The Fatherland Files

by volker Kutscher

  ‘She shouldn’t be telephoning so often anyway. Tell her that next time. I’ll call her tonight at home. What about Detective Gräf?’

  ‘No luck so far. He thinks he’ll be through the list by tonight. Should he and Assistant Detective Lange return to the office after that?’

  ‘Of course – unless they’ve requested holiday leave.’

  He went through to his office and sat by the telephone. ‘Could you put me through to ED,’ he called through the door. ‘After that I’ll need the Mathée distillery in or just outside Treuburg, Masuria.’

  Erika Voss did as bidden and moments later Rath had ED on the line. Kronberg took the call himself.

  ‘Inspector, that was quick. I have something for you.’

  ‘The written report on the evidence from Haus Vater-land?’

  ‘With you early tomorrow morning. We’ve got a lot on right now, what with the Phantom . . .’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘No, it concerns the death notices you submitted yesterday,’ the ED chief said, not without a hint of pride. ‘We know which newspapers they’re from.’

  ‘Excellent. Fire away.’

  ‘So . . .’ Kronberg began, as ponderous as ever. Rath could picture him at the other end of the line donning his reading glasses and painstakingly unfolding a sheet of paper. ‘The Simoneit death notice is from the Volkszeitung für die Ost- und Westprignitz, from 14th May this year. The paper is published in . . .’

  ‘ . . .let me guess: Wittenberge,’ Rath said. He couldn’t stand the ED chief’s long-windedness. ‘And no doubt the Wawerka death notice comes from a Dortmund paper.’

  ‘Correct. The Dortmund paper, in fact. Die Dortmunder Zeitung. From 2nd April.’

  He made a note.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘Many thanks.’

  ‘The letters in which the death notices were contained, on the other hand,’ Kronberg began, and Rath could tell by his voice that he had saved something special for last. ‘Were both dispatched from Berlin.’

  ‘Meaning the person who sent them lives here?’

  ‘That’s a possibility. The other possibility is that he wants us to think he lives there.’

  ‘If he’s that clever. Have you taken any fingerprints?’

  ‘We found a few on the envelopes, but they’re not clean. My men are still comparing; though I don’t hold out much hope.’

  ‘What about the prints from Haus Vaterland? Any luck there?’

  ‘We’ve managed to account for most. They’re either from staff or the deceased.’

  ‘Which staff?’

  ‘A good dozen. You’ll find the names in the report.’

  ‘It would be good if I could have it soon.’

  ‘Listen, Inspector, we only got the sheets on Monday. Almost fifty of them. We’re not miracle workers, you know.’

  ‘It’s just that we’re under a little pressure here, Herr Kronberg. The killer could strike again at any time.’

  No sooner had he hung up than Erika Voss poked her blonde head around the door. ‘Do you have the number for the distillery?’ he asked. She nodded. ‘Then put me through, please.’

  ‘Gladly, Inspector, but perhaps you should wait a little.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s . . .while you were on the telephone . . .Superintendent Gennat has been in touch again.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I think you’d better head over . . .’

  He looked at her face and knew she was right.

  25

  There was no cake, which ought to have given Rath pause, but, aside from that, everything was as normal: he sat on the green sofa, Gennat in his armchair, and Trudchen Steiner poured the coffee.

  Buddha seemed interested in the latest developments in the Vaterland case. ‘Looks like the trail leads towards East Prussia?’

  ‘You already know?’

  ‘Lamkau is from East Prussia, which is where he gets his Luisenbrand; the dead man from Dortmund is an East Prussian, likewise our man in Wittenberge.’

  ‘Him as well?’

  Gennat pushed a thin file across the table. ‘August Simoneit. Police registration documents from Wittenberge.’

  ‘Requested by Fräulein Ritter,’ Rath slipped in. ‘They got here quick.’

  ‘Official mail.’ Gennat slapped the file cover with the palm of his hand. ‘The man came to the Elbe in September 1924. From Marggrabowa.’

  ‘You mean, Treuburg.’

  ‘That’s right. Treuburg. I see you’ve done your homework.’

  Rath omitted to mention Detective Chief Inspector Watzke’s help. ‘Everything seems to point to Treuburg,’ he said instead. ‘According to his driving licence, Herr Lamkau lived there before moving to Berlin.’

