The March Fallen

by volker Kutscher

  ‘Hannah Singer. Have you found her?’

  ‘No, but she was seen last week, on Thursday or Friday I think. At Bahnhof Zoo.’

  ‘Seen by whom?’

  ‘A witness recognised her and tried to detain her, but she got away. By the time police officers moved in she was long gone.’

  ‘What kind of witness?’

  ‘Take a look at the report.’ He winked. ‘It’s on Inspector Rath’s desk.’

  Not for the first time she realised her impending marriage to Gereon was an open secret. ‘Thanks for the heads-up.’

  She hadn’t stopped thinking about Hannah Singer since her visit to Dalldorf, and had collected any information she could find on the girl. According to the files, Hannah was nine years old when her mother died, and things had gone downhill soon after. Within six months, she and her father, a rag-and-bone man who had lost the use of his legs during the war, were evicted from their flat. It wasn’t clear when they had wound up in the Crow’s Nest, but Hannah was first arrested for begging on the Weidendammer Bridge in autumn 1929. On that occasion she had been spared being committed to a home because her father appeared at the police station accompanied by Heinrich Wosniak, who pledged that he would look after the helpless father and his half-grown daughter.

  Charly had circled the name Wosniak where it appeared in the files. Hannah was starting to take shape. Even if the details were hard to verify, it was increasingly clear that she had endured a slave’s existence in the Crow’s Nest. An eleven-year-old girl living with thirty- to fifty-year-old men! It must have been hell. Selling matches in all weathers was probably the least of it. Setting fire to the shack on Bülowplatz had been a desperate attempt at freedom, but two of her tormentors had survived while her father perished. What must she have felt on seeing the image of the dead Heinrich Wosniak, and that of her father from a time when all this was still ahead? Charly was no psychologist, but the photos must have brought any number of memories to the surface, and triggered Hannah’s episode soon after.

  She felt infinitely sympathetic towards this girl with eight lives on her conscience, and certainly didn’t view her as a killer. Perhaps she wasn’t even mad, just damaged at her very core.

  The thought stayed with her in Registry as she searched half-heartedly for the files that were next on her and Karin’s list. More gangs of youths . . . It was almost as if, buoyed by her success with the Red Rats, Friederike Wieking intended to wipe out every wild posse going.

  Having joked about it moments before, the odour of dust now made Charly sick for real. Returning to her office with the files, she didn’t even have to put on a show.

  ‘Charly, what’s wrong?’ Karin van Almsick asked.

  ‘What do you mean?

  ‘You look terrible. Do you not feel well?’

  ‘I just threw up.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d better go home.’

  ‘I was off work just recently.’

  ‘There isn’t much to do right now. The Rats are behind bars. The worst is over.’

  Charly set the pile of files on Karin’s desk. ‘But off work, again . . . what will Wieking say?’

  ‘Well, I have my suspicions there . . . but don’t worry, my lips are sealed!’

  ‘What suspicions?’

  Karin grinned. ‘Ever thought you might be . . . I mean, have you . . . could you be . . . ah . . . in the family way?’

  ‘God forbid!’ She didn’t mean to sound so appalled.

  ‘I know you two aren’t married yet, but . . .’ Karin looked to the side in embarrassment. ‘Well, you’re not that strict, are you?’

  ‘Pregnant . . .’ Charly shook her head. ‘That’s all I need.’

  ‘There’s no point torturing yourself here. Maybe you should go to the doctor.’

  A quarter of an hour later, Charly waited for the S-Bahn at Alexanderplatz with Kirie on her lead, a pile of files under her arm, and a satisfied smile on her face. She had struggled to hold it together inside. Pregnant! If only Karin van Almsick knew what measures she was taking to prevent it, that in Paris she’d even had an abortion . . . which was something Gereon could never know about.

  Kirie had wagged her tail when she realised they were heading out again. Usually she didn’t get a walk until lunchtime. Despite looking sceptical when Charly mentioned taking documents home for Inspector Rath, Erika Voss had handed everything over, even the file Gereon hadn’t requested yesterday evening. Either he knew nothing about the recent sighting of Hannah Singer, or he still wasn’t interested.

