‘Well,’ Rath said. ‘What feats of heroism await?’ Fabeck stared in silence. ‘What’s on today’s agenda? Theft, murder, the usual?’
At last Fabeck found his voice. ‘How about decking the local gobshite?’
‘Bet you feel strong with all these men behind you, but that doesn’t mean you can incite your girlfriend to steal.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You know very well.’
‘Get out of my way!’
‘Order your lads about all you like, but I’m a Prussian CID officer.’ Rath pulled out his badge, just in case there was anyone who didn’t know. ‘Didn’t your girl tell you? She had to con her way to the letters.’
‘Con her way to the letters?’ The youth was stupider than he looked. The SA needed people like him. The problem was they were ten a penny.
‘Using her feminine wiles.’
Fabeck turned red. ‘What are you trying to say?
‘Let’s not worry about that now. Ask her yourself. Maybe it wasn’t the letters she was after. Maybe she just wanted . . .’
‘Shut your mouth!’ Fabeck barked.
‘All right, all right,’ Rath said. ‘Like I say, these letters, they’re evidence. I hope you haven’t destroyed them, otherwise you’re looking at a pretty serious offence. Return them, and I’ll forget the whole thing.’
The SA man spat at his feet. ‘You’re addressing an SA Rottenführer!’
‘I’m addressing a boy. That brownshirt doesn’t make you a man.’
‘Don’t get fresh with me.’
‘Don’t get fresh with me, Inspector. The police might look kindly upon you here, but in Berlin we know you’re little more than a gang of thugs.’
‘Is that so? Then perhaps we should show you just how thuggish we can be.’
‘You’d attack a Prussian officer?’
‘Why? You going to report us? How many witnesses d’you think will testify in your favour? No one can stand you here.’
‘I wasn’t thinking so much of reporting you,’ Rath drew his Walther, ‘as defending myself. So, who’s first?’ The brownshirts took a step back. ‘If I were you, I’d be setting my sights a little lower. Now, let’s talk about Maria Cofalka.’
‘That Papist tramp?’ one of the SA youths said, catching a hostile glance from his Rottenführer.
‘That’s not how I’d describe her. I’m Catholic too, and, as luck would have it, you boys are my number one suspects.’
‘There’s nothing for you here,’ Fabeck said. ‘You’re not authorised, and no one gives a damn what your Isidore in Berlin says. The Prussian Police has been cured of its Jews.’
‘You’ve a real problem with other religions, huh? You boys ought to be more tolerant, especially as Prussians.’ He held them in check with his Walther. ‘Jews or no, a Prussian Police homicide unit will be questioning you soon enough.’
He left the brownshirts where they were and proceeded to the train station. It was a good feeling, knowing he’d made an enemy of Wengler’s thugs at last, and an even better feeling, knowing his bags were already packed.
82
Charly didn’t know what to think any more. Where was Gereon? What was going on? Why hadn’t the bastard been in touch? It looked like his signature, but she couldn’t seriously believe he’d paid a visit to police custody yesterday to kill a prisoner. As for leaving his name behind . . . Someone must be playing a nasty trick.
Gennat seemed to think so, too. Even so, he had asked to speak to her once he’d dismissed Böhm and Vosskamp.
Buddha knew about their engagement, and hoped, therefore, that she could shed some light on where Gereon was, and what he was doing. But she couldn’t. Gereon Rath was the same unreliable shitbag he’d always been. He went his own way whenever the mood took him, and the rest of the world could go hang. An engagement ring wasn’t about to change that.
She fetched the ring from her purse, where she’d kept it ever since that memorable day two weeks ago. She wasn’t sure whether to put it back on her finger or hurl it at his feet – if, that is, he ever showed his face again.
Where in the hell was he, goddamn it? She slammed her fist against the table. He had left her his car, his dog, the key to his flat and an engagement ring. Only, there had been no word from him in over a week. Should she be worried? Too late, she already was, but admitting it only made her angrier.
She wondered whether to call the hotel and make a fool of herself. Again.
