Babylon Berlin, page 23
The police machinery was running like clockwork. Here in the conference room they didn’t really have a great deal more to do, apart from put in an appearance. That was a point of honour. They were responsible for Operation Nighthawk, which had bestowed a night shift upon the officers in the room, at the weekend at that.
Rath strolled aimlessly through the ranks. It couldn’t hurt to keep his eyes peeled, to gather first impressions and think about how to tackle the interrogations tomorrow. They had brought in over five hundred people today, of which, once their details had been noted, roughly a sixth would spend the rest of the night in custody. Eighty to ninety, and they would all have to be interrogated.
‘Young man! What a surprise. See what happens to the likes of us when we’re not careful! I won’t be going to Pegasus in a hurry again, I’ll tell you that!’
Rath turned round. Oppenberg, the movie producer from Venuskeller, was beaming at him. The man who had given him cocaine. The raid hadn’t been able to spoil his mood, perhaps he was accustomed to such things.
Oppenberg adopted a confidential tone. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘The cops will let us off. The main thing is you’ve got your papers, and no snow in your pocket.’
Rath didn’t have time to answer. The man was just as talkative as the first time they had met.
‘Where did they pick you up? Were you back in Venuskeller? You disappeared so suddenly the other day, Vivian rather missed you. But, never mind, we still had our fun!’
He nudged Rath in the side as he gazed around. Vivian was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she had got away from the cops. Rath certainly wouldn’t have put it past her.
One of the guards pushed his way to the front.
‘Quiet, my friend,’ he said, tapping Oppenberg roughly on the shoulder with his truncheon. ‘Time to leave the detective inspector in peace!’
The film producer looked first at the cop and then at Rath in surprise. For a moment their eyes met, only for Rath to turn his gaze on the uniformed officer.
‘It’s OK, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘This man was drawing my attention to something important.’
Before Rath could feel any more uncomfortable, a loud cry distracted everyone’s attention. All heads turned in one direction. At the other end of the room a couple of guards had had to intervene, as two men who obviously recognised each other tried to lay into one another. What they were accusing each other of was unclear, but both their faces were bright red. Pimps, Rath assumed, and took advantage of the commotion to move discreetly away from Oppenberg. The officers separated the pair of squabblers and took them outside. Anyone behaving like that had clearly earned a night in the cells, no further inquiry was needed.
The encounter with Oppenberg reminded Rath of the previous evening again, a night he would like to erase not only from his memory but from his life in general. Bruno appeared next to him, as if out of nowhere.
‘A lot going on here, isn’t there?’
Rath nodded. ‘Not as dull as Zörgiebel’s meetings.’
‘Finally a bit of life in the place.’
‘Has our man started talking?’
‘He’s a little more stubborn than I thought,’ Bruno said. ‘Although I’ve made it clear what’s in store for him. Blondie’s in there now. Let’s see who can keep quiet for longest.’
Rath recognised the next familiar face in due course. In fact, there were two of them, the muscle-bound Russians from Kakadu. The ones that had unintentionally put him onto Café Berlin and thus onto Kardakov’s trail. Even while waiting to be photographed and fingerprinted, they seemed to be inseparable, Scar Face and his burly friend. Rath had assumed he’d run into them again in Kakadu, rather than the Castle of all places. It was Scar Face’s turn now, he placed his yellow ID on the table, reminding Rath of the papers he had confiscated from the cocaine dealer in Café Berlin. It was about time he handed them over to lost property.
Thinking back to that evening, his curiosity was pricked once more. These two Russians had threatened him in no uncertain terms. Two guard dogs that were protecting their countryman from the German police? At any rate, they were closer to Kardakov than anyone else he’d dealt with. Perhaps they all belonged to this ominous-sounding secret political society. As he made his way with Bruno towards one of the female lines, he carefully avoided direct eye contact. They mustn’t recognise him here. Time and time again he looked over in their direction out of the corner of his eye while Wolter spoke to a female inspector from G Division, and soon realised that he didn’t have to go to so much trouble – because the Russians, for their part, were looking away too, looking away a little too conspicuously, in fact, for them not to have seen him. All the better, Rath thought, the pair of them didn’t seem to be too crazy about clashing with him again.
