The Silent Death

by volker Kutscher

  As Charly had recommended a year ago.

  Charly!

  He came to a halt and slammed his fist against the wall. An office boy who was just turning the corner gave him a vexed look, but said nothing, simply crept by anxiously.

  What am I supposed to do in this bullshit city? he thought. What am I supposed to do?

  Get your things and scram! Go to Cologne or, better still, New York!

  He turned and went back along the corridor to his office. He needed a moment to regain his composure, took a deep breath, put on his best smile and entered.

  Erika Voss was typing, he didn’t have the slightest idea what.

  ‘You can finish a little earlier today, Erika. I don’t need you anymore.’

  She looked surprised and ceased typing immediately. ‘That’s kind of you, Inspector. Then I can do a little shopping.’

  ‘Treat yourself to something nice.’

  The telephone on her desk rang. She already had one arm in her coat, but she answered anyway.

  ‘For you, Inspector,’ she said, covering the mouthpiece. ‘Chinahaus, the man said. Do you want to buy a Ming vase?’

  ‘Probably because of this yangtao thing. Put him through.’

  She performed her final duty of the day, before taking her leave and sweeping out of the room.

  It was the friendly Chinese man from Kantstrasse.

  ‘You asked me to let you know, Inspector.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Rath realised he didn’t sound especially euphoric. ‘What is it?’

  ‘The man was here again.’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘The German man who buys yangtao.’

  ‘Ah yes, very good.’

  ‘Didn’t just buy yangtao, but other Chinese specialties as well. Mushrooms, bamboo shoots, glass noodles and more besides.’

  ‘Do you have an address?’

  The Chinese man gave a crafty laugh. ‘For the delivery. Like you said.’

  ‘Wait a moment, I’ll get something to write with…’

  He reached for paper and a pencil and wedged the receiver to free his hands. When he hung up he realised that he recognised the address.

  His thoughts began to race, that feverish sensation that overcame him whenever he was on the verge of making new links, when he could feel, but still not quite grasp them. The fever seized him, and for a moment he forgot that Gennat had sent him packing. Perhaps the yangtao lead wasn’t as stupid as Böhm always made out.

  ‘Come on, Kirie,’ he said. ‘One last trip out to the Wannsee before home. After that we’ll take a holiday.’

  49

  Why is there still nothing in the papers?

  He knows they have found Fastré, they were in the cinema on Sunday. Lehmann said the police were there. He didn’t know why, of course. Lehmann, the idiot, but that doesn’t matter. If they were there, for whatever reason, then they must have found Fastré!

  So why can’t he read about it? It ought to be in all the city’s papers. They all wrote about Franck, after all, so why not about Fastré?

  When will they write about it? The world must learn what has happened and why. Must understand what this is about. So that it can finally end. He can’t take care of them all, not every single one.

  They have to understand, otherwise it will keep happening. To those who are depriving film of its beauty, its purity. Who are depriving themselves of their own beauty, their own purity.

  Only he can ensure both are returned.

  But he can’t take care of them all; they must see that!

  Or perhaps it is his fault? Does he need to be quicker? Not take so much time? Or wait so long?

  He has only invited her to dinner, hasn’t prepared anything otherwise, hasn’t given Albert the night off. But does he really have to speak to her first to know what he must do? He has heard her, has seen how she has destroyed the magic of her own image. What they have sent to him in the lab is ghastly!

  When she is on-screen she is the perfect woman, made purely of light – and then she destroys everything because she opens her mouth and the loudspeakers begin to crackle and croak. It was so awful he had to cover his ears. Why is she doing this to him? Why is she doing it to herself?

  His decision is made. It will happen today! No time to lose, he must continue, otherwise there will be too many. She is perfect, perhaps the best he has ever invited.

  He goes downstairs, the preparations are quickly made, the syringes filled and his tools placed at the ready. He must only prepare the wine for the anaesthetic. And of course load the film.

  Upstairs the doorbell rings. He hears Albert making his way through the hall.

