The March Fallen

by volker Kutscher

  ‘The lieutenant . . . he was quite a fellow,’ the blond said with admiration. ‘Certainly knew how to swoop.’

  ‘To swoop?’

  ‘We swoop on a lady when we ask them to dance,’ Bertrand explained, eyeing Willy angrily.

  Charly made notes, having purchased a reporter’s pad at Bahnhof Zoo. It was the same kind as the one Berthold Weinert used, and he was the only reporter she knew.

  ‘Anyway,’ the Viennese continued, ‘Roddeck had an eye for ladies with a bit of loose change.’

  ‘Willy is implying,’ Bertrand interrupted, ‘that Roddeck received the largest tips.’

  ‘Right,’ Willy continued, ‘because he knew who would pay out.’

  ‘He made a decent living, then . . .’

  ‘Yes, above all since the Countess took him under her wing.’

  ‘The Countess?’

  ‘She isn’t really a Countess,’ Bertrand said.

  ‘No, she’s just rich,’ Willy explained. ‘Name’s de Graaf or something. Used to be a regular here.’

  ‘She became Achim von Roddeck’s dance partner?’

  ‘Not only that, if you ask me,’ Willy said, receiving another sideways glance from Bertrand.

  ‘She was his lover?’

  ‘It isn’t unheard of for a client to take up with a dancer,’ Bertrand said. ‘If they’re discreet enough, it can work out – at least, for a time.’

  ‘I see.’ Charly made notes, until she saw Betrand’s shocked expression. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I can be discreet too. This is all background information to build a better picture of Herr Roddeck.’

  Background information. She had the expression from Weinert, and had experienced its meaning for herself. The pigeon droppings that had triggered Böhm’s exile to Köpenick.

  ‘He continued to work here as a dance host,’ Willy went on. ‘Only, he looked after the same client more or less every night. The Countess. They danced together, drank together, ate together, and disappeared together afterwards.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound very discreet,’ Charly said.

  Willy shrugged. ‘Management turned a blind eye. They didn’t want to lose the Countess. She didn’t just dance at the hotel, she was a resident here too.’

  ‘How long did this go on?’

  ‘Two or three years.’

  ‘Then management stopped turning a blind eye?’ she asked. ‘Or why else was Roddeck dismissed?’

  ‘He wasn’t dismissed,’ Willy said. ‘The Countess dropped him like a hot potato.’

  ‘She did?’

  ‘These things happen. After that the lieutenant had a little trouble rejoining the ranks.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘His colleagues first of all. We hardly treated him like the prodigal son, as I’m sure you can imagine. All those years thinking he was better than us. But no, the real reason for his demise was that he no longer had the ladies at his feet.’

  ‘He couldn’t just . . . swoop in . . . wherever he pleased?’

  ‘He was assigned to other, less lucrative tables. When you start getting rejected there, you know the writing’s on the wall.’

  Bertrand hunched his shoulders. It seemed almost like an apology. ‘That’s how it is in our line of work, you just have to deal with it. At some point the years catch up with you.’ He looked so wistful he might have been referring to himself.

  ‘Is that why the Countess gave him the boot? His age?’

  ‘Who knows?’ said Willy. ‘Either way, she keeps a different private dancer these days. Der schöne Sigismund.’ Handsome Sigismund.

  ‘Sigismund? Like in the song?’ she blurted out, before looking around and whispering. ‘Is he here?’

  Willy laughed. ‘No, no. After breaking with the lieutenant the Countess packed her bags and left. Sigismund dances at the Belvedere.’

  56

  On Eigelstein the whores stood outside the corner bars just as they always had, chatting up passing men regardless of age. Rath put off those who looked his way with a friendly smile. Here Cologne still felt like the Cologne of old; away from all the Nazi commotion life went on as before. A lone swastika flag flew at the far end of the street above the medieval city gate. The smell of mash from the nearby brewery hung in the air.

  This time he was in luck. The shop was open. Master Watchmaker Eduard Schürmann looked up in surprise when he saw who had entered with the chime of the bell. ‘Inspector!’

