Babylon Berlin, page 22
‘…might I ask you please to remain quiet? This is a police action. We will merely take you to the station, register your personal details and take a short statement. Then you can go. This operation is directed against the owners of this illegal establishment, not its patrons.’
Most of the guests allowed themselves to be led away like obedient lambs. The musicians didn’t make any move either. The staff behind the counter likewise remained calm. Only a few ran towards the back, where the men from the passageway had already disappeared. Normally a well-built employee saw to it that no-one strayed into the second vault, but now anyone could go through. From the back room, shouting could be heard. A half-naked woman came through the door, saw the uniformed officers and immediately turned around again.
Gradually, the chaos abated and the area emptied. Rath gave Wolter a sign that he would move towards the back and beckoned four cops over. They weren’t interested in the private booths, where men were getting hastily dressed on the beds. The women had disappeared, leaving only a few items of clothing behind. A second door opened onto a long, murky passageway with sewage pipes running along the ceiling. Rath switched on his flashlight. To the right, the way led through a series of winding passageways to the rear courtyard on Kleiststrasse. He led his people in the opposite direction. The end of the vaulted passageway was marked by a steel door, behind which the grinding of an organ could be heard. Now they’d find out if Krajewski was as good as his word.
He switched the flashlight off again. It was impossible to tell if the room was being guarded, and, if it was, the flashlight presented too obvious a target. The door was firmly locked. He landed a well-directed kick at precisely the height of the lock, and the door swung open into a dark room.
The darkness was illuminated only by a single beam of light flickering through the smoke-filled air. An organ was playing bombastic music, a strange mix of the Marseillaise and Heil dir im Siegerkranz. No-one turned to face the intruders: the organ drowned out all other sounds and the action on the screen had obviously cast a spell over everyone. Even the cops who stepped into the room behind Rath.
The screen was considerably smaller than the one in Gloria Palace, though the film would probably have filled the largest theatres in the city, if a legal screening had been allowed. A still sprightly Kaiser Wilhelm, the First this time, was having it off with a woman who bore a striking resemblance to the French Empress Eugenie, while Napoleon III sat on a chair next to them, looking on in chains as he snorted with rage. The Bismarck portrait standing on the bedside table was a nice touch, the unmistakeable thumbprint of Johann König, only this time in moving images. Rath moved over towards the organist, whose eyes were on the film, and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She gave a start, but played on until he put a finger to his lips.
Once the organ had died, for a brief moment only the occasional groan and hum of the projector could be heard, then the groaning subsided too, before Rath’s flashlight prompted a fleeting commotion. Women who had obviously been crouching in the depths of the cinema seats sprang up and adjusted their clothing. They seemed less startled than the men in the theatre, whose faces were bathed in a bizarre light by the beam of the flash. A corpulent, older gentleman, whose erection, caused by the film and the services of the young lady, was still plain to see, hurriedly pulled up his trousers. The other men in the room, around two dozen of them, were concerned with similar matters, either with ladies or alone.
‘This is a police operation, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I ask you now to place yourself in the hands of the offices of law enforcement.’
‘Outrageous!’ growled the fat man, who had just managed to pull his trousers over his erection. ‘There will be consequences, young man. You can’t do this to me!’
‘I can,’ Rath said, and turned towards the cops. ‘Make sure this horny fatso gets locked in a cell.’
The fat man tried to protest, but two uniformed officers had already grabbed hold of him and were leading him outside.
‘You’ll regret this, I promise you that,’ the fat man raging, ‘I’m a friend of the Minister of the Interior! This is a scandal!’
‘You’re telling me,’ Rath called after him.
He wasn’t the first man tonight who claimed to have prominent friends. They wouldn’t find out until next week at the latest if any of them really did have connections in the government or similar circles, when the protests would reach the commissioner. Rath doubted there would be many. Most of them, even if they really did wield any influence, would rather content themselves with a night in police custody which they would never mention again, than admit they had been gadding about in seedy, illegal nightclubs.