  Leaving the S-Bahn at Savignyplatz Charly made for Carmerstrasse, where she put on coffee and started leafing through the file from Warrants. Right now that was the one that counted, not Gereon’s dossier on Achim von Roddeck.

  The name of the witness who had sighted Hannah at Bahnhof Zoo wasn’t noted anywhere. He had disappeared before the cops on the ground could take his particulars. Even so, it seemed clear that it was, indeed, Hannah he had seen. Her clothes were more or less a match for those stolen from the Jonass Department Store, where she’d left behind her nightshirt and cleaning overalls, both of which she’d worn since Dalldorf. The dark blue coat was more of a mystery, and hadn’t been reported missing from either Jonass or the asylum. From Bahnhof Zoo she had apparently taken a tram to Wilmersdorf, where the trail was lost.

  Charly wrote the names of the cops in her notebook, along with the description of the witness, helped herself to one of the police photos of Hannah, and went on her way. She felt certain that Wilmersdorf was a red herring; Hannah’s life had centred around northern and eastern Berlin, and the area around Bülowplatz. No, Charly’s starting point would be Bahnhof Zoo. Clearly Hannah had business there, perhaps selling her body to make ends meet.

  Kirie seemed to be enjoying her newfound freedom to roam. Before turning down Hardenbergstrasse Charly asked the newspaper vendor at Steinplatz for a copy of the Kreuzzeitung.

  ‘Sold out. Went like hot cakes this morning. You might get one at the train station.’

  ‘That’s where I’m headed anyway.’

  ‘Interested in the new serial?’

  ‘My husband is.’

  Five minutes later she found herself back at Bahnhof Zoo, one of the ugliest but busiest train stations in Berlin. It was an affluent part of town but, if you kept your eyes peeled, you could see any number of street children begging, selling dubious goods, sometimes even themselves, or simply loitering around. She made the rounds with Hannah’s photo. ‘Excuse me, do you know this girl?’

  All she received were head shakes and the odd comment. ‘Lady, why don’t you just give me a mark? I don’t need these questions.’

  She carried on undeterred, asking not only youths but also war veterans who had sacrificed their health in the trenches and now competed for the sympathy of passers-by. Charly found it increasingly hard not to give these pitiful wretches money. Poor souls . . . although the youths were just as pitiful, none of them knowing where they would spend the night, only that they preferred this existence to the prospect of life in the protectory. Which is where they would find themselves if arrested.

  That was unlikely, however. Unless they felt passers-by were being unduly harassed, the police let the kids do as they pleased, although the SA auxiliary officer next to the two beat cops, German Shepherd on its lead beside him, might have other ideas. The SA was unpredictable, which explained why its men inspired such respect – or such fear.

  A red-haired boy who was begging in a cheeky, but charming, way had been watching her out of the corner of his eye. ‘Excuse me, lady,’ he said, ‘but I lost my ticket and mother is waiting for me at home in Bernau. You wouldn’t have ten pfennig for a poor apprentice lad?’

  ‘You’re an apprentice, are you? What are you doing out here, then?’ The clock by the underpass showed a quarter past twelve.

  ‘Baker’s apprentice,’ he said cheekily. He had a strong Berlin accent.

  Aware that he was lying through his teeth, Charly reached ins
ide her purse for a ten-pfennig coin. Before handing it over, she showed him the photo. ‘Do you know this girl?’

  ‘Why would I? Does she look like a baker to you?’

  ‘She spends a lot of time here. Her name is Hannah.’

  ‘What’s she done?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you’re looking for her, which means you’re either her mother or from Welfare, and you’re not her mother.’

  He made the word ‘Welfare’ sound like a contagious disease. His eyes flitted this way and that, ready to make a run at any moment.

  ‘Wrong on both counts.’ Charly smiled. ‘I’m from the police. I want to help you.’

  ‘Understood. Your friendly local police department. So, she has done something?’

  ‘I think there’s someone after her.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this? I don’t know the girl.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ She looked him in the eye, certain he was lying. He must care about Hannah, or he’d have bolted by now.

