Babylon Berlin, page 16
There wasn’t a lot going on here in the mornings, but at least at this hour Rath wasn’t obliged to fork out to enter the complex. In the evenings that was standard here. The tourists were always flabbergasted when they had to pay again at the cinema box office. The Grinzing was trying to look like a Viennese Heuriger, and less like a coffee house. Artificial greenery crept up the walls, while Chinese lanterns hung from the ceiling. When Rath entered, Franz Krajewski was already sitting at a white covered table, before him a cup of coffee and a glass of white wine. The man was drawing nervously on his cigarette. Rath sat down and placed his hat on the table, not intending to stay long.
‘Starting at breakfast time?’ he asked.
Krajewski gave a forced smile. ‘Always a joke at the ready, your local bobby!’ He fell silent for a moment before continuing. ‘I need a favour,’ he said. Rath’s silence made Krajewski nervous. He continued talking. ‘People are saying there’s something up. You’re planning something big, am I right?’
It was astonishing how fast the bush telegraph worked in this city. Word of the planned raid must have trickled through from a leak at the Castle.
‘Who’s the informant here? That’s not how this works, you should know that by now. You tell me something and then maybe I’ll be in such a good mood that I pay for your breakfast.’
‘I know how it works, and I am going to tell you something. I just don’t fancy getting picked up by one of your colleagues. I ain’t much use to you in the can.’
Rath said nothing. His hands played with the small calibre projectile he had fetched from his pocket.
Krajewski raised his hands in appeasement. ‘OK, you’re the boss. But you should have a think about what I’ve said.’ He fell silent as a waiter approached their table to take Rath’s order. He didn’t continue until they were alone again. ‘If you want to see an interesting cinema performance: Sonnabend, at twelve.’ He leaned in and spoke even more softly. ‘Pille, a secret cellar bar in Motzstrasse, just by Nollendorfplatz. There’s a back room there, that’s where the fun’ll be.’
Rath put the bullet back in his pocket. ‘Sounds good. If you’re talking shit, there’ll be trouble. If I don’t find anything I’ll assume you’ve stitched us up, do you understand?’
Krajewski nodded. The waiter came and placed a cup of coffee and a glass of water on the table. Rath pushed the photos that he always carried across the table.
‘Do me another favour?’ he said. ‘Do you recognise either of these men?’
Krajewski grabbed the picture of the dead man. ‘He was in the paper, right?’
Rath nodded.
‘No idea, only place I’ve seen him.’
‘And him?’ Rath gestured towards the photo of Kardakov.
‘Hmm…’ Krajewski furrowed his brow. ‘Looks familiar. What’s he supposed to have done?’
‘He deals coke.’
Krajewski shook his head. ‘Then I don’t know him. Must’ve been thinking of someone else.’ He passed the photos back to Rath and downed his glass. ‘Who’s paying, then? I need to know if I can order something else.’
‘You can choose. Either I do you a favour or I pay your bill.’
Krajewski considered for a moment only. ‘Favour it is then.’
‘Good.’ Rath stood up and put on his hat. ‘Then a little tip. Stay home at the weekend.’
He’d been hit by something. Without knowing how it had happened, he found himself back on the ground; every bone in his body was aching. He felt as if he had been run over by an express train, only they didn’t operate on the first floor of the police station. Clearly it was a person.
‘Can’t you look where you’re going?’
He recognised the voice. It was worse than an express train. Rath looked up. Correct! DCI Böhm.
The homicide detective stood firm as a German oak on the grey stone floor; Rath on the other hand was lying supine. Having almost fallen back down the stairs he was holding his aching shoulder. Admittedly, he had hurried up the stairs rather quickly, a little giddily even. Krajewski’s tip-off had given wing to his steps. It had come at just the right time and dovetailed perfectly with their plans for Saturday. He sensed today was going to be a good day, and now this. He had just made it to the half landing when the door that led from the stairwell to the corridor had hit him like a ton of bricks, landing him face-up on the floor.