The ED officer meticulously checked Scar Face’s passport, added his particulars to the list and leafed through his book of mug shots, while a colleague from Vice patted down his pockets and frisked him thoroughly from top to bottom. He shook his head when he was finished. Negative. The ED man, however, seemed to have found something in the file and was making a longer note. The Russian was led away. His friend was dealt with likewise. Both accepted their fate with stoic composure. A night behind bars didn’t seem to hold any terrors for them.
Uncle was on first-name terms with the Vice officer. Rath had only met him briefly. While Wolter was speaking to their colleague, Rath gazed discreetly over the ED officer’s shoulder. A scrawl. The two names on the list weren’t so easy to decipher. Nikita I. Fallin, Rath thought he could read. That had to be Scar Face. Underneath was a name that he read as Vitali P. Selenskij or Gelenskij. Both of them had been picked up in Bar Noir, a little place near Winterfeldplatz. The raid had run parallel to the one in Pille. Rath couldn’t read the notes in the comments column, nor the addresses. Never mind, he thought, and turned away. Bruno seemed surprised by his curiosity.
Rath allowed his gaze to wander over the confusion in the conference room once more. All he needed now was to see Kardakov in one of the lines. Anything was possible; sometimes fate had a strange sense of humour. But instead of the missing Russian, he spied another old acquaintance. The man was strolling calmly through the ranks, arms folded behind his back. In his evening dress he could scarcely be distinguished from the more sartorially elegant of the revellers, it was only his keen vulpine features and hunched gait that marked him out, a gait that had earned the man the nickname Crooked Lanke. No doubt about it, Superintendent Werner Lanke, head of E Division, was inspecting the parade in person, and had obviously interrupted his weekend festivities to do so.
Rath gave Wolter a nudge and gestured surreptitiously towards their boss. ‘I’m not surprised that we didn’t catch Lanke in one of those dives,’ he whispered. ‘He knew about it.’
‘It was probably me that spilled the beans. It can happen when the boss rings you at home.’
When Lanke spotted them, a smile crept across his face, and he interrupted his wanderings to make for the two vice detectives. Rath felt uncomfortable. It was unpleasant to see the man smiling, almost as unpleasant as being yelled at by him.
Superintendent Werner Lanke genuinely seemed to be in the best of spirits.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ he greeted them with Prussian brevity, ‘everything’s going swimmingly. Like old times!’
‘Yes, Superintendent,’ Wolter knew what was good and proper and gave an interim report. ‘Operation Nighthawk has proved a success.’
‘You’ve picked up a lot of trash. A few big fish too, Kronberg just told me, and from the worst kind of criminal dens.’
‘Depends, sir, there are lots of respectable citizens here too. Hope above all that this operation’s put a damper on the deplorable custom of illegal nightclubs. Some of the gentlemen here will no doubt suffer heavy financial losses thanks to tonight.’
‘So they should! Give vice no dice!’
Rath, who as the lowest ranking officer had thus far maintained a modest silence, almost gave a start as the superintendent suddenly turned to him and, to top it all, assumed a confidential whisper.
‘Well, young man, you’ve settled in well here haven’t you?’ Young man! Lanke had never called him that before. Crooked Lanke had probably never called anyone that before. Rath nodded, and gave a bemused smile, as the Division Chief placed a hand on his shoulder and took him to one side. ‘Your part in all this hasn’t gone unnoticed, I can assure you!’
They were now standing by one of the windows that looked onto Alexanderstrasse, a distance apart from the excitement in the room. His boss’s unexpected friendliness made Rath shudder.
‘People have started to take notice of you upstairs,’ Lanke said. The way he rolled his eyes upwards, one might have thought that for Werner Lanke upstairs could only mean God. ‘I know you haven’t been with us for long,’ he continued, ‘but what would you think if you were assigned a job in a different division with perhaps a little more responsibility?’
