Goldstein, page 20
The settlement, a strange mix of campsite and shanty town, was clean and tidy, almost as if it were regularly swept. The smell of fried potatoes hung in the air. They reached a kind of square where wood was neatly stacked in the middle. A woman was hanging out washing and two children were playing tag, otherwise there was no one to be seen. The woman eyed the two well-dressed visitors suspiciously. The last rays of the setting sun made the scene appear almost idyllic.
The hairs on the back of Kirie’s neck stood up and she growled.
The woman took the wash basket and disappeared inside one of the shacks and a dog started barking fiercely.
‘Hold Kirie tight,’ Charly said.
Rath had already wrapped the lead several times around his wrist, but Kirie made no attempt to break free. She stood stock-still, growling to herself and quivering like an electric motor with fur. She gazed at the lane which led into the middle of the settlement. The barking grew louder, and at last they saw a big dog the colour of a cockroach, an unhealthy mix of Dobermann, Rottweiler and Werewolf rolled into one.
Rath realised to his horror that the monster wasn’t on a lead. For a moment it stayed where it was and looked at the newcomers curiously, before breaking into a trot and making straight for them. Now Kirie started barking too, yapping at the onrushing jumble of muscles, hide and teeth, but she sounded like she always did: harmless. She certainly didn’t scare the charging brute. Rath stood stiff as a board, feeling as if his heart had stopped. The dog was only a few metres away when there was a shrill whistle and it threw itself to the ground.
A man of perhaps thirty was sitting in the shadow of a corrugated iron wall. He stood and went over to the dog. ‘Good boy,’ he said, patting the dog on the back of the head. ‘Good boy,Stalin.’
The dog looked at Rath and Charly as if he wasn’t finished with them yet.
Rath stood close to Charly, whose face was slowly regaining its colour. Stalin’s master left the dog where it was and approached.
‘If you’re from the public order office, I advise you not to show up here without the police.’
Rath was about to pull out his identification when Charly nudged him in the side.
‘We’re looking for Emil Reinhold,’ she said. ‘Apparently he lives here with his wife.’
‘What do you want from him?’
‘We’re friends of Helmut’s,’ Charly said. ‘The son of . . .’
‘I know who Helmut Reinhold is, but I don’t know if Emil will have much time for him. Or his Social Democrat friends.’
‘That’s why he sent us.’ Charly lied. Rath was astonished at how convincing she was. ‘He knows his father resents him, and he’d like to make peace.’
‘So you’re his envoys, are you?’ The man laughed. ‘There I was thinking you were cops.’ He ran both hands over the dog’s neck fur. ‘Stalin has an allergic reaction to cops. But . . .’ He lifted his hat towards Charly, ‘then I saw there was a lady present.’
‘So where can we find Herr Reinhold?’ the lady asked.
The man pointed in the direction of the shore. ‘Down there by the lake. See the trail of smoke?’
Charly nodded and pulled Rath away. Stalin followed them with his eyes, but stayed where he was even when Kirie issued a brief, spirited bark. Rath pulled the lead and she followed obediently.
Emil Reinhold’s hut was a former Christmas market stall. Rath had difficulty imagining it had ever been so badly put together as here on the banks of the Müggelsee. The roof looked as if it were built solely for the purpose of gathering rainwater, before transmitting it inside, drop by drop. The side wall didn’t appear to have a single right angle. Clearly, Emil Reinhold was no carpenter. In front of the entrance he had constructed a little lean-to, which was covered with what might have been a grey flysheet, or perhaps a discarded lorry tarpaulin.
Rath gave Charly a nod, positioned himself by the fitted door and knocked. An ill-tempered man of about fifty appeared. ‘Emil Reinhold?’ The man nodded. ‘My name is Ritter, and this is Herr Rath. We’re looking for your daughter Alexandra.’
‘Well, you’re in the wrong place.’ Reinhold tried to shut the door, but Charly had wedged her foot in the crack.
‘Perhaps you have some idea where we might find her. Your son, Helmut . . .’