‘Use your eyes, man! You almost knocked me over!’
Rath didn’t say anything. His hat had rolled off his head and the photos had fallen out of his pocket. He gathered everything back up.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything to me?’ Böhm asked. He narrowed his eyes.
Rath struggled to his feet and placed his hat back on his head. ‘Me? If you’ll pardon my saying so DCI Böhm, it’s you who should be apologising,’ he said, going on the counter-attack.
Böhm hadn’t been listening. ‘If you know something about that dead man you’ve just returned to your pocket, then you should tell me,’ he said simply.
Rath smoothed down his suit and fell silent.
‘You could start by telling me who that was staring up at me?’
The son of a bitch had seen Kardakov too. Did he also know that Charlotte had met him at the Landwehr canal? Rath had to take care that Böhm didn’t become too suspicious, which wasn’t so easy. Being suspicious was part and parcel of the job, and Böhm was suspicion personified.
‘An E Division investigation,’ he said. ‘A cocaine dealer, with a possible connection to a porn ring.’ That was the link he’d come up with in case he needed to explain why he was investigating a case that was outside his remit. The solution to the Landwehr canal murder as a by-product of the pornography investigation, so to speak. It was the coke which allowed the link to be constructed. ‘We’ve got things to do too,’ he continued. ‘You mustn’t think we’re all scrambling to help Homicide.’ He took the picture of Boris from his pocket, staying on the offensive. ‘I know colleagues who have thrown this photo away. You should be happy I’m supporting A Division.’
Böhm looked even grumpier.
‘Fine,’ he said at length. ‘But my joy will be somewhat confined if you’re only carrying this photo around, and I don’t hear from you. Let me make one thing clear, if you have something to say to me, then say it. I don’t like it when people move in on my territory.’
Rath took an Overstolz from the packet, unmoved. Just stay cool. The obnoxious fool couldn’t know anything. Böhm took every opportunity to rant at subordinates.
‘Have I made myself clear, Inspector?’
‘Yes, Detective Chief Inspector, sir!’ Rath lit his cigarette and inhaled. He didn’t exhale until Böhm passed him and was crashing down the stairs.
She was happy to leave a little earlier today. The atmosphere in Homicide wasn’t the best. Böhm wasn’t making any headway, his mood was deteriorating and it was nothing to do with working the holiday shift. The way he had stormed out of the office just now! Like a steamroller. She knew that her boss had a choleric streak, but usually they got on fine together. He accepted her, and she gave him credit for that. Still, for the moment it was best not to tangle with him. With him outside, the atmosphere was more relaxed. Gräf, who had been crouched behind his desk as if ducking to evade a series of blows, sat up straight and inhaled deeply.
She thought about the evening. She didn’t want to wear the green dress. It brought bad luck. Thursday again. Exactly a week ago her last date had ended in sublime failure. Yesterday was the first time she had gone out since her abortive evening in Moka Efti. With Greta. They had talked about men all evening and agreed on one thing. You shouldn’t get involved with guys who couldn’t accept you as a working woman. That she had already arranged to meet someone else was something she hadn’t told Greta. In fact, she hadn’t told her anything about the newbie at the station. Probably because she felt guilty about meeting another man so soon after the disaster in Efti. And one from the Castle at that. But Greta didn’t have to know everything, did she?
It was good that he’d already been here for half an hour and bought tickets early. It was getting full inside Phoebus Palace, almost as if the crowd was bearing out his telephone lie about the difficulty in acquiring tickets. While people pressed inside, Rath stood at the showcases examining the publicity photos. Gustav Fröhlich as a cop and a woman who reminded him vaguely of Charlotte, only that she was far more done-up. But that’s just the way it was in film; even the men wore lipstick. Even if they were playing a cop. He couldn’t help but grin as he imagined all the hard-boiled cops from Alex with their lips painted red.
