He still couldn’t believe it. Why would Gustav Wengler collapse his alibi? Everything had been agreed. True, the shipment at the Westhafen had gone belly up, but that was hardly his fault! He’d bust a gut to ensure they kept to the delivery date, despite the problems created by Lamkau’s death. It wasn’t his fault they’d been grassed up. Some arsehole from Concordia, no doubt. Unlike Gustav Wengler, he’d never entirely trusted its members.
The truth was, he was proud of how he’d dodged the cops, how he’d obtained a set of dry clothes and returned to the hotel. He’d have thought Gustav might reward such commitment. After all, he could have died.
He still wasn’t sure the cops hadn’t simply laid a trap. Every fibre of his being resisted believing that Gustav Wengler had dropped him just like that. Gustav must understand that a man like Dietrich Assmann wouldn’t go down without a fight. Or perhaps it was all part of the plan? Just like in ’24 when Lamkau and his gang were sacrificed to save the firm. Even Siegbert Wengler had left Masuria back then, though not before ensuring it was worth his while.
Wengler might have something similar in mind now. Perhaps Schröder would pay him a visit tomorrow with an offer. Time would tell, but the figure would need to be substantial. Assmann knew the locations of all the moonshine stills, knew the men who worked in them, the transport routes and more. More than Lamkau had ever known, and information like that had to be worth something.
Requesting his own lawyer couldn’t hurt. He might even get more out of it. Since ’24 business had grown exponentially. He wouldn’t let himself be fobbed off like those two stiffs. He’d ask for more than Lamkau, and could do so with a clear conscience.
He couldn’t help remembering the last thing the brawny inspector had said before returning him to his stinking cell. ‘You should be mindful, Herr Assmann, that the murders of your former colleagues are linked to moonshining. If you’re in any way involved, it’s best you let us know. That way we can protect you. You could be next.’
The man had no idea. He’d washed his hands of old lady Radlewski’s death back in ’24, just like Gustav Wengler, which was how he’d been able to take on the role of manager. He was in about as much danger as Wengler himself.
Despite the darkness sleep refused to come. Perhaps that was part of prison life. You had all the time in the world, you just couldn’t use it, not even for sleeping.
In the pitch black everything seemed impossibly loud; every door that slammed, every squeak, cough, slurp, sob, whine and snore. The jerky melody of church bells penetrated the gloom of his cell.
Üb immer Treue und Redlichkeit. Always practise Truth and Honesty.
Despite his infinite fatigue, sleep continued to elude him, and darkness deadened his sense of time. Suddenly, there was movement and a light came on in the corridor outside.
He heard steps, then saw two men halt outside his cell, a uniformed guard and a plain-clothes officer in a rumpled suit. The guard jangled a set of keys. ‘Here’s your man,’ he said, pointing to the cell.
A loud echo came back from the bare walls as the key rattled in the lock. ‘You’ve got company,’ the guard said.
Assmann sat up. ‘I thought it was lights out.’
‘Take it up with reception in the morning. If CID want to see you, it’s lights on.’
‘CID?’
‘I’m sorry to disturb your sleep, Herr Assmann, but there are a few things I’d like to get straight,’ the plain-clothes man said, stepping inside. Assmann sat up when he showed his badge, suddenly wide awake, and nervous. What did they want from him now?
The guard locked the cell door from the outside. ‘Inspector, Sir!’
‘I’ll call when I’m done.’ The inspector sat next to Assmann on the plank bed.
‘What do you want from me? Don’t you think your colleagues upstairs have done enough?’
‘That was the day shift,’ the man said. ‘I’m nights.’
So they were working him over in shifts now? Fucking cops. ‘Can I smoke?’
‘Feel free.’ The cop made an inviting gesture with his hand. Assmann fingered the last cigarette out of his case, the one he had been saving for the morning. The inspector said nothing.
Night shift! They could question him until they were blue in the face. Dietrich Assmann wouldn’t say a thing until he knew where he stood. Once he’d spoken with his lawyer, and Gustav Wengler.