‘I don’t quite understand, sir…’
‘Next week, you will be working in Homicide,’ Lanke said. ‘As you are perhaps aware, from time to time E Division places a few officers at Homicide’s disposal. On a four-week cycle.’ He made a circular motion with his index finger. ‘Rotation, you understand?’
Rath nodded eagerly.
‘But this time, things will be a little different.’ Lanke sounded like a godfather who was about to pull a present from his pocket. ‘The commissioner has asked if I can recommend an officer who is in a position to take on responsibility should the situation arise. There is currently a shortage of staff in A. They need someone with experience, perhaps permanently.’
Rath sensed what was coming. Crooked Lanke was passing off the strings Engelbert Rath had pulled a long time ago as his own work.
‘Naturally I thought of you straightaway,’ Lanke continued. ‘You and your skills. You should know that Bruno Wolter has a very high opinion of you. But I said to him that people like Inspector Rath are difficult to keep hold of, they are needed in other divisions.’
‘You can actually arrange for me to take on an assignment in Homicide?’
Lanke nodded. ‘My word counts for something here. I hope you realise what an honour it is to be given an assignment in Homicide. Gennat takes only the best!’
‘But I’ve only just got used to working in your division, sir, I can hardly leave you and DCI Wolter in the lurch.’ Rath gratefully seized the opportunity to get on Crooked Lanke’s nerves. ‘You know how much work we have ahead of us. Operation Nighthawk only started today. There are still interrogations to be carried out, then everything needs to be evaluated and reviewed for the public prosecutor.’
‘There are enough people in E for that. And you don’t need to worry about Wolter. He understands.’
Rath continued in a sceptical vein. ‘Perhaps I should sleep on it. Once Operation Nighthawk is complete, then we can always tal…’
‘I’m afraid you haven’t quite understood.’ As if he had flicked a switch, Lanke slipped back into the tone that Rath was accustomed to. ‘I am your superior, my dear inspector, and if I say that you are the best man that I can give to A Division, then that’s that. Report to Superintendent Gennat on Monday morning at eight on the dot. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Only with difficulty was Rath able to suppress a grin, adopting instead an expression that was typical for a Prussian officer: disappointment masked by absolute obedience.
Lanke seemed to like it. He put on a smile. ‘There, you see,’ he said and clapped Rath on the shoulder. ‘We are in agreement. And by the way…’ The chief of vice leaned over towards Rath a final time, and spoke in a whisper once more: ‘I’m not expecting any thanks. You can rejoice in silence. Tomorrow is your last day in my department. I don’t want to see you in E Division again, my friend.’
His colleagues looked at him expectantly as he returned to the table. No sooner had Lanke moved far enough way than Bruno gave voice to his curiosity.
‘So?’ he said. Lanke was already making his way towards the exit with his hunched gait. ‘When’s the big day?’
‘Sorry?’ Rath threw his colleague a questioning glance. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
‘When are you two getting married?’ Uncle asked, completely serious. Then burst out laughing. The two other officers joined in.
19
Another short night. He had fallen into bed around half past three and been awakened at half past seven by a tremendous crash somewhere in the flat. Elisabeth Behnke started screaming. Maybe Weinert had forgotten to shoo his ladies out of the house on time? Truth be told, it took a lot less to make old Behnke hot under the collar. His landlady’s mood had grown increasingly volatile in the last few days and even little things were making her go berserk.
He didn’t have to be at the Castle until ten and tried to get back to sleep, at least for half an hour. It was pointless. Just as he was on the point of nodding off, the screaming started again. He admitted defeat and got up. A quick glance in the mirror told him he didn’t look any better than yesterday, the circles under his eyes were still there. Still, at least he felt better. The ghosts that haunted him had disappeared and the clearer he recalled the events of yesterday, the better his mood became. Report to Superintendent Gennat on Monday morning was the first order from Lanke that he was happy to obey.