The film was called Asphalt, a police drama. He hadn’t known what was on when he invited Charlotte to the cinema. Phoebus Palace had presented itself solely because of its proximity to the Europa-Pavillon. Both were housed in the new complex inside Europahaus. So much the better that it was a film about police officers, although it looked more like a slushy romance than a crime thriller. The film was due to start in five minutes, but there was still no sign of her.
The noise around him grew ever more lively. Besides the cinema, Europahaus was home to several restaurants, cafés and dance halls. Almost like in Haus Vaterland, only that it was less of a racket here, since the various restaurateurs were competing against one another, as opposed to in Vaterland where everything had a single operator. A skyscraper was set to crown the whole complex at Anhalter Bahnhof, but for the time being it only existed on paper. The Department of Building Regulations had only recently granted planning permission, after the architect had reduced the number of floors to ten.
Below, in the parts of the building that had already been completed, business was booming. Europahaus had the reputation of being sophisticated and metropolitan and was correspondingly popular with Berliners, who heralded anything that cemented the capital’s reputation as a world city.
Then he saw her climbing out of a taxi on the other side of Königgrätzer Strasse, wearing a short coat and a red skirt. He waved and could almost have embraced the nearest passer-by out of joy when she smiled as she spotted him.
The evening wouldn’t be cheap for him, of that she was certain. She was enormously hungry as she entered Europa-Pavillon on his arm, and the waiter led them to their table. The film had lasted an hour and a half and by the end she had been hoping that her stomach wouldn’t rumble during the performance. Fortunately, the band had been playing pretty loud. He hadn’t tried to exploit the darkness to take her in his arms or kiss her a single time. He wasn’t one of those types. If he was, she would have passed on dinner, no matter how hungry she was. But this way, there was nothing to prevent them from spending a pleasant evening.
She liked the Europa-Pavillon too. The restaurant and dance hall were spread across two floors with orange-gold the dominant colour, interspersed with silver ornaments, the furniture mahogany. The waiter led them upstairs to the gallery. She was wearing the red skirt that, until now, she had only worn to work. He shouldn’t go thinking she had dressed up for him. Nevertheless, Greta had caught her carefully applying her make-up and checking in the mirror to see how it showed off her legs. Her friend hadn’t said anything, but a pair of raised eyebrows had given her to understand that she owed Greta an explanation.
The waiter showed them to a table next to the balustrade. From there they could look down on the dance floor, upon which several couples were already swaying. She liked the music, a brisk swing, and it was only the singer that struck her as overly schmaltzy. The waiter returned to their table with two menus and two glasses of Heidsieck Monopole.
‘I took the liberty of ordering us something to drink,’ Rath said and raised his glass. So that was why he had been whispering to the waiter before.
She smiled nervously as she toasted his health. She had liked his twinkling grey-blue eyes from the start, right from the very first time he had happened upon her at the Castle. She surveyed his appearance. Elegant – even if he was wearing a brown suit he could have worn to work, indeed probably had worn to work. Just like her and her red skirt. They could have set off right away and started investigating. Instead they were perusing the menu.
The waiter came with the wine and took their order. They decided on the fish.
‘I lied to you,’ she said, once the man in tails had departed again. ‘My story isn’t half as long as I said. I just wanted to have dinner.’
‘In that case you’d better hope I don’t call in Fraud Squad.’
‘Please, no!’ She raised her hands in mock horror. ‘I’ll tell you everything, Inspector. Only I’m afraid that everything isn’t very much at all.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘Born and bred in Berlin. Moabit to be precise, right next to the criminal court. Something like that leaves its mark: I’ve been working for CID for four years now as a stenographer, but I wouldn’t like to do it for the rest of my life.’
‘What would you do instead?’
‘I’m studying Law.’
He whistled appreciatively through his teeth. ‘Do you want to be a senior civil servant?’
‘We’ll see. I do think there aren’t enough female CID officers.’
‘How do you combine the two?’ he asked. ‘The work and the studying, I mean.’