  ‘Lady, you expect me to remember every face that passes through? That’s a whole lot of people. It’s not like I lose my ticket every day.’

  She handed him the coin, along with a piece of paper with her name and address. ‘If you happen to see her, tell her that Charlotte Ritter from the police knows that she’s in danger. She needn’t worry that I’ll have her sent back.’

  ‘Sent back?’

  ‘To Dalldorf.’

  The boy looked surprised. Hannah obviously hadn’t told him about her past, but who tells someone they’ve escaped from a mental asylum, or that they have eight people on their conscience? He grinned at her and strolled off, slowly increasing his pace until he was almost running. He looked like someone trying to catch a train.

  She waited until the SA officer had stubbed out his cigarette and continued on his way before speaking to the two beat cops. The German Shepherd barked at Kirie, but the auxiliary officer tipped his SA cap by way of apology and smiled. So, friendly Nazis did exist, and they had reason to be cheerful since, as of today, they had control of the town halls as well as the Reich Chancellery. She produced her identification.

  ‘Are you from Warrants?’ the cop said. ‘They pestered the hell out of us the day before yesterday. Not that they found the little brat either.’

  ‘No, no. Women’s CID.’

  ‘We have to find her before Welfare get involved.’

  ‘Welfare’ was all G Division was to her male colleagues. She swallowed her anger. ‘This man who saw her, what was he like?’.

  ‘He had a lot of facial scars. A war veteran if you ask me.’

  ‘Like one of them?’ Charly gestured towards the beggars at the station.

  ‘He was much better dressed, but his face was a sight. He had a limp too.’

  ‘Yet he managed to get away before you could take down his personal particulars.’

  ‘We couldn’t have known he’d take off, and we had to report to Alex and our colleagues in Wilmersdorf. There was plenty to do.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s strange that a witness should slip away like that? After making such a song and dance about having the girl detained.’

  ‘He’ll have had his reasons. Maybe didn’t want his old lady to know he’d been hanging around Bahnhof Zoo.’

  ‘How did he know the girl then? Did he say? There weren’t any pictures of her in the papers.’

  ‘He was gone before we had the chance to ask.’

  52

  Rath needed less than half an hour to reach Cologne. Adenauer’s new automobile highway, the Kraftwagenstrasse, made it seem as if Bonn were a suburb of Cologne, rather than a city thirty kilometres away. The four-lane road, including twenty kilometres without an intersection, was intended to promote the city’s modernisation and create employment in difficult times. In the summer his father had asked him to attend the opening. Like the Rosenmontag invitation, it was an attempt to integrate him into Cologne’s inner circle, but a gunshot wound to his shoulder, a painful reminder of his adventures in Masuria, had served as a convenient excuse.

  It was fun driving the Buick at full speed again. The last time had been on the AVUS in Berlin. It wasn’t until Bonner Strasse, Cologne’s southern arterial road, that he took his foot off the gas. The city had changed in the two weeks since he had left. The closer he came to the Rings, the wide boulevards that encircled Cologne’s centre, the more swastikas he saw, and not just on public buildings. The Nazis were everywhere. Only a few weeks ago city workers had removed unauthorised flags from the bridge. Try it now, and they would find themselves in the Rhine.

  Apart from the swastikas though, the city looked the same. Maybe not that much had changed after all. There was no point getting worked up. He parked outside the entrance at Sudermanstrasse, and felt his guilty conscience and a host of unpleasant memories stir. A helpful female assistant, whom he had never seen before, opened the door and smiled at him. He placed a finger to his lips. ‘I’m a friend,’ he said, and gestured towards the office door. ‘I wanted to surprise Herr Wittkamp.’

  His knock was met with a weary ‘come in’. Rath entered the office, the sight of which triggered yet more memories: wine bottles, mouse ears, the morning after the night before . . . Paul was entering something in a thick notebook. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked without looking up.

  ‘Look at you, starving away. How about I buy you lunch?’

  Paul looked up, wide-eyed. ‘You? Forget your toothbrush in the rush?’

  ‘I guess I owe you an explanation.’