Naturally they had spoken about it the previous evening as Bruno drove him home. Uncle had simply nodded when he heard about Lanke’s instructions. I told you so, no doubt it was supposed to mean. Rath had remained in his seat for a moment when the black Ford came to a halt in Nürnberger Strasse. Saying goodbye at the door of the car had felt like saying goodbye to E Division, like saying goodbye to a colleague, the like of whom he would struggle to find in A Division.
‘If those bastards in A get on your nerves, just come and see me,’ Bruno had called after him, as he drove down Nürnberger Strasse.
The sky was an outrageous shade of blue, and Rath had no desire to have his morning spoilt by a foul-tempered Elisabeth Behnke. Just the right weather for a spot of breakfast at Josty on Potsdamer Platz. In the mornings the sun shone through Leipziger Strasse directly onto the café terrace.
His attempts to avoid Elisabeth Behnke backfired when he almost tripped over her. What was she doing at such an hour in her tenant’s bathroom of all places?
She flashed her eyes furiously at him as she crouched by the open flap of the boiler and busied herself in the ash with a poker.
‘So,’ she hissed, ‘sleep well, Inspector?’
He ignored her tone. ‘Oh yes, thanks, very well,’ he replied, knowing that his exaggerated friendliness would provoke her even more. ‘Only, I was awakened a little noisily…’
She flung the poker into the ash so that it threw up a cloud of dust.
‘Would the gentleman also like to take a bath and complain that the boiler isn’t clean?’
So that was the reason there had been trouble this morning. Rath couldn’t imagine that Weinert had been looking for it.
‘But Elisabeth…’ he began.
‘Don’t give me Elisabeth!’ She was seriously angry. ‘Just tell me, what is the meaning of this mess?’
He still didn’t understand what she meant. She crouched in front of the boiler again, poked around furiously with the tongs and finally pulled out a long, only partially burned strip of fabric. Rath gave a start. The last remains of his suit!
‘Perhaps you can tell me why you’ve put cleaning rags in the boiler? And don’t tell me it wasn’t you! Weinert couldn’t get the boiler to work thanks to this rubbish, and left for work unwashed and in a foul mood. But it’s all the same to you! The pair of you don’t give a damn about anything, and so it’s always left to old Behnke to do the dirty work!’
‘I’m sorry.’ He did genuinely regret it. Why hadn’t he taken a closer look at the boiler yesterday? ‘Come, allow me, I’ll clear it up.’
He reached out his hand for the fabric. Suddenly she began to sob and covered her face with her soot-blackened hands. The suit rag fell to the floor and he realised that she was embarrassed to cry in his presence. He’d have liked nothing more than to take her in his arms and comfort her, but that was the worst thing he could do in this situation. He stood next to her helplessly.
‘Elisabeth, it’s OK. I wasn’t thinking, I needed to throw the old rag out and…’
She stood up and looked at him out of tear-swollen and black-smudged eyes.
‘Why can’t you just be an arsehole?’ she said, and disappeared through the door.
He looked at the mess in front of the boiler and sighed. Then he started to clean.
He was at the Castle earlier than usual. With no-one else in the office he used the time to study the lists in peace. It seemed that some of the women to whom they owed the success of Operation Nighthawk in the first place had fallen back into their clutches. They had picked up Squealing Sylvie in Bar Noir, and Red Sophie in Blauer Holunder. The ladies obviously felt safe following their release and had already started working again. Rath could have bet they were already back posing as models for pornographic snaps, although not in Johann König’s studio, as he was still awaiting trial in Moabit.
Squealing Sylvie spat at Rath when she recognised him. He had plumped for the troop from Bar Noir to start with. Not because he set great store by a reunion with Sylvia Walkowski, but rather because there were two names on the list that had aroused his curiosity.
Nikita Ivanovitsch Fallin and Vitali Pjotrevitsch Selenskij were their full names. More instructive were the comments that ED had added to their particulars: Fallin, the first name on the list, Scar Face therefore, had attracted attention in February 1926 due to a count of grievous bodily harm. In the column below, the officer had only needed to write ditto after Selenskij’s name. Even then the pair had been inseparable, and hadn’t hesitated in bringing their physical strength to bear.
