The Fatherland Files

by volker Kutscher

  No one was home. They swept the flat in less than thirty seconds. The windows were all closed from the inside, meaning Janke hadn’t fled via the fire escape. Böhm made a beeline for the bedroom and wardrobe. The hangers were all empty except for one, which held the uniform of the Berlin Security Corps.

  Otherwise the cupboards had been cleared. Even the bed had been stripped. There were no pictures, though the tiny holes in the wallpaper revealed that any number of items must have hung above the desk. Charly found a scrap of newspaper on the floor. It was scarcely yellowed. A black line that might have been part of a border was the only sign of printer’s ink.

  It looked like it was the only trace the man had left behind. The squad officers handed over to Forensics, but they found nothing either: no red handkerchiefs, no envelopes, no tubocurarine, not even any fingerprints.

  ‘It’s as if he wiped everything down before leaving,’ said Charly.

  ‘What about the uniform?’ Böhm asked.

  ‘No prints, if that’s what you mean. Looks as if it’s been dry-cleaned.’

  ‘Take a look at this.’ A second technician had lifted a plank from the wooden floorboard between the hallway and parlour. Right under the door frame. ‘It’s hollow under here.’

  ‘So?’

  Charly and Böhm drew closer. The ED man shrugged in disappointment. ‘Empty.’

  Even so, Charly felt sure this was where Janke kept the items that a routine police check would have no business uncovering. ‘See if you can’t find something. After all . . .’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean? It’s empty.’

  ‘I mean, little things. Things you might need a magnifying glass for, and better light. Glass shards, perhaps, or dried liquid residue, anything like that. Then check if the glass might be part of a hypodermic syringe, or if the liquid’s curare.’

  In the corner where three rooms abutted one another was a small, pot-bellied stove. Charly took a handkerchief and opened the hatch. ‘There’s ash inside,’ she said, and one of Kronberg’s men rushed over. ‘It’s still warm.’

  The technician took the poker and carefully probed the ashes. It was mostly paper. Then he fished something from the black-grey mass which disintegrated upon touch, the only thing to have survived the gorging flames. Just a little edge of paper, but it was clear it was from a death notice. A few of the letters were even legible:

  thy victory

  omable wisdom

  suddenly and unex

  sy life.

  Now Charly was certain. They had found his hideout; it was really him.

  Hartmut Janke, the guard who had provided information so willingly in Haus Vaterland, had previously been known as Jakub Polakowski, and he had killed four men.

  88

  Rath saw them as the train pulled in: a dog and its mistress. Was he imagining things or did Charly look ever so slightly peeved? She certainly wasn’t carrying a bouquet of flowers. Quite the role reversal, he thought. Three weeks ago he and Kirie had waited here, perhaps even on the same platform, although on that occasion her train had arrived from the west.

  He waved, but they still hadn’t seen him. Of course, she had every right to be peeved. Even so, he hoped she was a little glad to see him, just as he was glad to see her standing there with Kirie.

  He was among the first to alight from the train and, as he did so, a smile appeared on her face after all. There you are, see!

  He pushed past the other travellers streaming onto the platform, until, finally, he reached them. Kirie wagged her tail wildly, dancing excitedly back and forth, and Charly gazed at him sternly, smiling all the while. He took her in his arms and held her fast, buried his nose in her hair and breathed in her scent like an addict. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered in her ear.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Everything. About being away so long, about your not knowing where I was.’ He looked at her. ‘I was missing in action.’

  ‘You’re telling me.’

  ‘Seriously. I got lost in the forest. I would have died on the moors, but for . . .’ He broke off. ‘I’d rather tell you at home over a cup of coffee.’

  ‘Coffee’s waiting.’

  ‘Great – what about Polakowski?’ They descended the steps to the car.

  ‘Gave notice to his employer and cleared his flat.’

  ‘Hopefully he didn’t smell a rat. Or perhaps he’s en route to his next vic . . . Where’s Wengler?’

  ‘Danzig.’

  ‘Danzig? His home city.’

  ‘We suspect he’s visiting family there. Local CID are informed. They met him at the train station, and won’t let him out of their sight.’