It took less than half an hour for everyone to be ready for dispatch, patrons and employees alike. Rath gazed after the two trucks as they rolled away from Motzstrasse towards Alex. The green Opel was still parked on the street corner with the doorman looking out of the rear side window. Johnny, the tranny had called him. According to his ID, his real name was the more respectable Wilfried Johnen. Rath had the impression that the man had grown even paler in the course of the last half hour. No wonder: Johnny had had to reckon that, any minute now, along with all these colourful people being bundled onto the truck, his employers would soon stroll past. It would not be good to be seen in a police car when that happened. But Johnny had probably been lucky: most of them would be waiting for their transport to Alex in Kleiststrasse.
Stephan Jänicke sat on the rear seat with the type of frozen face that only an East Prussian could achieve. There wasn’t the slightest trace of emotion in it. Rath knew that the rookie hadn’t exchanged a single word with the doorman in the last half hour. Not even the East Westphalians with whom Rath had worked in Cologne could manage that. Jänicke was exactly the right person for a job like this. Nothing made a crook of this calibre so nervous as a cop who didn’t say a word. Wilfried ‘Johnny’ Johnen would be ready to talk before he reached the station.
Wolter gestured towards his wristwatch and held five fingers in the air. Jänicke nodded. Rath followed Uncle into the catacombs of Pille, where a single officer was performing sentry duty. With badges raised, they crossed to the other side and out of the cellar, but the courtyard was empty. The engine of the truck in Kleiststrasse was already running, though the tailgate was still open and two officers were fiddling with it. The two CID officers said hello and drew nearer. Rath glanced briefly at the load platform but couldn’t see a great deal.
‘You’re a sweet one,’ a female voice said, ‘perhaps the two of us could do something later!’
A few women found it amusing, but the giggling was scotched by a rough, male ‘shut your trap!’ Impossible to say whether it came from a colleague inside the vehicle or a pimp. While Wolter was exchanging a few words with the two cops, Rath stepped a little to the side and lit a cigarette. This raid was their last of the evening. In total, they had swooped on nine illegal nightclubs, and they had been on the ground for most of it, racing from one roundup to the next, according to a meticulous schedule. Now it was over Rath inhaled the smoke of the cigarette deeply, as if it were oxygen.
Bruno stood alongside the officer who was currently sealing the tailgate on the final truck, and who would remain behind on guard duty. After the vehicle had groaned into motion, Uncle said one last thing to the cop and came over, fetching a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.
‘We’ve earned this one, don’t you think?’ he said.
‘Eleventh commandment: never contradict your boss.’
‘Glad it’s over?’
Rath nodded.
‘You look tired.’ Wolter examined him. ‘Not enough sleep last night?’
The circles under his eyes said everything, but there was nothing to be done about it. Rath shrugged his shoulders. ‘An operation like this doesn’t come round every day.’
‘True. Could have been a complete flop though. But now you can breathe a sigh of relief. There wasn’t a single place we weren’t justified in taking apart. Not one of them smelled a rat. And we didn’t catch old man Lanke screwing either. It doesn’t get any better than that.’
Rath couldn’t help but grin when he imagined the chief of E Division in full cry with a whore. Bruno was right, there had barely been a hitch. At most a handful of revellers had escaped, but they had managed to snare a few hard cases in every bar to compensate. They also had a decent amount of evidence, as some of the bar owners had kept neat accounts. Nevertheless, Rath still couldn’t see the point in an operation like this. Raiding criminal dives, drug stashes, arms caches; all that made sense. But nightclubs? If people wanted to enjoy themselves, then they should go ahead and enjoy themselves.
Wolter clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Not so pensive, my boy! I wouldn’t have bitten your head off if tonight had been a dead loss. We planned the operation together, and if something had happened then it would have been my thick skull on the block. And Lanke could’ve spent any amount of time tearing it to shreds, but it’s a hardy old thing.’