  It can’t be her; he still has a couple of hours.

  50

  The Chinahaus had delivered as promised. Their van was just turning onto the road as Rath parked the Buick in front of the villa. He climbed out and put the dog on the lead. Better to take Kirie with him than have her make another fuss. The house lay behind a veil of drizzle that spattered the light from the windows into millions and billions of tiny droplets, and seemed even more forbidding than he remembered from his visit the week before.

  He felt a tingle as he walked along the path. Still in the grips of the fever, he could sense how close he was to something. Somewhere here was a link between the three women. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he ought to know already that this visit was superfluous, that he only need pause and think and he would understand what had been plaguing him since his telephone call with the Chinahaus.

  ‘Be good,’ he said to the dog. ‘We’re in polite company now.’

  Kirie sat as he rang the bell.

  It took a little while before the white-haired servant opened. Despite his wealth, Marquard didn’t keep many staff. The old man ought to have retired long ago, but continued to perform his duties.

  ‘Yes?’ he said, gazing arrogantly at Rath.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Herr Marquard.’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘It’s a police matter.’ He showed his badge. Did the old man really not recognise him, or was dim-wittedness to be expected from a servant?

  This time at least, the man didn’t make him wait outside. They proceeded to the large hallway, which was called the vestibule here, and the old servant disappeared through one of the great double doors into the enormous house. Kirie sniffed at a suit of armour that was done up to look old but couldn’t have more than thirty years on the clock. The dog had seemed agitated since she entered the house. No doubt there was a lot for her nose to discover in a place like this.

  After two minutes, the servant returned.

  ‘The master will see you now,’ he said, ‘but he wishes to make it known that he doesn’t have much time.’

  ‘If you had let me in straightaway, I’d be on my way by now,’ Rath said.

  The old man raised an eyebrow. ‘I must ask you to leave the dog in the vestibule,’ he said, looking at Kirie as if she had rabies.

  Rath tied the lead to a halberd that was supporting a suit of armour, and bent down towards Kirie. ‘Be good,’ he said. ‘Remember what I told you outside.’

  He followed the old servant through several rooms – almost all with a fireplace, some even with tapestries, into a small drawing room whose great lancet window would have afforded a fantastic view of the lake but for the veil of drizzle. A door led out onto a little terrace.

  Wolfgang Marquard awaited him at a small, dark, wooden table on which there stood a bottle of Armagnac and two glasses. He rose to his feet as Rath entered.

  ‘Inspector,’ he said, shaking Rath’s hand. ‘Last time, you didn’t come bearing good news. I hope…it’s nothing to do with Oppenberg, is it?’

  ‘I can reassure you on that front. No bad news. Just a few questions regarding a small, unremarkable fruit.’

  Marquard poured himself a little Armagnac. ‘I’d like to offer you a glass, but no doubt you’re on duty.’

  ‘Strictly speaking I’m
on holiday. I’ll take a glass.’

  Marquard passed him a beaker of bronze liquid. Rath brandished it under his nose and sniffed. Being rich had its advantages.

  ‘To your holiday,’ said Marquard. ‘I’m curious, Inspector. Why are you here?’

  Rath had never tasted such good Armagnac. ‘It concerns yangtao, the Chinese gooseberry. Something very exotic…’

  ‘Yangtao? A delicacy. Perhaps you have come to the right man after all. You must know that my chef is Chinese, but how does a policeman learn of such an exotic fruit?’

  ‘Purely from duty. Although I did try it recently, and must say it tasted very good.’

  ‘Not many people in Berlin know of yangtao. Unless, that is, you eat Chinese food regularly, and have the courage to order something unfamiliar for dessert.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking. That yangtao isn’t as widespread here as, say, Buletten.’

  ‘A strange comparison, but no doubt you’re right.’

  ‘That’s why it could be a lead. Things that are rare always make you sit up and take notice, especially if they keep cropping up. I don’t know how much Herr Oppenberg has told you about the murders we’re investigating. Murders of actresses. Vivian Franck is one of them…’

  ‘A tragic case. I always admired Vivian Franck, you know. I still do.’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘Her art is immortal.’

