.’ He adopted a familiar whining tone. ‘I killed her, I killed her!’ Meisner grinned. ‘I was good, wasn’t I, Inspector? You believed me, didn’t you?’
Rath said nothing. He pushed a button and the lift came to a juddering halt.
‘What do you want?’ asked Meisner.
‘The truth.’
‘Why don’t you just tell me what you think the truth is?’
‘You killed your wife.’
‘The whole world knows that.’
‘Intentionally.’
‘Who can see into another person’s mind?’
‘You made use of Krempin’s sabotaging construction.’
Meisner gave an amused smile. ‘Go on.’
‘Perhaps he told you about it himself. After all, when he left the studio he considered you a friend.’
‘Yes, we made friends quickly, anyone will confirm that. I couldn’t have been expected to know what kind of person he was.’
‘You even helped him escape. That was how you maintained contact with him, and kept him under control.’
‘One doesn’t speak about favours granted to friends.’
‘When he told you he had arranged to meet me, you panicked. You didn’t even have to follow him, no doubt he told you when and where we were meeting. Maybe, even, the meeting point was your suggestion, since you live right next to the Funkturm. Maybe you helped Krempin adopt the perfect disguise, that’s something you�
��re good at, I hear. Then, while he was still checking the lie of the land before our meeting, you pushed him. Too bad he defended himself and swept the hairpiece from your head in the process.’
‘Interesting story. Is that what your superintendent thinks? I find that hard to believe. You can’t do anything without evidence, you know that. Otherwise you get into a lot of trouble with the public prosecutor.’
‘Maybe I have evidence: a toupee that got stuck somewhere in the course of your exertions. It won’t be too hard to find out who it was made for.’
‘The toupee you are talking about comes from the La Belle fund. Krempin could just as easily have stolen it. That’s not evidence.’
‘Do you realise that was a confession? I didn’t even have to beat you for it!’
Meisner pressed a button on the control panel and the lift started moving again.
‘Who heard it apart from you? You suspect me anyway. It doesn’t change a thing.’
‘It’s always good to hear a confession. In our line of work, it amounts to a round of applause.’
‘I confessed to the murder a long time ago, as you know. It was you who said that no judge in the world would convict me for having poured a bucket of water over my poor wife in panic.’
‘Why did you do it?’
‘How do you think it feels to be permanently held up as a failure? She couldn’t stop herself saying it over and over again, like a goddamn broken record!’ He smiled. ‘Well. Perhaps I’m not such a failure after all.’
The lift stopped and Meisner opened the door.
‘It was nice talking to you, Inspector,’ he said and disembarked. ‘You must excuse me now, I need to get changed. I have a dinner date.’
‘Say hello to Fräulein Bellmann,’ Rath said, ‘and don’t forget I can be stubborn.’
Frau Lennartz looked surprised when he opened the front door. Rath had forgotten it was cleaning day.
‘Inspector!’ She wrung out the cleaning rag. ‘I’ll be finished in a moment. I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘I just wanted to eat lunch at home for a change,’ he said.
‘Should I bring you something? We’re eating in a moment too, Peter and I.’
‘Thank you, no.’ He lifted the Aschinger bag. ‘I’m already catered for.’
‘You can’t go into the kitchen yet. Could you wait in the living room for a moment?’
He put on a record while he waited, leaving the cognac in the cupboard. It was still too early in the day. Besides, the caretaker’s wife mustn’t see him drinking.
Five minutes later she poked her head around the door.
‘I’m finished now.’
He waited until she was out of the door to turn off the music, went into the kitchen and put on water for coffee. He unpacked the Buletten but didn’t have much of an appetite. He could always take the rest in for Kirie, she’d be happy about that. He examined the toupee, but couldn’t make out a La Belle logo, inventory number or anything like that, just a barely decipherable company name.
It was difficult to say whether Meisner had been bluffing. It was conceivable, at any rate, that he’d been wearing a theatre wig at the Funkturm, rather than his own. He hadn’t just disguised Krempin beyond all recognition, but himself as well. A man as famous as Victor Meisner would have been recognised all too quickly. And his alibi? He lived so close to the Funkturm that it wouldn’t have been any problem to sneak out of some cellar or rear door and leave the concierge to believe he had been at home the whole time. The lift, at any rate, also went down to the basement.
Rath took his time brewing the coffee as he thought things through. No matter which way he turned it, there was no getting at Meisner. Maybe if he gave the toupee to the forensic experts in ED…but that would mean acknow-ledging his secret meeting with Krempin.
He examined the tousled hairpiece. Perhaps Weinert would have more luck with it. The man was a good journalist. Why not wait and see what he’d find?
The telephone rang but he didn’t answer. He drank two cups of coffee, smoked a few cigarettes and thought some more. He still hadn’t reached a decision when he returned to the Castle shortly before two.
Erika Voss wasn’t as cross as he’d feared. She had clearly enjoyed spending her lunch hour with Kirie.