  ‘Ede! Pleased to see you, and what a fine morning it is.’

  ‘Certainly, Inspector!’ The watchmaker was friendliness personified. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I was hoping you could fix something.’

  ‘Your lovely wristwatch? It looks brand new.’

  ‘It’s this business with the wallet. You remember?’

  Ede tried his best to look stupid. ‘Of course! Tietz, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You do remember? Oh good. Then perhaps you can tell me where those fifty marks have got to.’

  ‘What are you talking about? I don’t know wh . . .’

  Rath seized Schürmann by the collar of his grey overalls. ‘I know you pocketed the money before you dropped the wallet.’

  ‘My apologies, Inspector, a simple oversight. I thought I had put everything back.’

  ‘So you admit it.’

  ‘I don’t like to steal anymore, but sometimes the temptation is too great.’

  ‘When you’ve got such a lovely shop as well.’

  ‘It’s an itch. Sometimes you have to scratch.’

  ‘Perhaps you should have a doctor take a look.’ Rath let go of Ede’s collar and smiled. ‘Give me fifty marks and we’re even.’

  ‘You think it’s as easy as that?’ Ede smoothed down his overalls and cranked a lever on the prehistoric till. The drawer opened with a loud pling. ‘See for yourself, Inspector. Nothing but shrapnel. I’ve barely any change, so how am I supposed . . .?’

  ‘All I know is, I had to reimburse Herr Klefisch from my own wallet!’

  Arriving at the police station, Rath had served up a story for Detective Wiefelspütz that not even he quite understood, but the Berlin Police identification coupled with the name Rath, which still held sway in Krebsgasse, had convinced Herr Wiefelspütz to accept his version of events and return the fifty mark note to its rightful owner.

  Even so, he saw no reason to pay the sum out of his own pocket. ‘Do you know why I did it?’ he asked the thieving watchmaker.

  ‘I’m all ears, Inspector.’

  ‘Because I’m a humanitarian, and I didn’t want to report you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t change my mind, then you can kiss goodbye to all this.’

  ‘Please, Inspector!’ Ede seemed genuinely afraid. ‘Do you know what the SA do with people like me? They lock us up, whether we’re guilty or not.’

  ‘Then you appreciate the gravity of the situation. Give me the cash and I’ll say you’re an honest, upstanding watchmaker who hasn’t been on the rob for years.’

  ‘You’d do that, Inspector?’

  ‘Provided you give me the money.’ Rath held out his hand and rubbed his thumb against his index finger. ‘Otherwise the SA might hear a different story.’

  ‘I don’t have it, Inspector. Honest. If people settled their bills on time . . . but times are hard.’

  Rath hadn’t seen Ede grovelling like this before, not even when he’d interrogated him a decade ago.

  ‘When can you have the money?’

  ‘A week, maybe two. Please, Inspector. You’ll get your money, just don’t report me!’

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? Two weeks. I’ll be back in Berlin by then.’

  ‘I’ll bring it to you. I’ll be there soon enough anyway.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘In April, for a trade fair.’

  ‘April? I’m warning you, Ede, there’ll be interest.’

  ‘Whatever you say, Inspector. Just don’t report me!’

  Despite his empty travel fund, Rath relente
d and pushed his card across the counter.

  Leaving the store he couldn’t help thinking about the new age, even if everything on Eigelstein looked the same. If someone like Ede, a small-time crook who’d seen it all before, could be so afraid of being reported, then things really were starting to change.

  57

  The euphoria that washed over her after alighting from the tram on Kaiserallee soon gave way to a crushing sense of disillusion, which was still there days later.

  Yes, she had escaped Huckebein, but been forced to break with Fritze at the same time. She had often considered ditching him, but now, having finally succeeded, she missed him every moment he was gone. It wasn’t just because his absence made it harder to find a place to sleep. Never before had she felt so alone.

  She had seen him on one further occasion, at Görlitzer Bahnhof, but he didn’t recognise her in the new coat she had acquired the same day she’d given Huckebein the slip. Watching from behind a pillar it pained her to see him begging again. She felt something like longing, and would have liked nothing more than to run to him, poke him in the ribs and revel in his dopey face. But she couldn’t. There was a chance Huckebein had seen them together, and was using Fritze as bait.