  ‘An apology will do. There isn’t a lot to explain.’

  ‘Ha! I thought it was the other way round.’ Paul looked at him angrily. ‘Anyway,’ Rath continued. ‘I thought I’d buy us lunch. My way of putting things right. What do you think, or have I come at a bad time?’

  ‘You always come at a bad time. It’s never stopped you in the past.’ Paul screwed the lid back on his fountain pen and stood up. ‘Or me, for that matter.’

  Weinhaus Brungs was near the town hall, a tavern which had opened in the rooms of a long-established in-house brewery that had recently ceased production. Seats and tables were made from wine cases, which gave an authentic feel.

  ‘Clients of yours?’ Rath asked once they had taken their seats.

  ‘Of course. It’s win-win. You buy me lunch, they re-order my stock.’

  ‘Let’s not go wild. It’s only lunchtime – and it’s Lent.’

  ‘Fish it is, then,’ Paul said. ‘I hear the trout au bleu is very good.’

  The waiter arrived with the menus, and Paul ordered a bottle of Moselle.

  ‘One of yours?’ Rath asked once the waiter was gone.

  ‘My best drop,’ said Paul. Rath had an inkling this wouldn’t be cheap. ‘So, you want to straighten things out?’

  ‘Why do you think I’m here? This wine tastes pretty expensive.’

  ‘I mean with the girl.’

  ‘How do you propose I do that?’

  ‘What about gently informing her that you have no future as a couple.’

  ‘She’ll have guessed that by now.’

  ‘Perhaps. But there’s guessing and there’s knowing . . . It’s time you cleaned up your own mess for a change.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘I’m not just talking about poor Hilde.’

  ‘What do you want me to do? I can hardly tell Charly.’

  ‘God forbid!’ Paul looked at him with unusual seriousness. ‘Didn’t I say you’d have me to deal with if you ever pull a stunt like this again?’

  ‘Whose witness are you anyway?’

  ‘I’m serious, Gereon.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’ll just have to forget about Carnival as a married man.’

  ‘If this is how it ends, maybe you should.’

  ‘The Nazis will ban it anyway.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Sense of humour isn’t really their thing.’

  ‘Adenauer�
��s hardly Carnival’s greatest fan either. And he collected money so that the parade could take place this year. The powers-that-be know how to make themselves popular . . .’

  ‘I wonder if it always works like that . . .’

  ‘Not for Adenauer anyway.’

  Paul fell silent. The waiter came with their dishes and poured more wine.

  ‘Has Adenauer been voted out?’ Rath asked once the waiter had disappeared.

  Paul looked around. ‘Let’s not discuss it here,’ he said.

  They ate in silence, and by the time they were finished they had emptied the bottle. Rath looked out of the window as people filed past, many of them in brown uniforms. ‘What’s this?’ he asked. ‘They’re heading for the town hall, aren’t they?’

  Paul placed his napkin to one side. ‘No idea, but let’s go. I need to get back.’

  The bill made a dent in Rath’s wallet, but he left a decent tip all the same. Could he put the meal on expenses? He pocketed the receipt.

  He hadn’t managed to find a space in the narrow alleyway in front of the restaurant and had parked a few metres down the road by the town hall, where an enormous throng was now gathered. His car was surrounded. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked a passer-by.

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’ The man had a thick Cologne accent. ‘The party occupied the town hall this morning. Adenauer’s scarpered.’

  ‘Which party?’ Rath asked. Stupid question.

  ‘Dr Riesen is mayor now.’

  ‘The Nazi? That’s why all these people are here?’

  ‘He’s going to make a speech about what’s going to happen in Cologne, now that Adenauer and his cronies are gone.’

  ‘I never thought the Nazis would get a majority in Cologne,’ he said to Paul across the roof of the car.

  ‘They didn’t, not even with the German National People’s Party.’

  ‘Then how come they get to pick the new mayor?’

  Paul waited until they were inside the Buick with both doors closed and Rath had the engine running. ‘The Nazis took the town hall this morning by force. Adenauer did well to stay away. They might just have put him up against a wall, like they were threatening last time you were here.’