  ‘So, that’s why you went back out to Tempelhof?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. I wanted to question the widow on her husband’s past. Lamkau and Wawerka must have known each other from Treuburg, and this Simoneit is clearly the third in the trio.’

  ‘Let’s hope there isn’t a fourth.’ Gennat stirred his coffee. ‘We need to find out what connects these men. It could be our way to the motive.’

  ‘I think so too, Sir.’

  ‘If all three were in Treuburg less than ten years ago, that’s where you should begin.’

  ‘I’ve already spoken with our colleagues there. None of them have police records.’

  ‘You’re not seriously proposing to leave inquiries to that bunch of amateurs! The Treuburg Police!’

  ‘I can hardly transfer my whole team to East Prussia! Fräulein Ritter is working undercover in Haus Vaterland at your behest, Sir. Meanwhile Lange and Gräf are still looking for this tubocurarine, which might prove just as important.’

  ‘You don’t have to decamp there en masse.’

  ‘We’re not exactly overcome with resources as it is.’

  Gennat looked annoyed, but before he could say anything there was a knock, and Trudchen Steiner appeared in the doorway. ‘The inspector is here now, Sir.’

  ‘Tell him to come in.’

  The superintendent didn’t bother to say which inspector should come in, but the discussion on East Prussia and the make-up of the Vaterland team appeared to be over. It was soon clear why. In the door frame stood the figure of Harald Dettmann.

  ‘Let’s skip the introductions,’ Gennat said. ‘Please take a seat, Herr Dettmann.’

  Dettmann did as bidden, and threw Rath a hostile glance.

  Who’s been squealing now, you arsehole, Rath thought, placing his cup back on its saucer. It made him feel more battle-ready.

  ‘I asked Herr Dettmann here to submit his final report on the Tiergarten case,’ Buddha began. His face gave no indication of what he was thinking. ‘So that he can commit fully to the Phantom investigation.’

  Gennat looked at Rath, but the inspector preferred to remain silent. By now he knew Buddha well enough to appreciate this must be serious. Even so the force of Gennat’s ire took him by surprise.

  ‘What were you thinking, rendering an important report – the work of two or three days, no less – illegible like that?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to.’

  Dettmann sprang to his feet, scarlet with rage. ‘You didn’t mean to? Of all the brass neck!’

  Rath remained calm. He knew Dettmann was already in the red. ‘There was this inkwell. It was very precariously placed . . . I’m truly sorry.’

  ‘Herr Dettmann, please take a seat,’ Gennat said. ‘Let’s discuss this like grown men.’ He turned to Rath. ‘What were you doing in Dettmann’s office in the first place, Herr Rath?’

  ‘The Phantom investigation,’ Rath said calmly. ‘My colleague here had taken on my old case, and I wanted to . . .’

  ‘That’s a bare-faced lie!’ Dettmann shouted. A look from Gennat was enough to make him see reason.

  Rath was now ahead on points. ‘I wanted,’ he continued, ‘to offer my support. But I’m afraid before I could do so . . .well, you know the rest. Herr De
ttmann was so incensed that I was barely able to get a word in.’

  ‘What? The cheek of it! He’s just manipulating the facts to suit his own agenda.’

  ‘Inspector Dettmann! I must ask you to control yourself. You’ve already told me your side of the story, now let Inspector Rath tell his.’ Buddha turned to Rath again. ‘Inspector, if things happened the way you say they did, then I must say I’m surprised you didn’t offer to help clean up. After all, you were responsible for this mishap. You should have apologised.’

  ‘I did, in fact, if memory serves,’ Rath said. ‘Even so, I chose to leave Herr Dettmann’s office after he launched the inkwell at me.’

  ‘Is this true?’ Gennat asked.

  ‘It’s all lies. Inspector Rath had no intention of apologising, let alone helping me to clean up. Or . . .’ He gave Rath a fierce look. ‘ . . .rewrite the report.’

  Rath was unmoved. ‘I’ve no objection to our enlisting Forensics, Sir. I’d be willing to bet there are still traces of ink on the door.’