‘It all went pretty smoothly.’
‘Yes. And as long as the three dozen odd intimates of the Minister of the Interior, the Imperial Chancellor, and the Emperor of China that we dispatched to Alex today don’t complain, we shouldn’t get any trouble.’ Wolter glanced at the time. ‘We should be finished in two hours. Will you be able to stay on your feet until then?’
‘Give me a pot of strong coffee, a few cigarettes and I’ll grill the toughest of them till the day after tomorrow!’
‘Let’s not exaggerate. We’ll wrap things up by three at the latest. If you want, I’ll give you a lift home. The real work starts tomorrow anyway. You need to be well rested. It could be a long day.’
‘Stephan won’t be too happy.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’ll ruin his Sunday football. Aren’t Hertha playing in the Plumpe tomorrow?’
‘A propos. We should look in on him. Make sure he’s not worried about anything.’
They threw their cigarettes on the pavement and walked past the lookout back into the cellar.
‘Lanke was asking about you recently by the way,’ Wolter said casually, as Rath’s flashlight lit the way back.
‘Really?’
‘Even rang me at home. The first time I’ve had the honour. Wanted to know how you’re getting on. Sounded very paternal, could give you a real fright.’
It sounded like the commissioner had inquired with the chief of E Division about the son of his good friend. Lanke would never have hit upon the idea by himself. Rath realised that Bruno was also curious about what could be behind it. Did he suspect something?
‘And?’ Rath asked.
‘What do you think? I told him you were the most obstinate provincial cop I’d ever had to train.’
‘I mean: what exactly did Lanke want to know?’
‘Hard to say with that man, but funnily enough it didn’t sound like he was looking for misdemeanours. Quite the opposite. Sounded very pleased when I told him who was responsible for our latest success.’
Of course, Rath thought, Lanke has spied another chance. If Zörgiebel had intimated that he was thinking of pulling a man out of E and transferring him to A, then Lanke would only consent to it if he could bring in a replacement. A replacement from the Criminal Police Office in Köpenick. Perhaps Bruno feared they were going to set Lanke Junior up with a job after all? Rath kept walking, lost in thought, until Bruno finally broke the silence.
‘Have you already applied to A Division?’ he asked.
‘Pardon me?’ Could the man read minds?
‘Rumour has it there’ll be a position free there soon, since our colleague Roeder prefers to spread word of his heroic deeds in book form, rather than doing Gennat’s dirty work.’
‘Roeder wants out?’ Rath asked, and his surprise was genuine. Erwin Roeder was notorious throughout the whole Castle for his vanity, and had written a number of books about his uniformly heroic assignments as a detective inspector, causing more mirth than admiration amongst his colleagues. Especially as Roeder had, like a gimcrack Sherlock Holmes, allowed himself to be photographed in the most idiotic of disguises. He suffered the consequences of his authorhood, which had never been viewed favourably by top brass. Perhaps Zörgiebel and Weiß had presented him with a choice. As much as the commissioner and his deputy valued cooperation with the press, nothing angered them more than a detective inspector who was better known to the public than they were. Moreover, it was said that Roeder had certain anti-Semitic leanings, and since the never-ending Isidore-attacks in the Angriff the deputy commissioner reacted allergically to such things.
Bruno wouldn’t let go: ‘So, have you applied?’
‘No,’ Rath could say with a clear conscience.
‘You’re not already working for A on the side?’
‘What is this? An interrogation?’ Rath halted and shone his flashlight in Wolter’s face. His mind was working feverishly. What could Bruno know? Had he seen something when visiting Nürnberger Strasse? Had Elisabeth Behnke mentioned something about Kardakov’s estate? Or was it Böhm who had spread the equivalent rumour? On the other hand, all that was yesterday’s news. He didn’t need Aquarius anymore. The nightmare on Friday had put an end to all his unauthorised inquiries with one fell swoop. In truth they had been ill-fated from the start. No more secrets, in constant fear of being caught, of breaching the regulations and exceeding his authority. All that was over. Even if it rankled to give up the case, especially now he had taken a big step towards its resolution.