  In the meantime she could manage on her own. She had learned that stealing was preferable to begging, and had stopped going to the Märchenbrunnen after the incident at Bahnhof Zoo. No one would show up there now anyway, it was more of a summer haunt. The thing was, she didn’t have a clue where the posse met in winter. If, that is, the posse still existed.

  She had made for Neukölln, which seemed like the safest place, being far removed from Dalldorf and its warders, and equally far from Bahnhof Zoo. By now she was familiar with the area’s bars, cafes and shelters, knew where you could scrounge and where you couldn’t, and at Karstadt on Hermannplatz had even managed to filch an enormous cured sausage, which she had been nibbling at for days. If it wasn’t so damn cold, you could almost call if a life.

  Nights she spent in an old, abandoned cinema. It wasn’t heated, but it did provide shelter from the wind and the rain, and in the old, dusty film organ she had found a cosy spot between the pipes where she felt safe. From here she could survey the whole theatre without being seen herself.

  The dive bar she had stopped by this morning was one of the few places she could wash, even if the basin was out in the yard and it was all she could do not to cry out when the cold water touched her skin. She washed her face and neck and hands, no more, and, face-reddened by the cold, returned to the warmth of the public bar. Blinking against the cigarette smoke, to her surprise she recognised a familiar face. A member of the Märchenbrunnen posse stood at the counter. She went over.

  ‘Felix? Remember me?’ The youth, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, was warming his hands on a cup of weak coffee. He looked at her uncertainly. ‘Hannah,’ she prompted. ‘From Bülowplatz. We used to meet at the Märchenbrunnen.’

  His eyes lit up. ‘That’s right,’ he said, and smiled. ‘Little Hannah! What happened to you? All of a sudden you stopped coming by . . .’

  She knew she couldn’t say what had really happened, not even to someone like Felix. They stood in silence for a time. Felix had been quiet back then, too, Fanny and Kotze had done most of the talking. Kotze, whose real name was Josef Koczian, had been the group’s leader. ‘I’ve been in town for a week,’ she said. ‘No one showed at the Märchenbrunnen.’

  ‘Not in winter. Anyway, those days are gone.’

  ‘Where are Fanny and Kotze?’

  ‘Doing their best to get by.’

  ‘You don’t see each other?’

  He looked her up and down. ‘Coffee? You look like you could use one.’

  It felt good to talk, even with someone as taciturn as Felix, and no one else would stand her a coffee. She scooped three spoonfuls of sugar into her cup. That way the weak sludge would taste of something, and she’d feel as if she had something in her stomach.

  ‘What are you up to?’ she asked. ‘You’re looking swish.’

  Felix had never been this well-dressed when she’d known him before. It wasn’t exactly an elegant suit – thick wool coat, corduroy trousers, peaked cap – but there wasn’t a patch in sight, or a frayed edge. He looked like a worker, albeit one who earned a decent wage.

  ‘You don’t look so bad yourself,’ he said.

  She didn’t know if he was talking about her, or her clothes, which, though stolen, were more or less all new, but she felt uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to compliments.

  ‘Got somewhere to stay?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘You?’

  ‘Here and there, same as always.’

  Felix looked her up and down for a second time. ‘Want to stay with me for a bit? I could use a woman’s touch.’

  ‘Do you have room?’

  ‘Can you cook?’

  ‘Of course,’ Hannah lied.

  She could hardly believe her luck. She had a roof over her head again. A friend with money. Perhaps even a future.

  58

  The sun was setting as Rath reached Berlin where, as in Cologne, the number of flags seemed to have increased. In Lichterfelde and Steglitz they hung from the building fronts as if they had always been there. As cities Red Berlin and Catholic Cologne might be poles apart, but both now stood under the banner of the swastika. Only a few weeks before it would have been unthinkable.

  The imperial black-white-and-red, along with the Nazi flag, represented the new Germany. According to the newspaper Rath had purchased at a petrol station the black-red-and-gold of the Republic was, as of now, forbidden. Hindenburg had given his blessing to the whole thing.