  ‘That’s hardly a comfort.’

  ‘Do you think? Isn’t it the only comfort we have? The immortality of art?’

  ‘Most people take comfort from the immortality of the soul. Don’t you believe in that?’

  ‘The soul? That’s something you only find in art. In music, in its purest form. But also in paintings, books, films…’

  ‘Only not in sound film, if I’ve understood you correctly.’

  ‘Sound film is not art, it’s a spectacle. It shows us how we are, and not how we should be. Where is the art in that?’

  From far away there was a clatter, then a bark, and shortly afterwards the servant knocked on the door.

  ‘What is it, Albert?’

  ‘The inspector’s dog…well, it’s rather restless.’

  ‘You have a dog? Why didn’t you bring it in?’

  ‘I thought it advisable to recommend that the inspector leave the dog in the vestibule, on account of the cats. However, it has…’

  ‘Stop prattling on, Albert! Bring the dog to its master.’

  ‘Very well, Sir.’

  The servant disappeared again.

  ‘Strictly speaking, I’m not its master,’ Rath said. ‘I’m only looking after it. It belongs to an actress. Jeanette Fastré. Do you know her?’

  ‘Of course, that goes with the territory.’

  ‘Personally too?’

  ‘Not as well as I knew Vivian Franck. I’ve seen her two, maybe three times.’

  ‘But you never invited her for dinner – as you did Herr Oppenberg recently?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Frau Fastré has a fondness for yangtao. I thought perhaps she had acquired it at your house.’

  ‘I must disappoint you there. Does Frau Fastré have anything to do with the murders you were just talking about?’

  Rath nodded. ‘Regrettably, yes. As a victim.’

  ‘I haven’t read anything about that.’

  ‘We don’t want to trigger a hysterical reaction amongst the population. That’s why we’re withholding the news. I must also ask that you maintain your silence on the matter. The press have already linked the dead actresses Vivian Franck and Betty Winter, and are talking about a serial killer. Never mind that Betty Winter’s death is completely different in background.’

  ‘Do you know who is responsible for her death? The lighting technician, as reported in the papers?’

  ‘No, but let’s return to the reason for my visit, Herr Marquard. It was I who wanted to ask you some questions, not the other way around.’

  ‘Of course, I apologise.’

  ‘So back to the subject of yangtao…’

  There was a knock on the door and the old servant returned, dragging a reluctant Kirie on her lead. Only once she had smelled Rath did she give up her resistance, bounding into the room with her tail wagging.

  ‘There you are, sweetie,’ he said. ‘I thought I told you to behave!’

  ‘I’m afraid nothing could be further from the truth,’ the servant said. ‘The dog caused the Maximilian armour in the vestibule to fall, and dragged the halberd to the cellar door.’

  ‘Bad dog,’ Rath said and turned to Marquard. ‘I hope it can be repaired.’

  ‘These suits of armour can withstand a little punishment. That’s what they were built for after all. It’s just a bit of a slog putting them back together.’

  ‘I should just like to say that it wasn’t at all easy to get the dog away from the door. He smelled something there, I only hope we don’t have a rat in the cellar. What with Master’s film equipment…’

  ‘You did a good job, Albert. As for this rat, why don’t you see if the gardener can have a look.’

  ‘Very good, Master.’ The servant gingerly passed the dog lead to Rath and disappeared again. Kirie sniffed at Marquard’s trouser leg, who clearly didn’t like it.

  Rath pulled the dog away. ‘You have film equipment here?’ he asked.

  ‘I live for film,’ Marquard said. ‘It goes without saying that there are times when I have to view a few reels at home. Indeed, my father had a projection room in the cellar…’

  He was interrupted by Kirie’s barking. The dog had been sniffing at one of the chairs and started barking agitatedly, looking over at Rath again and again and running back and forth between him and the chair.