‘If this was an interrogation, we’d be shining that light in your face, not mine,’ said Wolter and blinked. He seemed to be looking Rath directly in the eye, even though there was no way he could see him in the dark, blinded as he was by the flashlight.
‘I’m just wondering how you could possibly think that I’m working for A Division? About two weeks ago I received a photo, just like every other detective at the Castle, and that was it. If that’s what you call working on the side, then I hereby confess, but I thought we were through with this a long time ago.’
‘You’re right,’ Bruno said. ‘It’s already caused one pointless argument, let’s not go repeating it.’
‘No, let’s not.’ Rath let the beam fall back on the floor, and they continued walking. ‘You know I’d like to work in Homicide and, sooner or later, I’m going to take my chance. My cards are on the table.’
They reached the rear courtyard on Motzstrasse and took their leave from the uniformed officer at the main entrance to Pille. Wolter stood for a moment under the dark arch of the courtyard entrance before they emerged back onto the street. He placed a hand on Rath’s shoulder.
‘Let’s not kid ourselves,’ he said. ‘Operation Nighthawk will be our last joint action for Vice for the time being. If I understood Lanke’s call correctly, then you’ll be temporarily transferred to Homicide next week.’
Rath couldn’t make out his eyes in the shadow.
‘If that was the case, I ought to have heard about it a long time ago. No-one’s informed me.’
‘Informed you? Why, that’s not strictly necessary.’ Wolter laughed and imitated a rasping parade ground tone. ‘You are to do what your superiors tell you, understood?’
‘Change division in the middle of our investigation? What rubbish.’
‘Rubbish?’ Uncle shrugged his shoulders. ‘You might just be right, but that’s never stopped anyone at the Castle before. If Gennat needs people, he gets them.’
The clock in the large conference room showed half past twelve, and inside the din was on a par with that of the waiting room at Anhalter Bahnhof. The room was so brightly lit that the dark night outside vanished into oblivion. Everything had been pushed up against the wall – only eight tables stood neatly in a row, each one occupied by two detectives, one from I Division, the Erkennungsdienst, or identification service, usually known simply as ED, and one from E Division, under whose overall control the operation had been carried out.
Those waiting stood in long lines, guarded by a number of officers, revellers from the nine illegal cellar bars the police had visited in the last few hours. Men still in their waiter’s aprons stood next to gigolos in elegant evening dress, seedy types in conspicuously expensive suits next to serious men who, to judge by their appearance, must have been director generals or privy councillors. The lines in front of the two tables occupied by officers from G Division, the female CID, were even more colourful. Young stood next to old, black next to white; some girls looked so young they must have still been minors. In one row there were a number of bored-looking women wearing nothing apart from Prussian military jackets from the previous two centuries. That had to be the troop from Pegasus. Many were scantily dressed and had only been able to throw on something makeshift, sometimes little more than a man’s overcoat – and not always with the agreement of the owner. There were howls of protest when the victim discovered his apparel on the body of the woman with whom he had lain only hours before.
Rath looked at the spectacle. They had only just arrived at the Castle. Bruno and the rookie were still questioning Johnny, the doorman they had caught napping outside Pille. They wanted to make sure they questioned him today, while he was ripe. Rath knew the man would talk. Above all, when he learned that he wouldn’t be able to join his mates in the cell otherwise. If he didn’t appear there, he would seem more suspicious than everyone else put together.
The cells were filling up gradually. Most of their haul was still in the conference room. What seemed like chaos was actually based on a system. When someone reached the front, they were subjected to the same procedure of papers, body search and a few questions. Those who could prove they were respectable citizens with no previous record, those who weren’t in possession of illegal items such as narcotics, pornographic images or weapons, were allowed to return home, provided they hadn’t aroused suspicion in any other way. Others were transferred to the uniformed officers outside in the corridor, then taken first to the ED photographer and subsequently to a cell in the Castle.
