‘What are you doing?’
Elisabeth Marquard had followed him and was standing in the door as pale as a ghost.
‘You shouldn’t exert yourself so much. It’s not good in your condition.’
He couldn’t respond, merely gasp for air.
‘You won’t get out of here, so accept it, and let’s use the time you still have to talk.’
She was just as crazy as her son. Rath looked up at her from the floor, feeble and dejected, and in the process caught sight of something in the wall, next to the big side table: a little double door, dark as the wood panelling, roughly square-shaped and at most half the size of a normal door.
‘What is that?’ he asked.
‘That? It’s the dumb waiter. That’s how they send food up to me. It means the servants don’t have to see my face.’ She laughed her crazy laugh. ‘So that my isolation isn’t broken by anything.’
‘It’s a way out,’ he panted.
‘Impossible. You need a helper.’
‘You can help me!’
‘Why should I? I’ll be alone again. I’m happier with you here.’
‘Didn’t you just tell me you wanted to see the lake again, and feel the wind in your hair?’
‘They’re just dreams. I’ll die here.’
‘How long have you been locked up? How many years? Do you really want to die here? To have both of us die here?’
‘What else?’
‘Don’t just accept what your son is doing to you!’
‘He hates me, and I love him. That’s my fate.’
‘Then take your fate in your hands.’
‘I’ve tried that once already. It doesn’t work. Life never turns out the way you’d like it to. You’re loved by the wrong people…and hated by the wrong people too.’
‘Help me escape from this prison and I promise you’ll see the lake again. And I’ll keep you company as often as you like.’
She seemed to consider, then went to the wall and opened the door. Behind it was a dark crate.
‘Perhaps you’re right.’ She examined him from top to bottom. ‘If you curl up tight, you should fit in.’
Her whisper made her sound like a conspirator.
‘Then you’ll close the door and send me down to the kitchen as if I were your dirty crockery.’ She nodded. ‘Let’s be quick. I don’t know how much time I have left.’
He squeezed himself into the narrow crate. ‘One more question,’ he said, before she closed the door. ‘How do I get the door open again?’
‘It’s a dumb waiter. You can only open it from the outside.’
‘Is anybody still in the kitchen?’ She shrugged. ‘If not, does that mean I’ll die a miserable death in this crate?’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll pull you back up.’
‘So that I can die a miserable death with you. What a prospect,’ he sighed, ‘but keep your fingers crossed. We’ll give it a try!’
Every bone in his body was aching even before Elisabeth Marquard closed the door.
He began his descent.
55
Charly felt uneasy but Paul’s presence alone reassured her. He gave the impression that nothing could go wrong while he was there. Even now a mocking grin was stretching across the corner of his mouth.
To think she had almost left him in Gereon’s office. She had been on the telephone to Wilhelm Böhm, had just received the green light for the operation, indeed, had been about to head to the motor pool when she suddenly remembered him and retraced her steps. He hadn’t realised.
Böhm had sounded surprised but pleased when she called him at home. ‘Good to hear from you, Charly.’
‘I’m in Homicide.’
‘Oh?’
‘We have reason to believe that Gereon Rath is in danger. He paid an official visit to a witness who might have something to do with the cinema killer; who may even be the killer himself. At any rate, he hasn’t returned, he’s stood up his friend and…’
‘Rath can’t be anywhere on official duty. He’s been suspended.’
‘No one told me about that.’
‘No one knows.’
‘Why was he suspended?’
‘For any number of infringements. He’ll face a disciplinary hearing. I can’t give details.’
The news had shocked her. Had Gereon gone and got himself into trouble again? She thought of the thing with Brenner, but what else had he been up to? Any number of infringements.
So what, though? Right now, he was in danger.
She had begged and beseeched, but it hadn’t been easy to persuade the DCI to place a few people on standby.
‘Only because it’s you, Charly,’ he had said at last. ‘Check the lie of the land on your own first, as a private citizen. I don’t want the Prussian police making fools of themselves in a Wannsee villa if it should prove to be a false alarm which, this being Rath, wouldn’t come as a great surprise.’
‘Understood,’ Charly said, doing a little jump for joy inside.
Now she was standing outside the same Wannsee villa, which looked more like a forbidding stronghold, unsure whether she was about to make a fool of herself or expose herself to danger. Böhm had given her a whistle, the classic way to summon help.
Nothing stirred inside the house. She rang the bell again.
‘Let me do the talking,’ Paul said. ‘I look less like a police officer than you do.’
She nodded.
At last they heard steps. An old, white-haired man opened the door. ‘What can I do for you? We don’t buy anything at the door.’
‘Please excuse the lateness of our visit,’ Paul began in his best wine trader’s voice, ‘we’re not trying to sell anything. We’re looking for a friend who left us a message to say he was at this address. Does the name Gereon Rath mean anything to you?’
‘You are indeed too late,’ the servant said. ‘Herr Rath was here, but that was hours ago. It’s almost half past ten, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘When did he leave?’
‘I can’t say exactly; the master saw him out personally. I was preparing dinner.’