  ‘We should send on a description of Polakowski, ideally with a photo.’

  ‘What photo?’

  ‘From his prison file.’

  ‘You said Gustav Wengler was a killer?’

  ‘I’d stake my next promotion on it.’

  ‘Whenever that might be.’ Charly laughed, then grew serious again. ‘You know he’s wriggled his way out of this bootlegging business. He shopped his operations manager, Dietrich Assmann.’

  ‘The dead man from the cells?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Then Wengler’s behind his murder, too. Perhaps he told this police impersonator to use my name, as a little payback for making his life hell in Treuburg.’ He looked at Charly. ‘Let’s hope he can’t wriggle his way out of a murder rap. He’s already eliminated one potential witness.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Maria Cofalka, the librarian from Treuburg. The trouble is, we can’t prove anything. The only person who saw Gustav Wengler killing his fiancée twelve years ago wouldn’t make much of an impression in court. That’s assuming we can lure him out of his forest in the first place.’

  ‘Radlewski?’

  ‘An oddball, for sure, but no killer. If he has any role in this case, it’s as a witness. At least, in theory.’

  They reached the Buick, which Charly had parked beneath the railway bridge on Hardenbergstrasse. Rath was so busy stowing his case on the dickey that he failed to notice the three men until it was too late. All carried pistols.

  ‘I hope you’re not going to make any trouble, Rath,’ said one.

  He turned around. Wilhelm Böhm’s service revolver was trained on him.

  ‘What the hell is this? You’re arresting me? When I’d have come in straight after breakfast!’

  ‘Better safe than sorry.’ Böhm gestured towards the road where a green Opel had pulled over. Rath started towards it. Kirie didn’t understand what was happening, and ran back and forth between master and Buick. Charly was inconsolable.

  ‘I’m sorry, Gereon. I had no idea. They must have followed me.’ She threw Böhm a hostile glance, and suddenly Rath knew things weren’t half as bad as they seemed. For the first time they shared a common enemy: Wilhelm Böhm. It was almost enough to draw a smile. Maybe she was starting to realise what a bastard he was.

  He sat on the rear seat of the green Opel, and greeted the driver. ‘Mertens. I’m sorry you were awakened so early on my account.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Sir.’

  A plain-clothes officer whom Rath didn’t recognise threw his case into the boot, and Böhm heaved his heavy frame onto the rear seat. ‘Looks like you’ll be taking your breakfast at headquarters,’ he said, and signalled for Mertens to start.

  In the rear mirror Rath saw Charly and Kirie standing next to the Buick, growing ever smaller until a bus crossed Hardenbergstrasse and they disappeared from view.

  89

  At least Böhm hadn’t put cuffs on him.

  ‘Are you actually arresting me?’ Rath asked as the car passed the roundabout by the Gedächtniskirche.

  ‘I have a warrant, but I’m appealing to your common sense.’

  ‘Sir, this is ridiculous! Arresting me like a criminal. Somewhere out there, someone is dying with laughter.’

  ‘The magistrate saw grounds for a mu
rder charge. That isn’t to say I share his opinion.’

  ‘Then why are you arresting me?’

  ‘Because I can,’ Böhm growled. The rest of the journey passed in silence, but when Rath saw the cake tray in Gennat’s office he knew everything would be all right, in spite of Buddha’s frosty greeting.

  ‘Inspector Rath,’ he said. ‘Do we really have to arrest you to make you submit your report?’

  ‘It’s a simple misunderstanding. I . . .’

  Gennat interrupted him. ‘It is anything but a misunderstanding. We had no other way of ending your game of hide-and-seek. Now, will you please tell us what is going on? What have you been doing in East Prussia? Then we might understand why Dietrich Assmann had to die, and the charges against you can be dropped.’

  ‘With respect, Sir, and as I’ve already said to Böhm here, I’d have come in straight after breakf . . .’

  ‘Well,’ Buddha said. ‘What’s wrong with having your breakfast here?’ He poured coffee. ‘I hope you had a good trip.’

  Rath sat. ‘Yes, Sir, thank you. At least there was no flying involved.’ He lit an Overstolz and took a sip of coffee. For the moment he ignored the cake Gennat had shovelled on his plate, and focused on telling his story from beginning to end. The only details he omitted were the exact circumstances of Hella Rickert’s theft.