Most of the guests allowed themselves to be led away like obedient lambs. The musicians didn’t make any move either. The staff behind the counter likewise remained calm. Only a few ran towards the back, where the men from the passageway had already disappeared. Normally a well-built employee saw to it that no-one strayed into the second vault, but now anyone could go through. From the back room, shouting could be heard. A half-naked woman came through the door, saw the uniformed officers and immediately turned around again.
Gradually, the chaos abated and the area emptied. Rath gave Wolter a sign that he would move towards the back and beckoned four cops over. They weren’t interested in the private booths, where men were getting hastily dressed on the beds. The women had disappeared, leaving only a few items of clothing behind. A second door opened onto a long, murky passageway with sewage pipes running along the ceiling. Rath switched on his flashlight. To the right, the way led through a series of winding passageways to the rear courtyard on Kleiststrasse. He led his people in the opposite direction. The end of the vaulted passageway was marked by a steel door, behind which the grinding of an organ could be heard. Now they’d find out if Krajewski was as good as his word.
He switched the flashlight off again. It was impossible to tell if the room was being guarded, and, if it was, the flashlight presented too obvious a target. The door was firmly locked. He landed a well-directed kick at precisely the height of the lock, and the door swung open into a dark room.
The darkness was illuminated only by a single beam of light flickering through the smoke-filled air. An organ was playing bombastic music, a strange mix of the Marseillaise and Heil dir im Siegerkranz. No-one turned to face the intruders: the organ drowned out all other sounds and the action on the screen had obviously cast a spell over everyone. Even the cops who stepped into the room behind Rath.
The screen was considerably smaller than the one in Gloria Palace, though the film would probably have filled the largest theatres in the city, if a legal screening had been allowed. A still sprightly Kaiser Wilhelm, the First this time, was having it off with a woman who bore a striking resemblance to the French Empress Eugenie, while Napoleon III sat on a chair next to them, looking on in chains as he snorted with rage. The Bismarck portrait standing on the bedside table was a nice touch, the unmistakeable thumbprint of Johann König, only this time in moving images. Rath moved over towards the organist, whose eyes were on the film, and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She gave a start, but played on until he put a finger to his lips.
Once the organ had died, for a brief moment only the occasional groan and hum of the projector could be heard, then the groaning subsided too, before Rath’s flashlight prompted a fleeting commotion. Women who had obviously been crouching in the depths of the cinema seats sprang up and adjusted their clothing. They seemed less startled than the men in the theatre, whose faces were bathed in a bizarre light by the beam of the flash. A corpulent, older gentleman, whose erection, caused by the film and the services of the young lady, was still plain to see, hurriedly pulled up his trousers. The other men in the room, around two dozen of them, were concerned with similar matters, either with ladies or alone.
‘This is a police operation, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I ask you now to place yourself in the hands of the offices of law enforcement.’
‘Outrageous!’ growled the fat man, who had just managed to pull his trousers over his erection. ‘There will be consequences, young man. You can’t do this to me!’
‘I can,’ Rath said, and turned towards the cops. ‘Make sure this horny fatso gets locked in a cell.’
The fat man tried to protest, but two uniformed officers had already grabbed hold of him and were leading him outside.
‘You’ll regret this, I promise you that,’ the fat man raging, ‘I’m a friend of the Minister of the Interior! This is a scandal!’
‘You’re telling me,’ Rath called after him.
He wasn’t the first man tonight who claimed to have prominent friends. They wouldn’t find out until next week at the latest if any of them really did have connections in the government or similar circles, when the protests would reach the commissioner. Rath doubted there would be many. Most of them, even if they really did wield any influence, would rather content themselves with a night in police custody which they would never mention again, than admit they had been gadding about in seedy, illegal nightclubs.