It was time to go home. She was the only one still here wondering about who’d passed themselves off as Gereon. The guard hadn’t asked for an identification, a simple badge had sufficed. Well, any idiot could get hold of a badge, even if it was a punishable offence, and you could always forge a signature. Though in this case the forgery came close to the original, meaning it must be someone who had access to the genuine article. Perhaps she would suggest to Gennat that they looked into it again tomorrow, instead of badgering her with questions she couldn’t answer.
The telephone rang, and she started. Erika Voss’s direct line when she had gone home hours ago, taking Kirie with her.
Charly hesitated a moment, but picked up. ‘Ritter, Inspector Rath’s office.’
‘Apparatebau Rath, Rath am Apparat.’
She was so taken aback that for an instant she said nothing. Several instants, in fact. She felt tears in her eyes, so relieved was she to hear his voice. The bastard! She held the receiver in her hand and let the tears flow. At least he couldn’t see her.
‘Hello, Charly? Are you still there?’
‘You bastard!’ She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘Charly, don’t get worked up. I don’t have much change. I’m calling from a telephone booth at the train station . . .’
‘Which train station?’
‘There aren’t too many in Treuburg.’
‘You’re still in Treuburg?’
‘Where else?’ He ceased playing the comedian. ‘Charly, I’m sorry,’ she heard him say. ‘I know this is late in coming. But . . .I was out of the picture for a while there.’
‘A while!’ She couldn’t help it, it just came out. ‘I haven’t heard a single fucking word from you in over a week!’
‘I was unconscious with fever most of the time.’
‘My God, Gereon, what happened?’
‘It’s a long story, much too long for a trunk call. I’ll tell you when I’m home. The main thing is I’m OK.’
‘If you’re coming back make sure they don’t arrest you. There’s been a warrant out for the last three hours.’ She told him what had happened.
‘Someone’s played a dirty trick.’
‘That’s what I think, and perhaps if you’d submitted your report from Treuburg more often, Böhm and Gennat would think so too.’
‘They don’t seriously believe I’d kill one of Wengler’s people?’
‘Up until five minutes ago even I wasn’t sure.’
‘A hell of a lot has happened here. That Indian business was a red herring; he isn’t our man.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I was with him. He saved my life.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘I’ll tell you later. Believe me, it couldn’t have been him. Long hair, straggly beard. He’d have been spotted right away.’
‘That won’t please Böhm.’
‘Perhaps he’ll come round once he hears what I have to say about motive. It is a vendetta, we were right, but it isn’t about the moonshining scandal, it’s about murder. A murder Gustav Wengler committed twelve years ago.’
‘Can you prove it?’
‘Not yet, but I know. He even made sure someone else was convicted.’
‘The man who’s out for revenge.’
‘No. He died trying to escape, but someone’s avenging him. Avenging everyone involved. Don’t let Wengler out of your sight; I’m pretty sure he’s next in line.’
‘We’re watching him.’
&nb
sp; ‘Good.’
‘So, who’s this mysterious avenger?’
‘Some relative, a friend, no idea. I’ll know soon enough.’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘I need to take care of something here, then I’ll be on my way.’
‘Aren’t you at the train station already?’
‘I have a ticket for the overnighter tomorrow evening. I’ll be at Bahnhof Zoo the day after tomorrow, just after six. It’d mean a lot if you . . .’
‘The day after tomorrow? What . . .?’
The line beeped and the connection was interrupted. She rattled the cradle impatiently. Nothing doing.
‘Operator? Why was this call ended?’
‘Sorry,’ came the reply. ‘The caller ran out of money.’
Charly hung up. How was she supposed to get hold of him now? She hesitated before reaching again for the telephone and asking for the Salzburger Hof. ‘Ritter here, good evening. I’m sorry to disturb you again. I heard that Inspector Rath, your guest from Berlin, is back in Treuburg, and wondered if you could pass on a messa . . .’
‘I’m sorry, Fräulein Ritter,’ the hotelier interrupted. ‘Bad timing. The inspector checked out at lunchtime today.’