  By the time he’d finished, Gennat had demolished three slices of cake. ‘You’re certain about this Anna von Mathée’s death?’

  ‘Quite certain. Radlewski would have no cause to implicate an innocent man. In fact he blames himself for failing to prevent Anna’s murder. I think these diaries were a way of alleviating his guilty conscience. There’s no reason to doubt them.’

  Gennat agreed, and for once even Böhm seemed convinced.

  ‘So this Radlewski saved your life,’ Gennat said. ‘And you’re certain that Polakowski is the man with four people on his conscience?’

  ‘Working as a guard in Haus Vaterland he’d have opportunity. There was no need for him to leave the crime scene afterwards, because no one suspected him.’

  ‘Do you have a photo?’ Böhm asked.

  ‘In the prison file – in my suitcase.’

  Böhm snapped it open and took the photograph from the file. ‘We should show this to Constable Scholz, from the traffic tower. Perhaps he’ll recognise his attacker.’

  Gennat nodded, and Böhm disappeared with the photo.

  ‘Now that we’re alone,’ Buddha said. ‘I’m aware of your issues with Böhm, but the fact that you didn’t even contact your fiancée . . .I’m afraid that I simply can’t let slide. You need to apologise to Charly, and make sure you never treat her like that again, otherwise you’ll have me to deal with and, believe me, that’s a road you take at your peril.’

  Rath felt almost moved that Buddha was so concerned for Charly’s well-being. ‘Beg to report: I have already apologised, and it won’t happen again.’

  ‘Good. Now eat your nutcake.’ With Gennat, that, too, was an order it paid to obey. ‘What I’m wondering is,’ Buddha continued, ‘if you’re right, and everything up to this point has been a prelude to the killing of Gustav Wengler, then why hasn’t Polakowski done the deed by now? The man was in Berlin for more than a week.’

  Rath had his mouth full. He swallowed before answering. ‘Wengler was under surveillance the whole time, wasn’t he?’

  ‘He still is. Danzig CID Chief Muhl called me last night. Wengler’s staying at the Hotel Eden. Two of Muhl’s men are stationed in a car outside.’

  ‘They should stay on him. Polakowski might fall into their hands.’

  ‘Our priority is to warn Wengler about Polakowski.’

  ‘So that he smells a rat, and discovers we’ve been digging up these old stories? Wengler knows that Polakowski is after him, because that’s how Polakowski wanted it. Think of the death notices, the whole rigmarole. With respect, Sir, if we warn Wengler – about something he’s probably already aware of – then all we’ll be doing is giving him the chance to get rid of incriminating evidence. It’s hard enough to pin Anna von Mathée’s murder on him as it is.’

  ‘In my view it’s more important to prevent a murder than solve one that’s already occurred,’ Gennat said seriously. ‘Wengler is the victim here, or at least potential victim. It’s Polakowski who’s the suspect.’

  ‘My fear is that Wengler will stop at nothing to conceal his own guilt. He had the Treuburg librarian killed when he learned she was in contact with Radlewski.’

  ‘What?’ Gennat raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re certain about that?’

  ‘More or less. I think he roped in the local SA to do his dirty work. Its members are in thrall to him somehow.’

  ‘Wengler’s a Nazi?’

  ‘He doesn’t hawk it about,’ said Rath, ‘but I suspect if he ever officially entered politics, you’d find one of those swastika pins on his lapel.’ He replaced his cake fork on the table, and lit an Overstolz in the hope that Gennat wouldn’t offer him seconds. It seemed to work. ‘I think Wengler has Assmann on his conscience too, and is trying to frame me.’

  ‘While we’re on the subject.’ Gennat cleared his throat. ‘For my part I don’t believe you’re guilty, but that doesn’t mean we can spare you the routine. Fingerprints, identification parade with the guard personnel. That much at least.’

  ‘If it’s the only way.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is,’ Gennat said. ‘We’ve already requested a comparison of signatures. Whoever broke into Dietrich Assmann’s cell made a pretty decent fist of yours.’