It took less than half an hour for everyone to be ready for dispatch, patrons and employees alike. Rath gazed after the two trucks as they rolled away from Motzstrasse towards Alex. The green Opel was still parked on the street corner with the doorman looking out of the rear side window. Johnny, the tranny had called him. According to his ID, his real name was the more respectable Wilfried Johnen. Rath had the impression that the man had grown even paler in the course of the last half hour. No wonder: Johnny had had to reckon that, any minute now, along with all these colourful people being bundled onto the truck, his employers would soon stroll past. It would not be good to be seen in a police car when that happened. But Johnny had probably been lucky: most of them would be waiting for their transport to Alex in Kleiststrasse.
Stephan Jänicke sat on the rear seat with the type of frozen face that only an East Prussian could achieve. There wasn’t the slightest trace of emotion in it. Rath knew that the rookie hadn’t exchanged a single word with the doorman in the last half hour. Not even the East Westphalians with whom Rath had worked in Cologne could manage that. Jänicke was exactly the right person for a job like this. Nothing made a crook of this calibre so nervous as a cop who didn’t say a word. Wilfried ‘Johnny’ Johnen would be ready to talk before he reached the station.
Wolter gestured towards his wristwatch and held five fingers in the air. Jänicke nodded. Rath followed Uncle into the catacombs of Pille, where a single officer was performing sentry duty. With badges raised, they crossed to the other side and out of the cellar, but the courtyard was empty. The engine of the truck in Kleiststrasse was already running, though the tailgate was still open and two officers were fiddling with it. The two CID officers said hello and drew nearer. Rath glanced briefly at the load platform but couldn’t see a great deal.
‘You’re a sweet one,’ a female voice said, ‘perhaps the two of us could do something later!’
A few women found it amusing, but the giggling was scotched by a rough, male ‘shut your trap!’ Impossible to say whether it came from a colleague inside the vehicle or a pimp. While Wolter was exchanging a few words with the two cops, Rath stepped a little to the side and lit a cigarette. This raid was their last of the evening. In total, they had swooped on nine illegal nightclubs, and they had been on the ground for most of it, racing from one roundup to the next, according to a meticulous schedule. Now it was over Rath inhaled the smoke of the cigarette deeply, as if it were oxygen.
Bruno stood alongside the officer who was currently sealing the tailgate on the final truck, and who would remain behind on guard duty. After the vehicle had groaned into motion, Uncle said one last thing to the cop and came over, fetching a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.
‘We’ve earned this one, don’t you think?’ he said.
‘Eleventh commandment: never contradict your boss.’
‘Glad it’s over?’
Rath nodded.
‘You look tired.’ Wolter examined him. ‘Not enough sleep last night?’
The circles under his eyes said everything, but there was nothing to be done about it. Rath shrugged his shoulders. ‘An operation like this doesn’t come round every day.’
‘True. Could have been a complete flop though. But now you can breathe a sigh of relief. There wasn’t a single place we weren’t justified in taking apart. Not one of them smelled a rat. And we didn’t catch old man Lanke screwing either. It doesn’t get any better than that.’
Rath couldn’t help but grin when he imagined the chief of E Division in full cry with a whore. Bruno was right, there had barely been a hitch. At most a handful of revellers had escaped, but they had managed to snare a few hard cases in every bar to compensate. They also had a decent amount of evidence, as some of the bar owners had kept neat accounts. Nevertheless, Rath still couldn’t see the point in an operation like this. Raiding criminal dives, drug stashes, arms caches; all that made sense. But nightclubs? If people wanted to enjoy themselves, then they should go ahead and enjoy themselves.
Wolter clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Not so pensive, my boy! I wouldn’t have bitten your head off if tonight had been a dead loss. We planned the operation together, and if something had happened then it would have been my thick skull on the block. And Lanke could’ve spent any amount of time tearing it to shreds, but it’s a hardy old thing.’
‘It all went pretty smoothly.’