‘I know it’s late, but could we speak to Herr Marquard?’
The servant looked as if he had been asked to dance the Charleston in a banana skirt. ‘I don’t know if I can disturb Herr Marquard. You can take me at my word, your friend is certainly no longer here.’
‘Perhaps Herr Marquard knows where he’s gone,’ Charly said. ‘Please, it’s very important.’
She thought the man was going to slam the door in their faces. He did, as well, but first he said: ‘One moment please. I’ll ask if Herr Marquard has time.’
Paul and Charly looked at one another.
‘If it wasn’t so sad it’d be funny,’ he said. ‘I’m beginning to sense our fears were a little premature. It doesn’t seem dangerous. They’re just unfriendly.’
‘At least we know Gereon was here.’
‘Yes, but I haven’t seen his car. So, he must have left again.’
‘But where?’
‘No idea.’
‘What if they’re both lying at the bottom of the Wannsee?’
‘Don’t exaggerate, there’s no reason to panic.’
‘I’m not panicking.’
Again they heard steps. The door seemed to open even more slowly this time.
56
Rath didn’t know how long he had held this position, but it felt like hours. His hunched back was hellishly sore and, for the moment, even made him forget his headache. He’d have given anything to stretch out but couldn’t.
Should he call for Elisabeth Marquard? It definitely made a difference whether he snuffed it in this crate or died a half-dignified death in the golden cage above. What had made him come up with such a crazy idea? Now he was trapped. To die in a dumb waiter! It was some comfort, at least, that he would escape the ignominy of being found there.
Suddenly he thought he heard something. Yes! Someone was whistling a happy tun
e. There was a hollow, tinny sound as he kicked against the steel door. He had tried it when he first came down, but no one had reacted. Probably because there was no one in the kitchen.
He kicked against the door again, as hard as he could with bent knees and a hunched back. The steps drew closer, and at last he heard someone unlocking the door; light streamed into his dark, narrow cage and he blinked between his knees into the surprised face of a Chinese man. He had no intention of inflicting harm, but he couldn’t help it, he had to stretch his legs. In the process he landed his saviour one on the chin.
Rath manoeuvred himself out of the lift and looked around, scarcely able to think clearly. The Chinese man lay motionless on the light grey marble tiles.
On the work surface was a drawer container with white powder. He rushed to try it, ignoring his aching bones.
Salt! This couldn’t be happening.
He was in a kitchen, there had to be sugar somewhere! He looked in the cupboards, but found only pots, bowls, plates. Where did they keep the supplies? He looked around increasingly frantically.
Quick, but don’t panic! What was he looking for again?
There, beside the dresser. A small, unremarkable door. He stumbled over and opened it. The larder!
At last he had found paradise! Shelves and shelves of food.
Now, quickly, anything sweet, to me!
The first thing he saw was the sorry remains of a marble cake. He gulped down a slice. The cake was so dry he almost choked, but it was sweet.
He wouldn’t be able to manage another piece like that, he had to drink something. He found a bottle of apple juice and brought it to his lips, alternating continuously between drinking and eating until the bottle was empty and the cake demolished. I need more fruit, he thought. Fruit was best, fructose, if he had understood Dr Karthaus correctly. He searched for and found a few crates of fruit, grabbed a banana and an apple, and proceeded to eat his way through the rest as if in a frenzy, leaving only the yangtao.
Starting to think more clearly again, he took another bottle of apple juice and went back into the kitchen. The Chinese man on the ground was groaning.
In amongst the groaning, however, was another sound, a wretched, high-pitched whimper.
‘Kirie?’ There was a short bark in response. ‘Where are you, sweetie?’
Another bark, from the corner next to the big fridge.
He couldn’t believe his eyes. She was crouched in a tiny cage that must have been intended to transport chickens. He placed the apple juice on the floor and opened the door.
‘My poor Kirie,’ he said, taking the dog in his arms. ‘Were they going to put you on the menu?’
Now he no longer regretted in the slightest having sent the Chinese man to the floor.
‘What you want here? I call police!’
He turned around. The Chinese man was standing in front of him, holding his head in one hand and a large kitchen knife in the other.
‘I am the police!’ Rath showed his badge. The Chinese man bowed and laid the knife down. ‘Just stay calm now,’ he said, ‘unless you want me to arrest you for animal cruelty.’
‘My dog! Herr Marquard Sir give me!’
‘So you can turn her into sausage meat? This is Germany, you know.’
‘No sausage, what you talking about? For niece number two. Has birthday soon.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, but that birthday present of yours is a non-starter. The dog belongs to me. Herr Marquard…’
‘Herr Marquard give to me, not police!’ The man took a step towards Rath and tried to grab the dog. Kirie barked at him, and he started back.
‘You see, she wants nothing to do with you!’
‘My dog, talk Herr Marquard! My dog!’
The man wasn’t about to give up so easily. He made a second grab for Kirie, but she grew even more agitated, and growled at him until Rath could no longer keep hold of her. She leapt from his arms and tore away at great speed.