The mention of his son acted like a trigger on him. ‘So, that’s the way the wind is blowing. Is Helmut sending his Sozi friends, because he no longer dares come here himself?’ He gestured towards the settlement. ‘Take a look around. This is the mess you Social Democrats have landed us in. Class traitors!’ He spat, and Charly had to move her feet to avoid being hit.
‘Herr Reinhold, we’re not Social Democrats; this isn’t about Helmut, it’s about your daughter!’
‘I don’t know where she is, and I don’t want to know. Maybe she’s started at Wertheim again. If he’s so keen to see her he can go looking for her himself.’
‘We’re looking,’ Charly said. ‘Because we’re afraid something bad has happened. We want to help her.’
‘And who is we?’ Charly gave Rath a nudge and he pulled out his identification. Reinhold stared at the metal badge. ‘I thought you wanted to help her?’
‘We do,’ said Rath.
‘Always nice to hear from your local police department.’ The man gave a jerky laugh. ‘Go on, you have my blessing. Give that brat what for. If you find her that is!’
Charly struggled to keep cool. ‘We don’t want to give her what for. We want to help her,’ she said, ‘even if that’s hard for you to understand. Alexandra is suspected of having broken into a department store . . .’
‘Do what you want. Just leave me in peace.’
Finally, Charly’s patience ended. ‘You need to learn how to listen! Is this how you treated your son? I’m not surprised your family wants nothing more to do with you.’
‘We proles don’t need help, especially not from Social Democrats. We look after our own!’
‘You’re too proud to accept the help of your son, just because he’s a Social Democrat?’
‘A social Fascist! Complicit in the exploitation of labour by capital!’ Reinhold’s face turned red. ‘It won’t be long before the hour strikes and the proletariat rises in arms!’
Rath understood why the Reinhold family had fallen apart. ‘I think the hour has struck already,’ he said. ‘Many thanks for the information, Herr Reinhold.’
He linked arms with Charly and pulled her away from the hut. Emil Reinhold closed the door as soon as their backs were turned.
‘Why did you do that?’ she asked. ‘I had more questions.’
‘That he wouldn’t have answered. You heard the nonsense he was spouting!’
‘Perhaps he’d have given us something.’
‘Perhaps if you’d been a little friendlier. And besides . . .’ Rath gazed skywards. ‘Take a look up there. It’s getting dark, and I don’t know how old the batteries in my torch are. We need to make sure we get back to the car. It was hard enough in the light.’
Charly said nothing, but Rath could see she was angry. They reached the square in silence, where Stalin’s master was sparking the bonfire. ‘Is the Sozi-delegation leaving our workers’ paradise so soon?’ he asked.
The dog lay dutifully next to the blazing fire, which had already started to crackle. Kirie began to growl once more, cautiously this time, so that no one could hear, especially not the other dog.
‘I don’t know what everyone here has against the SPD,’ Rath said.
‘Well, take a look around: unemployed, homeless people everywhere. Families with barely anything to eat thanks to Social Democrat policies. At the expense of us workers!’
‘Looks rather idyllic to me,’ Rath gestured towards the bonfire, which had drawn the first people from the settlement. ‘Almost like a gypsy camp. All you need now is a guitar.’
‘Why don’t you come back in February when the lake’s frozen over and you can barely get any water; when the cold saps all the warmth from your body. Then you’ll rethink your gypsy romanticism. This is no operetta. This is real life.’
They left the camp, returning through the wood, and with every step visibility grew poorer. Rath switched on his torch. The beam of light flashed along the tree stems, making anything it didn’t illuminate seem darker. The torch was no use here. They couldn’t find the trail.
‘Maybe we should let Kirie go on ahead,’ Charly said. ‘She relies more on her nose than her eyes.’
Rath nodded and, unable to think of anything better, gave the dog the car key to sniff. It seemed to work. She fixed her nose to the ground and took up the scent. Rath loosened the lead and followed through undergrowth that became thicker and thicker.
‘Are you sure this is the way we came?’ Charly asked after a while.
‘No idea. At least the dog has a scent.’
‘Yes, but what?’