‘Yes. And as long as the three dozen odd intimates of the Minister of the Interior, the Imperial Chancellor, and the Emperor of China that we dispatched to Alex today don’t complain, we shouldn’t get any trouble.’ Wolter glanced at the time. ‘We should be finished in two hours. Will you be able to stay on your feet until then?’
‘Give me a pot of strong coffee, a few cigarettes and I’ll grill the toughest of them till the day after tomorrow!’
‘Let’s not exaggerate. We’ll wrap things up by three at the latest. If you want, I’ll give you a lift home. The real work starts tomorrow anyway. You need to be well rested. It could be a long day.’
‘Stephan won’t be too happy.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’ll ruin his Sunday football. Aren’t Hertha playing in the Plumpe tomorrow?’
‘A propos. We should look in on him. Make sure he’s not worried about anything.’
They threw their cigarettes on the pavement and walked past the lookout back into the cellar.
‘Lanke was asking about you recently by the way,’ Wolter said casually, as Rath’s flashlight lit the way back.
‘Really?’
‘Even rang me at home. The first time I’ve had the honour. Wanted to know how you’re getting on. Sounded very paternal, could give you a real fright.’
It sounded like the commissioner had inquired with the chief of E Division about the son of his good friend. Lanke would never have hit upon the idea by himself. Rath realised that Bruno was also curious about what could be behind it. Did he suspect something?
‘And?’ Rath asked.
‘What do you think? I told him you were the most obstinate provincial cop I’d ever had to train.’
‘I mean: what exactly did Lanke want to know?’
‘Hard to say with that man, but funnily enough it didn’t sound like he was looking for misdemeanours. Quite the opposite. Sounded very pleased when I told him who was responsible for our latest success.’
Of course, Rath thought, Lanke has spied another chance. If Zörgiebel had intimated that he was thinking of pulling a man out of E and transferring him to A, then Lanke would only consent to it if he could bring in a replacement. A replacement from the Criminal Police Office in Köpenick. Perhaps Bruno feared they were going to set Lanke Junior up with a job after all? Rath kept walking, lost in thought, until Bruno finally broke the silence.
‘Have you already applied to A Division?’ he asked.
‘Pardon me?’ Could the man read minds?
‘Rumour has it there’ll be a position free there soon, since our colleague Roeder prefers to spread word of his heroic deeds in book form, rather than doing Gennat’s dirty work.’
‘Roeder wants out?’ Rath asked, and his surprise was genuine. Erwin Roeder was notorious throughout the whole Castle for his vanity, and had written a number of books about his uniformly heroic assignments as a detective inspector, causing more mirth than admiration amongst his colleagues. Especially as Roeder had, like a gimcrack Sherlock Holmes, allowed himself to be photographed in the most idiotic of disguises. He suffered the consequences of his authorhood, which had never been viewed favourably by top brass. Perhaps Zörgiebel and Weiß had presented him with a choice. As much as the commissioner and his deputy valued cooperation with the press, nothing angered them more than a detective inspector who was better known to the public than they were. Moreover, it was said that Roeder had certain anti-Semitic leanings, and since the never-ending Isidore-attacks in the Angriff the deputy commissioner reacted allergically to such things.
Bruno wouldn’t let go: ‘So, have you applied?’
‘No,’ Rath could say with a clear conscience.
‘You’re not already working for A on the side?’
‘What is this? An interrogation?’ Rath halted and shone his flashlight in Wolter’s face. His mind was working feverishly. What could Bruno know? Had he seen something when visiting Nürnberger Strasse? Had Elisabeth Behnke mentioned something about Kardakov’s estate? Or was it Böhm who had spread the equivalent rumour? On the other hand, all that was yesterday’s news. He didn’t need Aquarius anymore. The nightmare on Friday had put an end to all his unauthorised inquiries with one fell swoop. In truth they had been ill-fated from the start. No more secrets, in constant fear of being caught, of breaching the regulations and exceeding his authority. All that was over. Even if it rankled to give up the case, especially now he had taken a big step towards its resolution.