All of a sudden it was pitch black as before. The embers of the cigarette shone like a glow-worm and threw reddish light on this strange inspector who still hadn’t asked a question. Was he trying to intimidate him with silence? Assmann shook his head and took a long drag, knowing it was his one cigarette for the night. Looking to the side, he was surprised to see that the face of the man, who moments before had sat beside him on the plank bed, was gone.
73
It smelled of damp grass. A chill on the skin.
Letters carved in stone.
In the wan light a snail that appeared almost black.
Rath looked up at a gravestone.
For a moment he thought he was in a nightmare, but the ache in his neck told him it was real.
The gravestone bore a different name than his own.
Gefr. Szudarsky, Res. Inf. R 49.
He was familiar with such abbreviations. The 49th Reserve Infantry Regiment. A dead private who had fought for Kaiser and Fatherland in ’14.
He looked around. More graves, arranged in file. Even in death the Prussians kept to march formation. Moonlight shone on the stones.
Suddenly, he knew where he was: the military cemetery near Markowsken.
He read more names. All had died in the same year, 1914. Many sounded Polish, but it wasn’t just Prussian war graves, Russian soldiers were buried here too – some of whom also had Polish-sounding names.
The Masurians had given their lives for Prussia and the Kaiser; the Masovians for Russian-Poland and the Tsar.
What a difference a simple border made, but then again perhaps not. Everyone here was dead, irrespective of which side they had fought on.
Standing up he was obliged to support himself on Prussian Private Szudarsky’s grave. Radlewski must have doped him. He could vaguely remember stumbling through the forest, more or less out of his mind, urged on by the Kaubuk and his dog. After a while he felt the strength in his legs begin to return.
He looked down at himself. His grey suit was for the garbage. He felt his left side, detecting his shoulder holster and service pistol. Even his wallet was there. He looked inside: not a penny missing, identification present and correct. Artur Radlewski and his accursed moor had spat him out just as they had found him. The only thing he didn’t have was cigarettes.
He made for the road. It was seven or eight kilometres to Treuburg if he went right via Krupinnen, but he had a different destination in mind, and bore left instead. The moon lit the way. Gazing above him he knew he must have been gone longer than a night or two, much longer in fact. The crescent moon that had looked on as he lay dying was already on the wane.
The spire of the village church rose dark and forbidding in the night sky. He walked the final metres to the main road, hoping not to meet anyone, his suit utterly soiled, his hair matted and, feeling his chin and cheeks, he knew that a shave was long overdue. A light was on in the schoolhouse. He knocked and, at length, Karl Rammoser opened the door.
The teacher’s eyes opened wide at the sight of him. Perhaps he took him for the Kaubuk. ‘Inspector,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here so late? I thought you’d returned to Berlin long ago.’
‘Can I come in? I’ll tell you everything.’
‘Of course.’
On the dining table in the teacher’s apartment stood a bottle of homebrew and a glass, alongside an open book. Rammoser fetched a second glass from the cupboard. ‘Drink? You look as if you could use one.’
‘Do you think I could have a cigarette too? I need the nicotine more.’ Rath looked around. ‘Where’s your housekeeper?’
/>
‘Erna? Finished for the night.’
The wall clock showed just before midnight.
‘What day is it today?’
‘Wednesday.’
‘I mean, what’s the date?’
‘20th July. Do you need the year too?’ Rath shook his head. He had been missing for over a week. Why hadn’t anyone come looking for him? Rammoser gave him a cigarette and a light. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Inspector, but you look appalling.’
‘Thank you very much.’ Rath took a deep drag and felt the nicotine course through his veins. At last. ‘How about you? Where have you been?’ He gestured towards the teacher’s black suit. Rammoser had loosened his tie.
‘You really don’t know?’ Rammoser furrowed his brow.
‘These past few days I’ve been a world away, quite literally.’
‘Maria Cofalka is dead.’
Rath had to sit down. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said. ‘You were good friends, weren’t you?’
‘Very good.’ Rammoser poured schnapps into the two glasses and sat beside him. ‘Maria was probably the best friend you could have in this town.’ The teacher raised his glass, and the men toasted and drank.