Five minutes later Kirie accelerated when they reached the edge of the wood. She pounced on something that lay on the ground, taking it in her mouth and swinging it back and forth.
‘Drop!’ cried Rath who, despite the torchlight, wasn’t sure what she had picked up. Only at the third ‘drop’ did Kirie let her prey fall to the ground. Rath shone the light on a bundle of fur that had been ripped to pieces, a soggy red sludge pouring out of it like a burst plush cushion.
A dead squirrel.
Kirie looked guilty. Charly couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Don’t laugh,’ Rath said. ‘We have to be strict with her.’
She pulled herself together, but when Rath said ‘Bad dog’ in all seriousness, she burst out laughing again.
‘We’re never going to be able to train her,’ he sighed.
‘Now that both your torch and your dog have come up short, how about we rely on my sense of direction.’
Rath switched off the torch, and Charly gazed into the night sky. She seemed to go by the moon, or perhaps the stars. Either way they were soon on the right path, though it still took them half an hour to reach the car. They found themselves in marshy terrain along the way, a detour that left Rath with only one shoe. All their searching with the torch, temporarily switched back on, proved futile; the marsh had swallowed the shoe and wasn’t about to give it back.
Rath sat with the car door open and wrung out his socks. Charly’s feet didn’t look much better, but at least she still had both shoes. They couldn’t wring out Kirie’s wet paws. The dog made a huge mess of the car and Charly’s coat when she placed her head on her lap. Rath stuffed his socks and shoe into the footwell and started the engine.
‘Can you drive without shoes?’ Charly asked.
‘Mit bläcke Fööß jeht alles. You can do anything barefoot.’
They jolted slowly across Köpenicker Landstrasse back into town. Naturally the Hanomag didn’t make the journey without letting them down, this time at Schlesisicher Tor, right in the heart of the city. Passersby looked on with a mixture of interest and amusement as a barefooted but otherwise impeccably dressed man climbed out of the car, opened the bonnet, fixed something, closed the bonnet, got back inside and started the engine.
Charly grinned when he reclaimed his place alongside her.
‘Sorry,’ he growled, putting the car in gear. ‘Normally I’d have a replacement pair of shoes.’
Charly’s grin disappeared. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘What’s the matter? Only that we haven’t made any progress. Unless you count wet feet, dirty clothes and a missing shoe. Oh, and a few hours’ less sleep.’
‘So what? I’ll sleep at the end of the month. Isn’t that what you always say?’
‘We could have had a nice evening at home with a bottle of red wine, instead of wasting our time out here.’
‘Wasting our time?’ Charly feigned indignation. ‘Please! I’ve never been more emphatically warned about the dangers of social democracy.’
‘True. The rubbish that Reinhold and his comrades were spouting makes more sense than anything else this evening!’ He looked at her. ‘Now, won’t you please admit that this was a crackpot idea.’
Charly said nothing, as he observed her out of the corner of his eye. When her features became hard like that, it was better to seek cover. She needed almost a minute to compose herself.
‘What is this?’ she said, her voice as chilly as it had been in a long time. ‘Are you really just upset about your stupid shoe? Or do you regret helping me with my crackpot idea?’
‘That’s not how I meant it!’
‘Then how did you mean it?’
‘You have to admit I’m right: we should have given this to Warrants right away.’
‘But that’s exactly what I don’t want. Can’t you understand that? I want to find Alex before Warrants do!’
‘Why? It’s no longer your concern. You’ve made good on your error, now let other people take care of the rest.’
‘Why don’t you understand? She saw her friend plunge to his death. She’s terrified of blue uniforms. Something happened up there.’
‘It’ll all come out when Warrants bring her in.’
‘I can’t shake the feeling that’s exactly when something terrible will happen.’
Rath looked at her in disbelief. ‘Have you been reading tea leaves again?’
‘You’re such an ignoramus!’
‘I’m just realistic. I’m starting to feel you’re getting carried away by all this. You’re not her mother. Believe me, she’s a shrewd customer. She doesn’t need your help.’
Charly fell silent, but it was a baleful silence.