‘I only work for Homicide from Thursday until Sunday, that’s what we’ve agreed. So I don’t complain when I have to work late or go out into the field.’
‘Most murders happen at the weekend.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
‘And you have to clock in every weekend?’
‘Most of the time. The others are happy if they can get out of a weekend shift.’
‘Then you can’t have much free time.’
‘Not at the moment. I save my free time activities for the evening.’
‘So long as A Division doesn’t call.’
‘Right.’
He raised his glass. ‘Let’s drink to Böhm having mislaid your phone number, at least for tonight.’
They clinked glasses for a second time. The waiter came with the food and they were silent for a time.
‘You still haven’t told me how you ended up in Vice? Did you fall in love with a jewel thief you were supposed to be bringing in?’
That was what had happened to the cop in the film just now. He had then killed her gangster boyfriend. In the end the jewel thief had saved her beloved cop by confessing, and had gone to jail for him. Pretty far-fetched, but good fun nevertheless. It just didn’t have much to do with normal police work.
He didn’t seem to think so either. ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ he said. ‘But the reality is less romantic. I wanted to come to Berlin and there was nothing else available at Alex.’
‘Where have you come from then?’
He looked at her in astonishment. ‘Don’t tell me you can’t hear it.’
‘The Rhineland?’
‘And there was me hoping I’d got rid of my accent. I’ve even caught myself imitating the Berliners.’
‘Actually I wanted to know what unit you used to work in.’
‘Everything from grievous bodily harm to Homicide.’
She was astonished. A detective who had already worked in Homicide had willingly transferred to Vice because he wanted to come to Berlin? It wasn’t something everyone would have done. She resumed her eating in silence, deep in thought.
‘Why did you want to join the police?’ he asked.
‘Because there are too few women in this job, and because I’ve got something against people who think they can do whatever they want and get away scot free.’ She hadn’t needed long to consider. ‘But actually it’s not yet guaranteed that I’ll become a police officer. I need to study first,’ she added quickly.
He nodded seriously. ‘You’re right. There’s nothing worse than having to close the file on an unsolved case.’
‘Yes. Luckily we don’t have too many wet fish under Gennat.’ That was what they called unsolved cases at the Castle. He seemed to know the expression. ‘A Division has an extremely high detection rate,’ she added, and could have bitten her tongue in the same instant.
‘In that case, our colleague DCI Böhm is currently skewing the statistics,’ he said. ‘When I saw him in the conference room on Monday, I had the impression that this wet corpse was threatening to become a wet fish.’
She nodded. ‘True. It’s not looking good. I came back today after a three day break, and the investigation hadn’t progressed since Sunday. That doesn’t happen often.’
‘Do you have any idea who the dead man might be?’
She shook her head. ‘We’ve been through every missing person’s file since 1927, we’ve asked all residents several times, almost all the papers have printed his picture, and yet, apart from the usual idiots, no-one has been in touch. It is pretty strange that no-one knew the deceased.’
He nodded. ‘Scarcely credible. A dead man’s found in a city of four million, and not one of those four million has seen him before in their lives.’
‘Someone must have seen him.’
‘You mean the killer?’
‘Exactly. But he’s not going to get in touch, is he?’
‘And you’ve got nothing at all to go on?
‘If you’ve worked in Homicide before, then you’ll know what it means to have an unidentified corpse. Normally you look for the perpetrator in the victim’s immediate circle: friends, enemies, family, business partners. Only, how are we supposed to do that if we don’t even know who it is that’s died?’
‘And you don’t have any other leads?’
‘We barely have anything. The man was wearing an expensive suit, no-one knows him and he has lousy teeth. He was driving an expensive car, but it was stolen. He was tortured and died of a heroin overdose. He had already been dead for eight to ten hours when the car went into the canal. Someone wedged the accelerator with a metal rod. Curiously enough with the steering rod of an Opel. None of it hangs together.’