The man made to go after her. Rath didn’t know what else to do, so he dealt the man another quick blow to the chin, knocking him out again. ‘Sorry,’ he said.
The excitement and effort had caused him a lot of strain. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, still didn’t have enough sugar in his blood. Or, rather, had far too much insulin. He grabbed the bottle of apple juice and set off in the same direction as Kirie. She would know the best way out.
He could have done with his Mauser and, for a moment, thought about arming himself with a knife from the kitchen. He decided against. He wasn’t cut out to be a knife-man.
57
Wolfgang Marquard received them in proper style in front of a flickering fire. He was wearing an oriental dressing gown that looked very expensive.
‘Please excuse my appearance. I had already withdrawn for the evening when Albert informed me of your visit. He said it was important. Please tell me what is on your mind, but first let us have a drink.’ He took a bottle of Armagnac and poured himself a measure. ‘You may retire, Albert,’ he said.
‘Very good, Master.’
Marquard gave Charly a friendly smile and handed her a glass. She gazed at the man, who cut a dash even in a dressing gown. Slim, a little on the small side perhaps, with a nose that was a trifle large, but that only made his face more interesting. A born seducer, she thought. And then that voice! A voice you could listen to forever, so softly did it fill the air. Why would a man like that kill actresses when he could just as well break their hearts?
They raised their glasses and drank.
‘So,’ Marquard said, ‘what brings you to me?’
‘Gereon Rath,’ Paul replied. ‘A friend of ours – he told us we would find him here.’
‘Then he gave you the wrong time. Herr Rath left hours ago.’
‘Do you know where he went?’
Marquard shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m afraid not. Home, I suppose.’
‘What time was that approximately?’ Charly asked.
Marquard considered. ‘Six, maybe half past six. Not much later, anyway.’
‘What did he want from you? Was he here on official duty or privately?’
‘I don’t know if I’m allowed to say. He was here as a police officer, and police matters are, I think, subject to discretion.’
‘Of course.’
All three gave a start when a dog suddenly and unexpectedly barked. Then a little black ball of wool came charging into the room and started sniffing the chair Charly was sitting in.
The dog issued another agitated bark. She wagged her tail and looked at Charly with an expression that resembled a smile.
‘Kirie?’ she said, disbelievingly.
Paul stood up. ‘Why is this dog in your house?’ he asked, no longer sounding anything like a friendly wine trader.
‘Am I to infer that you know this animal?’
The voice sounded just as warm and friendly, only now Wolfgang Marquard was holding a pistol.
58
Where had Kirie got to, the darned mutt? The house was even more labyrinthine than Rath remembered. He had to reckon with meeting Wolfgang Marquard or his aged servant at any moment. He still didn’t know if they were in cahoots. Whatever the case, he was determined to fell the old man if he should encounter him again.
Time and time again he was overcome by dizzy spells and outbreaks of cold sweat, and had to pause to lean against the wall. Sometimes he remembered to take a swig of apple juice, and sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he forgot he was carrying the bottle at all. His thoughts strayed constantly, wandering through their own private labyrinth. It took a superhuman effort not to lose sight of his goal.
At some point he had climbed a set of stairs, not the large staircase in the vestibule or the small spiral staircase, but another, and now he had the chance to go either right or left down a long corridor. He turned to the right because he thought he could hear Kirie barking in that direction, and then found himself standing in front of a large, bolted double
-leaf door.
This was surely no longer part of the servants’ quarters, but something more formal. He hesitated before opening it. Kirie couldn’t get through a bolted door. He must have taken the wrong turn, so back he went until he heard her barking again. He could hear her through the door.
He plucked up his courage and carefully opened it only to find himself in the vestibule once more.
It was dark, but he didn’t dare switch on the light. The gleam from the door through which he had just entered helped him find his way, as well as Kirie’s barking, which now sounded afresh.
If he had heard correctly, it was coming from somewhere he had already been that afternoon. When he had followed the old servant into Marquard’s reception room. Why had she chosen to go back there, of all places, rather than dash for freedom through some open door, some open window?
He sighed. To his right he felt the call of the main front door. Just one step and he would be out in the open, where he could call for backup. But he couldn’t leave without the stupid dog! Who knew what Marquard might do to her?
If only she would stop barking.
At least Kirie granted him that wish. Since her last bark, when he entered the vestibule, he hadn’t heard a thing.
He opened the door which Albert had opened for him a few hours before and stepped into a dark room. If he remembered correctly, he still had to pass through two rooms to reach the drawing room. Gradually he groped his way towards the next door.
Hopefully Marquard had already gone to bed.
Wishful thinking. A flickering gleam of light shone through the crack in the door. Evidently the master was having a little drink by the fire. Kirie had nothing better to do than come running here?
You’re on your own, Rath thought, you stupid, ungrateful little mutt.
He was about to turn and creep back towards the vestibule, and the main front door, when he heard a voice he recognised.
Charly?
That couldn’t be right. What on earth was she doing here?
The Silent Death Page 45