‘Oh . . .I see.’
‘I do apologise.’
She hung up and stared at the black Bakelite. What in the hell was Gereon up to? The telephone gave nothing away, and at length she took her coat and switched off the light.
As she closed the office door a voice behind her asked, ‘All alone?’
It was Harald Dettmann. ‘We meet again,’ he said, grinning his nasty grin. ‘Working late?’
‘Leave me alone, Dettmann!’ She tried to evade him, but he moved with her, and her evasion became a kind of retreat. He pressed her back into the corridor, towards the glass wall and into the corner. ‘Let me go! What is this?’
‘I’d never have thought you were such a snitch.’
‘What do you want?’
Dettmann shook his head. ‘You just had to go to your fancy pants hero, didn’t you, give him a good suck, then bawl your eyes out on his shoulder.’
‘Cut it out! Let me go!’
Dettmann pressed his arms against the wall, trapping her so that she couldn’t move left or right. She smelled the sweat of his armpits, his aftershave, and turned her face away. ‘Listen to me, lady, then I’ll let you go. There’s no one here you can go crying to. They’ve sent your Gereon packing, and everyone else has finished for the night.’
‘I’ll be reporting this to Superintendent Gennat!’
‘What have I ever done to you except voice my opinion? Believe me, there are plenty who think women have no place in Homicide.’ He looked down at her with a mix of disdain, hatred and disgust.
Charly felt impotent, and helpless. She had no desire to sit on the toilet crying her eyes out again. She thought of Gereon, how he had fought her corner. OK, so he had played a little dirty, but at least he had done something.
You have to do something too, she thought, you can’t spend your whole life running from men like this.
Dettmann pushed himself off the wall and stood, wide-legged, observing his victim with a certain satisfaction as he lit a cigarette.
It really was no more than a stupid power game. He had wanted to intimidate her, but was too cowardly to actually do anything. All he was interested in was humiliation.
She looked into his dull eyes, held her ground when he blew cigarette smoke in her face and, without so much as batting an eyelash, aimed a short, sharp kick between his legs.
83
This time Rath dragged Karl Rammoser out of bed. The teacher had thrown on a dressing gown and looked at him bleary-eyed. It wasn’t even that late.
‘My apologies,’ Rath said, ‘but I thought as long as the trains are still running to Wielitzken, it’s OK to knock on people’s doors.’
Rammoser glanced at the time, then at the suitcase by Rath’s feet. ‘That was the last train.’
‘Correct.’ Rath cleared his throat. ‘Seeing as the sofa in your staffroom is so comfortable, and school hasn’t started yet . . .I wondered if I might ask for your hospitality again.’
Rammoser gestured towards the suitcase. ‘Are you planning on moving in?’
‘One night only. Tomorrow morning I catch the train to Allenstein, and from there it’s on to Berlin. It’s just . . .I don’t feel safe in the Salzburger Hof any longer. I picked a fight with the SA and it’s better they don’t know where I am.’
‘You did what?’ Rammoser gazed to the left and right, but the streets of Wielitzken were deserted. He pulled Rath into the schoolhouse and closed the door. ‘Did anyone see you?’
‘No one else got off the train.’
‘Let’s hope the SA haven’t got wind of where you’re staying.’
‘They think I’m in Allenstein, at least that’s what I told the hotel. The Rickert family are on good terms with the SA.’
‘The daughter, above all,’ Rammoser said. He led Rath into the lounge and set two glasses on the table. ‘I have to get a fresh bottle from the classroom.’
Rath lit a cigarette. He couldn’t help thinking back to his telephone conversation with Charly. Should he tell Rammoser there was a warrant out for his arrest, and that he was suspected of murder? Best not: this SA business had spooked him enough.
‘I’ve brought your clothes,’ he said when Rammoser returned. ‘Thanks again.’
‘No trouble.’ Rammoser filled their glasses. ‘Now, why would you pick a fight with the SA, in Treuburg of all places? You do know what they’re about here, don’t you?’