  Rath wondered who might have provided Wengler with his signature. Hella Rickert? Her father, perhaps? The corrupt small-town policeman, Grigat? There were various possibilities.

  The door opened and a black dog entered. A woman stood in the door looking angry.

  ‘Fräulein Ritter. What are you doing here?’ Gennat asked.

  ‘I thought I might stop by and see what was happening, after Detective Chief Inspector Böhm snatched my fiancé away without so much as a word. You’re not seriously arresting him as a suspect in the Assmann case? If you even think about putting him in a cell, I tell you this now. I’ll be baking a file in his cake.’

  Rath could scarcely conceal his pride.

  ‘As for you,’ she shouted. ‘Wipe that grin off your face. If you just played things by the book for once, we’d have been spared all this fuss.’

  ‘I’ve already explained that much, Fräulein Ritter.’ Gennat was amused. ‘I think he’s seen the error of his ways.’

  ‘I should think so too!’

  ‘Why don’t you join us?’ Gennat clapped the surface of the green armchair next to his. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Thank you.’ She sat down, still hopping mad. Rath would have liked to embrace her, but had to make do with ruffling Kirie’s fur.

  Gennat poured coffee, while Charly lit a Juno. She was beginning to calm down. ‘Has Kronberg been in touch?’ she asked.

  Buddha looked at his watch. ‘Right now Superintendent Kronberg will be eating his breakfast, if he’s up at all.’

  ‘I mean ED in general. They were planning to work through the night.’

  Rath must have had a big question mark on his face.

  ‘We found a few items in Janke, aka Polakowski’s, flat yesterday,’ Gennat explained. ‘Kronberg promised us the results today.’

  Charly stood up to leave with Gereon, but Gennat held her back. ‘Fräulein Ritter, could you stay a moment, please? I need to speak with you, in private.’

  ‘Certainly, Sir.’

  She shrugged at Gereon as he exited the office, wondering what Gennat wanted that couldn’t have been discussed before. Buddha poured more coffee and she lit another cigarette. ‘Would you like some more cake?’

  ‘No, thank you, Sir.’

  ‘I wanted to thank you, Fräulein Ritter, for your contribution here. You’ve provided sterling service.’ It sounded like goodbye. She said nothing. ‘It is not least thanks to your
efforts that our investigation here will soon be concluded, give or take the odd warrant.’ He looked her in the eye, and she could see he wasn’t finding this easy. ‘Superintendent Wieking wants you back, and I’m afraid I’m running out of reasons to keep you, Charly. From Monday you’ll report to G Division.’ Buddha proffered a hand. ‘It was a pleasure working with you. Think fondly of us.’

  She shook his hand. ‘Perhaps there’ll be other opportunities to collaborate.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Gennat didn’t sound as if it were likely.

  Charly smiled bravely but, in the corridor outside she could have cried. So, it was back to G Division, back to Karin van Almsick and Wedding youth gangs, to neglected children and fallen girls. She had always known her stint in Homicide could be no more than an interlude; that, for women CID officers, day-to-day policing occupied a different plane.

  And now, of all times, here came Dettmann! The inspector eyed her suspiciously, but kept a respectful distance. It didn’t stop her from smelling his aftershave as he passed. Pitralon? Whatever it was, it was overpowering. He must have applied it liberally, as if he had just bought himself a new bottle.

  She stopped and turned around. Dettmann had disappeared inside his office. An idea flashed through her mind, something so fantastic she could hardly take it seriously. Yet it wouldn’t let go.

  90

  Rath had difficulty keeping his eyes open. He was lacking in sleep, and motivation, having too little to do with ongoing investigations in the Castle. Somehow he felt he no longer belonged, and Böhm made little effort to disabuse him of the notion. He was more or less a spare part while others went about their work. At his desk he decided to put a call through to Königsberg. ‘Assistant Detective Kowalski, please,’ he said to the switchboard girl.

  Kowalski was delighted to hear from him, but inconsolable nonetheless. ‘My uncle told me what happened, Sir. I’m sorry. I thought I had to report to Grigat, and he sent me back to Königsberg. You know how it is: orders are orders.’