  ‘I think we’ll leave Herr Kronberg out of this one,’ Gennat said. ‘Let’s settle this among ourselves. Now, Herr Dettmann, did you throw the inkwell at Rath here?’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘Good,’ Gennat said, and Dettmann fell silent. ‘You’ve both had a chance to tell your stories. Now, I’d like you to shake hands and make peace. This is Homicide, not some kindergarten.’ Neither inspector made any move to offer the other his hand. ‘Do I make myself clear?’

  Rath stood up, and at length Dettmann, too, laboured out of the worn upholstery. The men shook hands. Dettmann’s eyes flashed with rage, but he said nothing. Rath withstood his furious gaze and offered a friendly smile.

  ‘I’d like to apologise again for my clumsiness.’

  Dettmann said nothing, but his handshake grew firmer, and became almost painful as he looked daggers at his rival. Suddenly, he let go, murmured a goodbye and left the office.

  Rath was about to follow suit, when Gennat held him back. ‘I haven’t finished with you, Herr Rath. Take a seat!’

  Gennat scrutinised him closely, stirring his coffee while Dettmann left the outer office. ‘I hope you don’t expect me to believe that story.’

  ‘Sir, it’s the . . .’

  ‘For God’s sake, man, don’t give me that rubbish!’

  Rath gave a start as, for the second time that afternoon, the normally composed Gennat raised his voice. He couldn’t remember Buddha ever shouting like this. ‘You think I don’t know when someone’s playing me for a fool? There are plenty who’ve sat here who can lie a damn sight better than you. So, how about you stop telling tales!’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘You gave Dettmann the official version, but now I’d like to know what really happened.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir.’ For once, Rath was contrite. ‘You’re right. I did it intentionally.’

  ‘All because I took the case away from you and gave it to Dettmann? I have my reasons, believe me.’ Gennat shook his head. ‘I just hope your next act of revenge isn’t to set my office on fire. Or indeed the whole building.’

  ‘The Phantom wasn’t the reason.’

  ‘Then what was it? If there can ever be a reason for doing something like that!’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t speak about it.’

  ‘Well, you better had, otherwise things could get pretty nasty around here.’

  ‘With respect, Sir, things can get as nasty as you like, but discretion demands that I remain silent. All I’ll say is that it has to do with Dettmann’s behaviour towards a female colleague.’

  ‘There aren’t too many ladies in our Division, and Fräulein Ritter is more than capable of looking after herself without you playing her knight in shining armour. This is about Charly, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t want to speak about it.’

  ‘My dear Rath, this is fatally reminiscent of another episode. When our old friend Herr Brenner wound up in hospital . . .’

  ‘Those were false certificates. Brenner was never in hospital.’

  ‘Be that as it may, but when you beat him up, and survived the subsequent disciplinary proceedings with no more than a slap on the wrist . . .that was about a female colleague, too, wasn’t it?’ Rath fell silent. ‘Inspector, your private life has nothing to do with me. Except when it impinges upon your performance at work.’

  ‘I . . .I wa . . .I wanted to make it public. But at the same time, I didn’t want this colleague to suffer any consequences.’ He gazed uncertainly in Gennat’s direction, but Buddha appeared to have regained his equilibrium. ‘I . . .’ Rath cleared his throat. ‘Fräulein Ritter and I have been . . .engaged . . .for two days now.’

  Gennat actually seemed to be smiling. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes were laughing. He stretched out his oversized paws. ‘Well, then, congratulations,’ he said. ‘My compliments, Inspector.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’ Rath shook the chief’s hand, surprised at how easy it had been. The only person he felt guilty about was Charly. They had intended to wait . . .

  ‘Then Herr Dettmann besmirched the honour of your bride-to-be. In what way?’

  ‘With respect, Sir, if Fräulein Ritter hasn’t discussed the matter with you, I’d prefer to respect her confidence. I’ve already said too much.’

  ‘All right, all right. I won’t insist further. Did anyone witness the incident in Dettmann’s office?’

  ‘It was just us, Sir.’

  Gennat nodded. ‘With any luck, you’ll be able to bypass disciplinary proceedings. Perhaps it really was your clumsiness that made a mess of the report.’

  The hint of a smile flickered across Rath’s face, but he managed to suppress it, in favour of time-honoured grateful humility. ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too hasty. Dettmann isn’t your only problem. The powers-that-be take a dim view of privately involved colleagues operating as part of the same department.’