‘They’re Wengler’s thugs, you told me yourself. The same thugs who have Maria Cofalka on their conscience.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Rammoser set down his glass without drinking from it. ‘Why would the SA kill Maria? They beat up Communists, sure, but a harmless librarian?’
‘Rottenführer Fabeck didn’t deny it.’
‘Fabeck? Even in school the boy was a horror. King of the playground, maybe, but hardly the sharpest tool.’
‘You know him?’
‘I taught him, and he’s a sorry example of the human species. But a murderer?’
‘Better men than Klaus Fabeck have resorted to murder, believe me. Especially when they can hide behind an organisation.’
‘Why? Maria would never have picked a fight with that lot. She wouldn’t have gone within ten metres of them. She acted like any person in their right mind, whose head wasn’t turned by this Hitler’s recent performance in Lötzen. That is to say, she took no notice of the brownshirts. She treated the little shits as if they were still the same schoolboys borrowing books by Karl May and Mark Twain.’
‘They aren’t schoolboys any more.’
‘No.’ Rammoser drained the contents of his glass and wiped his mouth.
Rath drank a small sip. This bottle seemed even stronger than the last. ‘Maria Cofalka didn’t pick a fight with the SA,’ he said. ‘She became a danger for Gustav Wengler. That’s why she had to die.’
Rammoser suddenly appeared very pensive. He topped up their glasses while Rath told him the story of the letters and their contents, and how they had been stolen from his hotel room (though he no more than sketched Hella Rickert’s role). He told him how the decisive pages were missing when the letters were returned, the pages that suggested Jakub Polakowski was innocent.
‘Damn it,’ Rammoser said, when he finished. ‘I should have known. I should have protected Maria.’
‘How could you have known? I was the first person she told about her correspondence with Radlewski. It’s me who failed. It’s me who should have protected her.’
‘You don’t know the full story. At the plebiscite anniversary two years ago, Maria had a little too much to drink. It didn’t happen often. She almost never drank, but sometimes I had the feeling that alcohol was the only way she could stomach Wengler acting like the Fatherland’s saviour. Anyway – at some point l
ate in the day, when everyone had forgotten Wengler’s speech and just wanted to have a good time, she publicly accused him of murder.’
‘But she was so shy, so delicate.’
‘Maria was stronger than you realise.’
‘How did Wengler react?’
‘He said she was a drunk who didn’t know what she was talking about. Truth be told it was an easy sell. Besides, most people, myself included, thought she was alluding to Martha Radlewski’s death.’
‘Which was old news.’
‘The rumours didn’t stick, even in ’24. Remember, this was just some alcoholic who’d drunk herself to death. No one blamed Wengler.’
‘Which means no one took Maria Cofalka seriously . . .’
‘No. Myself and a few friends brought her home. We were afraid she might make a fool of herself, perhaps even put her job on the line. She slept it off, and the next day no more was said on the matter. Maybe she didn’t remember, she was pretty drunk.’
‘Maybe she needed some Dutch courage to confront the great Wengler.’
‘Maybe.’
‘It must have taken a little Dutch courage to entrust those letters to me too.’
‘Our courageous girl,’ Rammoser said, and drank. He turned his face away, and Rath said nothing more.
84
You pack what you need, the rest you will throw on the stove. You take the small case, no deadweight, you can buy the tubocurarine over there. Discovered in transit, drugs will only spell trouble.
Sobotka’s wanted poster falls into your hands, and you don’t know if you should pack it, or throw it in the oven. Already it has begun to yellow.
Escaped Prisoner.
Wanted: Franz Sobotka, thirty-two years old, of Altschöneberg, near Allenstein, sentenced to twenty years for the armed robbery of at least fifteen rural savings and Raifeissen banks in the administrative regions of Allenstein and Königsberg. Sobotka, who escaped while engaged in road construction work east of Wartenburg, has been at large since 5th August 1930.
The description that followed was perfectly adequate, but would have no chance of success.
The Fatherland Files Page 40