‘If this was an interrogation, we’d be shining that light in your face, not mine,’ said Wolter and blinked. He seemed to be looking Rath directly in the eye, even though there was no way he could see him in the dark, blinded as he was by the flashlight.
‘I’m just wondering how you could possibly think that I’m working for A Division? About two weeks ago I received a photo, just like every other detective at the Castle, and that was it. If that’s what you call working on the side, then I hereby confess, but I thought we were through with this a long time ago.’
‘You’re right,’ Bruno said. ‘It’s already caused one pointless argument, let’s not go repeating it.’
‘No, let’s not.’ Rath let the beam fall back on the floor, and they continued walking. ‘You know I’d like to work in Homicide and, sooner or later, I’m going to take my chance. My cards are on the table.’
They reached the rear courtyard on Motzstrasse and took their leave from the uniformed officer at the main entrance to Pille. Wolter stood for a moment under the dark arch of the courtyard entrance before they emerged back onto the street. He placed a hand on Rath’s shoulder.
‘Let’s not kid ourselves,’ he said. ‘Operation Nighthawk will be our last joint action for Vice for the time being. If I understood Lanke’s call correctly, then you’ll be temporarily transferred to Homicide next week.’
Rath couldn’t make out his eyes in the shadow.
‘If that was the case, I ought to have heard about it a long time ago. No-one’s informed me.’
‘Informed you? Why, that’s not strictly necessary.’ Wolter laughed and imitated a rasping parade ground tone. ‘You are to do what your superiors tell you, understood?’
‘Change division in the middle of our investigation? What rubbish.’
‘Rubbish?’ Uncle shrugged his shoulders. ‘You might just be right, but that’s never stopped anyone at the Castle before. If Gennat needs people, he gets them.’
The clock in the large conference room showed half past twelve, and inside the din was on a par with that of the waiting room at Anhalter Bahnhof. The room was so brightly lit that the dark night outside vanished into oblivion. Everything had been pushed up against the wall – only eight tables stood neatly in a row, each one occupied by two detectives, one from I Division, the Erkennungsdienst, or identification service, usually known simply as ED, and one from E Division, under whose overall control the operation had been carried out.
Those waiting stood in long lines, guarded by a number of officers, revellers from the nine illegal cellar bars the police had visited in the last few hours. Men still in their waiter’s aprons stood next to gigolos in elegant evening dress, seedy types in conspicuously expensive suits next to serious men who, to judge by their appearance, must have been director generals or privy councillors. The lines in front of the two tables occupied by officers from G Division, the female CID, were even more colourful. Young stood next to old, black next to white; some girls looked so young they must have still been minors. In one row there were a number of bored-looking women wearing nothing apart from Prussian military jackets from the previous two centuries. That had to be the troop from Pegasus. Many were scantily dressed and had only been able to throw on something makeshift, sometimes little more than a man’s overcoat – and not always with the agreement of the owner. There were howls of protest when the victim discovered his apparel on the body of the woman with whom he had lain only hours before.
Rath looked at the spectacle. They had only just arrived at the Castle. Bruno and the rookie were still questioning Johnny, the doorman they had caught napping outside Pille. They wanted to make sure they questioned him today, while he was ripe. Rath knew the man would talk. Above all, when he learned that he wouldn’t be able to join his mates in the cell otherwise. If he didn’t appear there, he would seem more suspicious than everyone else put together.
The cells were filling up gradually. Most of their haul was still in the conference room. What seemed like chaos was actually based on a system. When someone reached the front, they were subjected to the same procedure of papers, body search and a few questions. Those who could prove they were respectable citizens with no previous record, those who weren’t in possession of illegal items such as narcotics, pornographic images or weapons, were allowed to return home, provided they hadn’t aroused suspicion in any other way. Others were transferred to the uniformed officers outside in the corridor, then taken first to the ED photographer and subsequently to a cell in the Castle.