The lights of night-time Berlin flitted past. Only when they were labouring through the construction site bottleneck on Jannowitz Bridge did she open her mouth again.
‘Pull over there,’ she said.
‘Pardon me?’
‘Let me out past the bridge.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Rath switched on the indicator and did as bidden. He turned the engine off.
‘Nothing’s the matter. I just can’t talk to you about this. You’re not taking me seriously, and I can’t stomach it right now. I want to be alone!’
Rath sighed. ‘Charly, of course I’m taking you seriously. But you’re a lawyer, not a Samaritan.’
‘If you don’t want to help, I’ll do it myself. Now, please let me out.’
Rath could see from her face that she meant it. She had put her wet shoes back on. He opened the door and climbed out of her way. Kirie was surprised to find herself placed on the wooden seat, only to watch both master and mistress exit the vehicle.
‘If that’s really what you want,’ Rath said, suddenly realising how furious he was. ‘Then it’s the perfect end to a lousy evening!’
‘Just what I was thinking,’ she said, buttoning her coat. ‘At last we agree on something.’
‘Can I at least drive you to Spenerstrasse?’
‘No, thank you. I’ll take the S-Bahn.’
She hesitated a moment before heading to the station, and he didn’t know whether to give her a goodbye kiss or not. While he was still umming and ahhing, she made up her mind. ‘Good night, Gereon,’ she said.
That was something, at least, but her back was already turned by the time she said it. She pressed her handbag in front of her chest and moved quickly towards the S-Bahn station. It, too, was a massive construction site, like so much in this city.
Rath stayed where he was but gazed after her. It all seemed unreal. He wanted to chase after her, but pride paralysed him. Let her go! Hopefully she’d miss her train. Someone as pig-headed as Charlotte Ritter had to suffer the consequences.
Kirie gave a bark. The dog didn’t seem to understand what was happening either.
Rath slid across the wooden seat towards her. ‘Looks like we’re back in Luisenufer for the time being. Alone.’
It wasn’t far to his flat from Jannowitz Bridge, and the Hanomag made it without breaking down again. He couldn’t help thinking of Charly as he drove, the way she disappeared inside the train station and how he had stared after her, unable to move. He should have shouted something: ‘Please don’t go!’ or ‘Piss off then!’
Either would have been honest.
What was wrong with her? What was wrong with them? It wasn’t just tonight that had been ruined; it was the last few weeks, ever since Cologne. Yes, things had gone badly there, but not badly enough to poison the atmosphere for weeks on end.
At Luisenufer he stayed in the car, staring through the windscreen into the night. That stubborn, fucking woman! He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, so hard that Kirie, who was crouched quietly on the passenger seat, gave a start.
He got out and took the dog by the lead, getting rid of his solitary, wet shoe in one of the metal rubbish bins. The clatter of the lid echoed in the inner courtyard. He climbed the steps quietly, bare feet sticking to the wood. In the rear building all was still; he didn’t seem to have wakened anyone. He was all the more startled, therefore, when the telephone rang as he opened the door.
Could it be Charly hoping to make peace? Admitting what a stupid quarrel it had been? His mood brightened immediately. Leaving Kirie in the kitchen he hung up his coat, pitter-pattered over the cold floor to the telephone, and took up position on the warm living room carpet. He let it ring one more time before picking up.
‘OK, you’re right. It wasn’t a crackpot idea,’ he said, charmingly. ‘Can I still come over?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’ It was Johann Marlow.
‘Do you realise what time it is? Most people are asleep.’
‘If you had got in touch, I wouldn’t feel obliged to disturb you.’
‘I’ve only just got home. I was on the job until now.’
‘You were in Amor-Diele yesterday, Krehmann said.’
‘That’s right. I learned a few interesting things there too. I’m surprised you didn’t tell me.’
‘You were in a rush to leave my car.’
‘You already knew that Rudi the Rat had disappeared . . .’
‘He’s probably sleeping it off somewhere with one of his girls.’
‘And who’s to say Hugo Lenz isn’t doing exactly the same thing?’