  ‘I’d like to stress again how important it is that Fräulein Ritter doesn’t suffer any professional disadvantage. I know how much she enjoys working in Homicide, and I . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry about Fräulein Ritter. She won’t suffer any consequences on your behalf. Heaven forbid. No, Charly will continue to work on the Vaterland case until it’s resolved. I’m glad that G Division has placed her at our disposal.’ Gennat shook his head. ‘In fact, I have a different solution in mind. One that might help defuse the tension with Inspector Dettmann.’

  26

  No matter how hard she scrubbed she couldn’t get rid of the accursed onion smell. Every bone in her body ached and her eyes were puffy and swollen. My God, what a sight she was!

  She couldn’t go to Carmerstrasse looking like this, not with her onion hands, and her hair and clothes still reeking of dripping. You’ve got a lot to learn, Charlotte Ritter, she thought, if you’re serious about this marriage business. You have to be able to let your husband see you like this.

  But then was she – serious about this marriage business?

  Despite saying ‘yes’ to his proposal, she still wasn’t sure. She didn’t see how it could fit with the life she envisioned. The truth was, she wasn’t entirely clear what kind of life that was, only that she wanted to do things differently from her mother, who had stayed at home and been unhappy. She knew that much – and that she wanted to work. As well as having children, and a home. The trouble was, no one could tell her how to go about it.

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Will you be out soon? I need to use the bathroom too.’

  ‘Be done in a few hours . . .’

  The door opened, and Greta poked her head inside. ‘What’s the matter, my little kitchen fairy? Have you turned into a pumpkin?’ Charly held out her dripping wet hands. Greta sniffed and pulled a face. ‘Have you tried toothpaste?’ she asked.

  ‘Bad breath isn’t the problem.’

  ‘No, seriously. Give ’em here.’ Greta took Charly’s hands,
squeezed Chlorodont on them, and rubbed her palms together. ‘Ancient remedy – you’d know if you’d ever chopped onions here.’

  Charly rinsed the toothpaste sludge with tap water. Her hands now smelled of mint, but no longer of onion. She gazed in the mirror; her eyes were starting to look normal again too.

  She wondered if Gereon would even be home. She had tried the office again in the afternoon, but only reached his secretary, with whom, of course, she couldn’t leave a message. From everything Erika Voss had said, it sounded as if he were out pursuing a fresh lead, but Charly couldn’t be sure. Perhaps that was the point.

  Despite itching to leave work, she had accepted the black waiter’s invitation and called into the Wild West Bar on her way home. Mohamed Husen, the African cowboy, was delighted, and stood her a Luisenbrand.

  ‘That’s the stuff,’ she said, placing a hand over her glass when he made to top her up. ‘Doesn’t taste very American, mind.’

  ‘If this really were America, there wouldn’t be any bourbon either. In fact there wouldn’t be any alcohol at all. It’s illegal over there.’ Husen gestured discreetly towards a band of unruly drinkers. ‘That’s why the Yanks love it here so much. They drink anything, Korn, vodka, brandy. The main thing’s the alcohol content. If you ask me, Prohibition’s only made people want to drink more.’

  ‘I’m surprised you have any time for me.’

  ‘I’m taking my cigarette break inside.’ He took out his cigarette case and offered one to Charly, who accepted.

  Mohamed Husen seemed pretty well informed, having been at Haus Vaterland two years now. He even knew there had been issues with the Luisenbrand. The Yanks in the Wild West Bar hadn’t noticed, but Riedel, the spirits buyer, who often took a glass here, had discreetly raised the alarm, upon which the waiters had proceeded to gather up all offending bottles. Three of the seven in the Wild West Bar alone were tainted. All in all, around two dozen held cheap hooch instead of high-end schnapps.

  The patrons in the Wild West Bar kept looking furtively in their direction. At first Charly thought that she was imagining it, and ascribed the feeling to the paranoia that affected agents during a covert operation. But she wasn’t imagining anything, the explanation was sitting next to her at the bar. She couldn’t be sure if it was Husen’s exotic appearance or his cowboy outfit, or the simple fact that a German girl was sharing a table with a black.