‘That lady called again,’ she said, ‘and Superintendent Gennat would like to speak to you. At three.’
‘Again? Why?’
‘Fräulein Steiner didn’t say.’
‘If that’s the case, I’ll take the dog out in the meantime.’
He needed some fresh air, a clear head. No doubt Buddha would read him the riot act after the botched interrogation that morning. He had been hoping to make good on his error. No chance. Today really wasn’t his day. As for the lady who had called again, he didn’t want to think of her. He debated whether he should try Paul at the hotel, but wasn’t in the mood to talk to his friend, or indeed anyone.
Kirie’s presence was the only one he could bear. The dog sniffed curiously at every corner as they walked along the railway arches to the Spree. Although it started raining halfway there he continued to the Märkisches Museum, and let Kirie off the lead in the little park. Before they started back, he took out a Bulette and fed it to the dog. Kirie devoured it in one bite and thanked him with a smile.
Gennat sat, motionless as a statue, behind his desk. He wasn’t flicking through any files. He wasn’t moving his eyelids. Indeed, he barely seemed to be breathing. Rath was reminded of his visit a week before. There was trouble brewing.
‘Nice that you could spare a little time for me,’ Buddha said at last.
‘Of course, Sir.’
‘I hope it won’t be too expensive. How much do you take an hour?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Or do you have day rates?’
‘I don’t understand…’
‘How much do you earn as a private detective?’
Shit.
‘I don’t work as a private detective, Sir.’
‘Then you aren’t the Gereon Rath who investigated the whereabouts of the missing actress Vivian Franck on behalf of film producer Manfred Oppenberg?’
‘Oh, that? I just made a few enquiries. Nothing illegal.’
‘You are aware that any ancillary activities are subject to approval?’
‘Come off it.’ Rath tried to sound relaxed, but was making an increasingly poor fist of it. ‘That was a favour, not an ancillary activity.’
‘A favour? That’s what undocumented workers say.’
‘But I didn’t take any money for it!’
Rath hoped Oppenberg had said the same thing.
‘You think that makes it any better? If you maintain friendly relations to a man connected to two ongoing investigations then you have to tell us, even if it is only a favour. Especially when the man’s a potential murder suspect. It’s called bias!’
‘I wasn’t to know the missing person case would turn into a homicide enquiry.’
‘But when it did, you remained silent.’
‘Yes.’
Gennat slammed his fist against the desk panel. ‘Just where do you think you are?’ He had never seen Gennat like this.
‘I realise it was a mistake, Sir. It was just… After the Winter business, I didn’t want to kiss goodbye to the Franck case too.’
‘Didn’t you consider the consequences, everything you’ll be kissing goodbye to now? You should have nailed your colours to the mast at the very latest when Böhm instructed you to find out which private detective Oppenberg had hired…’
‘That wasn’t so easy, Sir. DCI Böhm and I…’
‘Who says this kind of thing has to be easy? Did you seriously think you’d get away with it? Böhm served me the news this morning before Oppenberg’s interview. He wanted to announce it in front of the whole team tomorrow because he thinks it’s relevant to the investigation, but I forbade it.’
‘Thank you, Sir.’
‘Don’t imagine I did i
t for you. A scandal like that would only distract officers from their work.’
‘And now, Sir?’
‘You can no longer take any part in ongoing investigations. You are relieved of your duties until further notice. What lies in store for you next will be a matter for the disciplinary hearing.’
‘Can’t we turn a blind eye this time and work it out another way?’
‘Where you’re concerned, there aren’t enough blind eyes to go around. In the matter with DI Brenner you escaped proceedings by a hair’s breadth, but this time your luck has run out.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Do you know what I find most irritating about all this?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘It’s so unnecessary. You are a capable criminal investigator, but you’re constantly creating difficulties for yourself with your antics.’ Gennat snapped shut the file that was lying on his desk, Rath’s personal file. ‘Well, you’ll have plenty of time to reflect on these matters in the coming days! Goodbye!’
The grey corridor of A Division seemed as alien as another world, although he had passed down it hundreds of times before. Even the name on the door of his office didn’t seem to belong to him anymore. He simply walked past, unable to enter.
On the outside things appeared the same, but that was no longer the case; some evil force had drained everything of its familiarity and replaced it with an undisguised alienness. He recognised this feeling and hated it. He had first felt it when Severin simply hadn’t returned home one day, and again several years later when a military policeman brought news of Anno’s death. Mother hadn’t been able to cry, only to mourn in silence like her son and husband. Then about a year ago, his familiar Cologne world had collapsed around him, and even his home city had become alien to him.
Now it was the end of the road after his promising fresh start in Berlin.
Why hadn’t he said anything to Böhm? He should have known things would turn out like this. He had stoked so many fires it was impossible to stamp them out. If they should find out that he had been at the Funkturm too, by Krempin’s corpse, then it was goodnight. He would no longer get off with a reprimand or a cut in his wages, and really would have to become a private detective.
The Silent Death Page 42