  ‘It’s OK, Kirie,’ Rath said, but the dog refused to settle. ‘I don’t know what the matter is,’ he said to Marquard. ‘I think it’s the unfamiliar surroundings. Since we entered the house she’s been as agitated as I’ve ever seen her.’

  ‘We have a few cats here, perhaps it can smell them.’ Marquard smiled a sour smile.

  ‘I won’t let her off her lead again, I promise.’

  Marquard seemed to be weighing up a difficult decision. ‘Inspector, I think I need to show you something,’ he said. ‘It might answer some of your questions on the subject of yangtao.’

  Rath raised his eyebrows. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just follow me and take a look, then we’ll see if it’s any help.’

  He had to pay attention that Marquard’s warm, charming voice didn’t throw him off guard. He shouldn’t have had that Armagnac either. It had already gone to his head. As he followed Marquard up a narrow spiral staircase, the exact opposite of the enormous, protruding staircase in the vestibule, he felt for the Mauser in his holster and immediately felt more secure.

  There was something about the friendly, refined Wolfgang Marquard that made him uneasy, a feeling only exacerbated by this strange building. He couldn’t help thinking about the extent to which the man was clinging to the past. This forbidding fortress-villa in which he had doubtless spent his entire life was part of it too. There could scarcely be anything more out of fashion than imitation medieval architecture.

  Kirie was still nervous. He had hardly been able to tear her away from the chair in the drawing room, and now she was sniffing agitatedly at Marquard’s feet. The producer bounded up the stone steps so quickly that they could barely keep up.

  Having arrived upstairs, they stood in a semicircular room with doors leading off it.

  ‘These are my private quarters. Hardly anyone gets to see them apart from Albert,’ Marquard said. ‘I hope you appreciate it.’

  ‘Of course,’ Rath said. ‘I’m curious about what it is you mean to show me.’

  In place of an answer, Marquard opened a door and made an inviting gesture. ‘What do you think? Did I promise too much?’

  Rath looked through the door and was genuinely astonished, startled even. He hadn’t been expecting to s
ee that face here. Kirie started barking, and in the same instant he felt something strike the back of his head. There was a flash brighter than a thousand suns, before everything fell into darkness and swept him along with it.

  51

  He had rung the doorbell. Nothing doing. Then gone to the Nasse Dreieck, whose taciturn landlord had given an emphatic shrug of the shoulders. Berthold Weinert now made his way back to Luisenufer. He would give the man one final chance, seeing as he was in the area, but that was it.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  Gereon Rath couldn’t, in all seriousness, be standing him up for a second time. He couldn’t believe it, but it looked as if it was true. On today of all days when he needed the car.

  As he crossed the courtyard a man and a woman emerged from the rear building. The woman looked familiar. He must have seen a photo of her in the office recently, someone semi-famous whose name he couldn’t remember. Or…the penny dropped.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, before the couple could escape through the archway. ‘Do I know you from somewhere?’

  She turned and looked at him inquisitively.

  ‘You’re an actress, aren’t you?’

  The blond man grinned. The woman seemed less amused.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ she asked.

  ‘Weren’t you at the Funkturm recently with Gereon Rath?’

  ‘Are you from the press?’

  ‘Is it that obvious? How embarrassing.’

  She laughed. ‘You have to be from the press, otherwise you wouldn’t think I was an actress. So, you’re familiar with the photo from the Funkturm. Is that why you want to see Gereon?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Weinert drew closer and shook her hand. ‘Perhaps we should put an end to these guessing games. My name is Weinert. I’m an old friend of Gereon’s.’

  ‘Charlotte Ritter. I used to work with him at Alex. This is another old friend of Gereon’s. Paul Wittkamp from Cologne.’

  ‘A pleasure.’ The blond man had a firm handshake. What was intended as a smile somehow turned into a broad grin.

  ‘We hadn’t arranged to meet, yet still he dares not to be home,’ Wittkamp said, feigning outrage. ‘I’m leaving early tomorrow and wanted to say goodbye. I can’t even tempt him with the most beautiful woman in Berlin.’