  Thanks to Ede he had been obliged to pay by cheque. The attendant was suspicious at first, though the police badge set him at his ease. Even so, he insisted on making a note of Rath’s address.

  He had little to show for his three-day trip, and neither he nor Gennat was happy about it. He had spoken with Buddha first from his parents’ house, then again from a telephone booth after returning to Magdeburg in search of Hermann Wibeau. Neither was sure what the man’s continued absence could mean. Wibeau’s neighbours, at least, were unconcerned, and no unidentified corpses had turned up in Magdeburg in the last few days. This had reassured Buddha, who had put out a warrant for the man all the same.

  By the time Rath parked in Carmerstrasse it was already dark. He was surprised that Kirie should greet him alone, but then he heard music from the living room and went through to find Charly hunched over case files. On the table in front of her was a bottle of wine and a glass. Duke Ellington was spinning on the turntable. She looked up in surprise. ‘Back already?’

  ‘I’ve been away for three days.’

  ‘I completely lost track of time.’

  She stood up, a little wobbly on her feet. He set down his case and took her in his arms. She snuggled up, and he was surprised by her affection. Had she really missed him that much – or was it just the alcohol? She tasted of red wine. ‘Welcome back,’ she said, and for the first time since renting the apartment almost a year ago, it felt like coming home.

  ‘What have you got there?’ he asked.

  ‘Hannah Singer. A new lead. She’s been sighted in town.’

  He took off his hat and coat. ‘It’s landed with G Division?’

  She shook her head. ‘I took the file from your office. Warrants put it on your desk, and I thought you might like to read it at home.’

  ‘What am I supposed to do with it? Hannah Singer is an escaped lunatic. She has nothing to do with my case.’ He was annoyed. Why couldn’t Warrants just pick her up and have her sent back to Dalldorf instead of clogging up his desk?

  ‘I can look into it if you like,’ Charly fetched a second glass from the cupboard. ‘Fancy a drop? I know it’s a little early, but I had to open a bottle.’

  They clinked glasses. ‘Hard day?’ Rath asked.

  She looked at him so seriously he’d have liked nothing more than to ki
ss her again. ‘Gereon, I can’t take it anymore. Wieking, Karin, the whole goddamn WKP! The way they run after this Hitler as if he were the Saviour.’

  ‘That bad, huh?’

  ‘Worse.’ She reached for her cigarettes. ‘Can’t you put in a request for me?’

  ‘If only it were that simple. You mustn’t think there are no Nazis in Homicide. The commissioner is a Nazi, the whole damn country is governed by Nazis. That’s how it is, but it won’t last forever.’

  ‘Though apparently I’m fine to work unofficially, and spend my evenings grappling with gigolos.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that. I thought . . .’

  ‘It’s fine. Actually I enjoyed it.’ She looked at him with that gaze she knew he couldn’t resist. ‘I realise Gennat isn’t going to let us strike out together, Gereon, but he could always pair me up with Reinhold Gräf, like Böhm used to.’

  ‘Gräf’s no longer on my team.’

  ‘What? Why not?’

  ‘I didn’t ask him to be.’

  ‘But he knows the case. He was there at the start.’

  ‘He’s still working for the Politicals. Besides, he’s . . .’ He broke off. He didn’t know how to tell her.

  ‘He’s what?’

  ‘I . . .’ he hesitated again. ‘The thing is: Gräf’s a Nazi.’

  ‘Reinhold?’

  ‘I didn’t want to say anything, but as far as the national revolution’s concerned he’s really got the bit between his teeth. He’s friends with an SA officer too.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean anything. Reinhold’s a nice guy, I can’t picture him as a Nazi.’

  ‘He isn’t one of the malicious ones, but he’s just as gushing about Hitler as all these women. Like your colleagues in G, as if Hitler’s the Saviour. That’s what Reinhold believes too.’

  The record ended. Rath returned the tone arm to its starting position and went over to Charly, pulled her out of the armchair and danced slowly with her across the room. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I want to see what you learned from those gigolos.’