‘How did she die?’ Rath asked.
‘Drowned, in the Treuburg Lake. They found her body near the public baths. People are talking of suicide, but I think it was an accident. Maria would never have killed herself. She must have slipped on the landing stage, banged her head against something and lost consciousness.’
Rath couldn’t bring himself to mention the letters Maria Cofalka had entrusted to him before her death. The letters that had been stolen from his hotel room.
‘But we were talking about you,’ said Rammoser. ‘Everyone thought you’d gone back to Berlin.’
‘Who’s been saying that?’
‘That’s the word in Pritzkus’s. I don’t know who started the rumour.’
‘Old Adamek perhaps?’ Rath asked. ‘It’s him I’ve to thank for all this. I almost died because of it.’
‘Go on.’ Rath told the schoolmaster the tale of his moorland odyssey, and his rescue by the Kaubuk. ‘Artur Radlewski? So he’s still alive.’
‘He saved my life,’ said Rath.
‘Is that why you didn’t arrest him? Or did he convince you of his innocence?’
‘Most of the time I lay unconscious, running a fever. When we finally had the chance to talk he wasn’t exactly friendly. I fear I may have outstayed my welcome.’ He lit another cigarette. ‘He doped me. It was like I blacked out. I have a dim memory of walking with him through the night, before I came to in the military cemetery by Markowsken.’
‘So now you’re summoning all police reserves in the Oletzko district to fetch him from his murky lair?’
Rath shook his head. ‘No need to worry about that. Firstly, I don’t bear grudges. Secondly, far as I’m concerned Radlewski still has a little credit in the bank. And thirdly, I’m certain he isn’t behind the series of murders I came here to solve.’
Rammoser gave a satisfied nod, as if his favourite student had just given the correct answer. ‘You think old Adamek purposefully lured you onto the moor?’
‘Yes, otherwise he’d have come looking for me. Instead of spinning some yarn about my having gone back to Berlin.’
‘We don’t know if the rumours stem from him.’
‘We know he’s done nothing to dispel them.’
‘Adamek doesn’t say much when he drinks at Pritzkus’s. You should know that,’ said Rammoser. ‘Why would he do it?’
‘If only I knew . . .’ Rath said. ‘Perhaps he has a score to settle with me.’
‘I think you’re misjudging the old boy.’
‘We’ll see. Either way, I’d like to hear what he has to say.’
74
A Division briefing felt more like a memorial service. Rumour had it that all division and squad team leaders had reported to the new command earlier that morning. Everywhere Charly looked were embarrassed faces. Ernst Gennat appeared later than usual, as usual giving nothing away. He stepped onto the platform and all conversation ceased.
‘We are all aware that decisive changes were made to our institution yesterday,’ he began. ‘Nevertheless, in the coming days I expect you to fulfil your duties just as scrupulously as you would otherwise. Obey the commands of your superiors as ever, and go about your work.’
‘With respect, Sir,’ Wilhelm Böhm cut in, ‘that’s just it. We don’t know who our superiors are.’
‘Until further notice, Dr Melcher will be in charge.’
‘What do you mean, “until further notice”?’
‘Until the matter has been subjected to a judicial inquiry. In the meantime these issues mustn’t prevent us from carrying on with our work. God knows, we have enough cases awaiting resolution.’ The officers weren’t happy. ‘Now don’t be looking like that. Kurt Melcher is by no means the worst commissioner, if his reputation in Essen is anything to go by.’
‘That might be true, Sir.’ Wilhelm Böhm wouldn’t let go. ‘But for myself and many colleagues, it’s the manner of his appointment that jars.’
Gennat nodded. ‘We don’t know if the change in personnel was right, or rather, rightful, but we live in a constitutional state, and these are matters for the courts to decide. Meanwhile, all we can do is carry on.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Charly said, surprised she’d found the courage to speak in a room full of men, but she couldn’t hold back any longer. ‘What I mean is that I’m no longer sure we do live in a constitutional state.’ She lifted a copy of Berliner Tageblatt. ‘If what the paper says is true, then what we witnessed yesterday was a cold-blooded putsch, and Papen has thwarted Prussian democracy in one fell swoop. And whatever our new commissioner’s reputation, he’s hardly known as a democrat.’ She looked around. Not all colleagues were nodding.
‘Surely it’s more important that he’s a good chief.’ The calm voice belonged to Arthur Nebe. He gave Charly a friendly smile. ‘Sadly, this institution has had its share of democrats who’ve turned out to be poor criminal investigators.’
Böhm beat Charly to it. ‘I hope that number doesn’t include Grzesinski and Dr Weiss,’ he said.
‘I’m just saying that professional competence is more important than political persuasion.’
‘I’d have expected a little more loyalty to our old chiefs, especially from you,’ Böhm argued. ‘The support you’ve received from Dr Weiss, you ought to be grateful to him for the rest of your life.’
‘That kind of patronage, Detective Chief Inspector, goes hand in hand with performance!’
‘Gentlemen, please,’ Gennat intervened. ‘Let’s put these squabbles to one side. Everyone is entitled to their own political views, but they should not be a point of discussion here. Dr Melcher’s professional competence is undisputed. He has led Essen Police Headquarters with distinction since the war.’ He looked sternly at Böhm and Charly. ‘And the democratic credentials of a man who belonged to Stresemann’s party are beyond question.’
Charly wasn’t so sure. Kurt Melcher’s move was self-seeking, the very fact that he’d been present at the putsch spoke against him, but she said nothing more and Böhm, too, fell silent. Gennat was right; they shouldn’t discuss these matters here. It sowed discord, and wouldn’t solve any of the issues raised by yesterday’s events.
‘I expect . . .’ Buddha continued, but then the door flew open, and those assembled remained none the wiser as to his expectations.
Cadet Steinke stood in the door looking agitated. ‘Please excuse the interruption, Sir,’ he said. The man was out of breath, as if he had sprinted the distance from Homicide to the small meeting room. ‘But something terrible has happened.’
‘Come on then, man. Out with it,’ Gennat said, as Steinke paused for breath.
‘It’s . . .Prisoner Assmann . . .here in police custody . . .’
‘Assmann? He’s my prisoner,’ Böhm said. ‘Don�
��t tell me the man has escaped, or that some shyster has got him off?’
‘Worse. I’m afraid Prisoner Assmann is dead.’
75
In the Salzburger Hof the breakfast tables were already being cleared. Hella Rickert gazed at Rath wide-eyed, but said nothing, simply turned towards the kitchen door with her tray of dirty crockery, offering him a perfect view of her rear.
Forbearance is not acquittance, he thought, and crossed to reception. No one there. He slammed the bell so hard it might have been a high striker.
He felt ready to take on the entire Rickert family if necessary. Rammoser had let him sleep, waking him around nine. After a bath, a decent shave, and a proper breakfast with coffee – sans leg of squirrel – he felt almost human again. Rammoser had offered a replacement suit from his wardrobe. The trousers were a little short and the jacket had patches on its elbows, but otherwise it was a perfect fit, even if it made him look like a village teacher. A village teacher returning from a school trip, for Rath still wore Herr Damerau’s mud-encrusted hiking boots.
He had caught the ten o’clock from Wielitzken. Rammoser had recommended that he find a doctor, but upon reaching Treuburg station the first thing he did was buy three ten-packs of Overstolz. After that he made for the telephone booths and requested a long-distance call to Berlin, lighting the first cigarette as he waited to be connected. He asked for Charly’s extension, but got Böhm instead, and hung up without a word. He had no desire to be recalled while there was still business to attend to here. In the Salzburger Hof, for example.
He slammed the bell again and Hermann Rickert appeared straightaway, looking him up and down, as if to make sure it really was his sometime guest. ‘Inspector, what a surprise!’
‘Isn’t it just?’
‘You left without notifying us. We were somewhat taken aback.’
‘Old Adamek could have told you where I was.’
The Fatherland Files Page 37