Babylon Berlin, page 33
‘How did such a large amount of gold make it across the border undetected in the first place?’
‘That’s a question I still can’t answer, Commissioner.’
‘And I imagine you don’t have any conclusive proof either?’
‘That’s the problem, Commissioner. There’s hardly any evidence. At least DCI Böhm knows which direction to take his investigation in now, and Kardakov ought to have a lot to say, once he has been found.’
Zörgiebel glanced at the time. ‘This is most irritating, Herr Rath.’
‘Irritating, Commissioner?’
‘The worst possible time to inform the press. We won’t get it in the evening editions.’
A good thing too, Rath thought, since I’ve given Weinert my word.
Zörgiebel appeared pensive. ‘First we should put out a warrant for this… what’s his name?’
‘Kardakov.’
‘Right. Do you have enough evidence to justify a murder charge?’
‘He’s going to be very important for the progress of the investigation. If not as a suspect, then as a witness. The Countess too.’
‘We’ll wait a few days. We can inform the press after Whitsun.’
Rath cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, Commissioner.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘We need to inform the press immediately. Otherwise it won’t reflect well on the Berlin police.’
‘I’m not sure I follow.’
‘I only got the decisive information from a journalist today, someone who knew Kardakov personally and has done research on Krasnaja Krepost…’
‘On who?’
‘The Red Fortress. Some of the things I’ve just told you, above all the stuff about the Red Fortress and the Sorokin gold, will appear in Abendblatt tonight.’
‘That smearsheet…’
‘Which is why I thought it was my duty to inform you right away, Commissioner.’
‘You’re right, you’re right.’ Zörgiebel waved his fat hands gruffly. ‘And you can’t stop this muckraker from…’
‘Afraid not, Commissioner. The man invoked the freedom of the press and believed he had performed his duty by informing the police.’ Rath reached into his jacket. ‘He did, however, provide me these pictures. These show Kardakov, while this is the Countess. She was working under a false name as a singer.’
Zörgiebel examined the pictures, resting his massive chin in his hands.
‘If we go to the press with this story today, then we have to be careful, I hope that much is clear. There’s far too much speculation.’
‘Of course, Commissioner, but we can at least announce a breakthrough.’
‘Good, I’ll discuss the matter with Gennat and Böhm, and get the necessaries underway. You should be present at this meeting, Inspector.’ He reached for the house telephone. ‘Dagmar? Please ask Gennat and Böhm to join us. Let’s say in ten minutes, and notify the press. Tell them I’ll be holding a press conference in one hour.’
He hung up and fished a cigar from the case on his desk, offering one to Rath. He turned it down. Bad enough to have to sit opposite Böhm, but with a cigar in the corner of his mouth, it would just be plain embarrassing. He tapped an Overstolz from the red packet.
‘I prefer cigarettes, if you don’t mind sir.’
Zörgiebel leaned forward and gave him a light.
‘My dear Rath, it’s not that I’m displeased with your findings, but you really should have gone to Böhm with them. How long have you known that a Ringverein was mixed up in this?’
‘The connection wasn’t clear until today, Commissioner, after I’d spoken to the journalist. I asked to see you straightaway.’
‘Which journalist is it?’
‘I had to assure him absolute confidentiality. The article will appear under a pseudonym. Revealing secrets like this is not without danger.’
‘Will he be available as a witness in that case?’
Rath shrugged his shoulders, fished a piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it on the table. ‘I also have the addresses of two Russians, most likely colleagues of Kardakov. They could lead us to him.’
Zörgiebel took the piece of paper and cleared his throat. He looked as though he’d had a tough day.
‘I’m indebted to you, Herr Rath,’ he said. ‘A breakthrough in this investigation was long overdue.’
‘I’m only doing my duty, Commissioner.’ Modesty doesn’t get you anywhere, Rath thought to himself, but it wouldn’t be the first time Zörgiebel had heard that line and he’d know how to interpret it.
‘You are aware, I hope, that I can’t promote you, Herr Rath? Even if you personally were to put Stalin behind bars. The Interior Ministry has issued a moratorium on promotions.’
‘I know, Commissioner.’
‘So, what is it you want?’
‘My own office, with my name on the door, and my own secretary at last.’
Zörgiebel smiled. ‘Very well, Inspector! I think that can be arranged.’
‘Thank you, Commissioner.’
‘If I could give you one piece of advice, young man, it would be to take some time out over Whitsun. You’ve accrued a lot of overtime.’
‘And the investigation? I thought Böhm needed every man.’
‘If I were you, I’d be avoiding the DCI for a few days. The meeting in a moment will be bad enough and I can’t promise that he will keep his calm. You’ve been conducting an investigation behind his back, no matter how you try to spin it. If you’re lucky, he’ll have just about calmed down again by Tuesday.’ Zörgiebel shook his head. ‘My dear Rath, you should remember one thing. If you carve a career for yourself at the expense of others you’re going to make enemies. There’s an old saying that you always meet twice in life. Well, I can guarantee that you’ll run into DCI Böhm more often than twice.’
The press conference went famously. Zörgiebel introduced Rath as the man who had made the decisive breakthrough in the Möckern Bridge investigation. Admittedly he neglected to mention that Rath didn’t actually belong to the investigating team, or that the team had been disbanded. It was meant to look as if the press had been wrong to suspect Zörgiebel and the Berlin police of dropping everything to expedite the Jänicke case. The commissioner never tired of expressing his indignation at this assumption.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘You now have the opportunity to atone for your error.’
At first, Rath hadn’t seen Charly, but she must have been standing next to the door for a long time. She was looking on with a sceptical gaze, arms folded in front of her chest. Had Böhm sent her? The DCI had stayed away from the press conference, even though Zörgiebel had wanted to take him onto the platform with them. During the short meeting just now in Zörgiebel’s office, the homicide detective had stormed out in a rage, slamming the door behind him. Clearly, he was accustomed to making such exits. Gennat hadn’t come either, not believing they had enough to go to the press. He had told Zörgiebel as much in no uncertain terms.
Thus the commissioner had staged the conference with Rath alone, after they agreed on what information to disclose. It seemed to be enough for the press. The reporters busily noted it all down.
Charly remained by the door after the conference was over, the reporters pushing past her into the corridor. In truth, there was no reason to hurry, since the evening editions were already on sale and the extras hadn’t carried the story either. She stayed where she was until the whole crowd had moved past. Rath was last to leave with Zörgiebel, whom she greeted politely, reserving a hostile gaze for Rath which he put down to their agreement not to act like a couple at the Castle.
He didn’t realise ignoring him was the last thing on her mind until she spoke.
‘You really are an arsehole, Herr Rath,’ she hissed, so loudly that the commissioner could hear, and left him standing like a daft schoolboy.
25
Well then, happy Whitsun!
Charly wasn’t answering her telephone. He had tried the whole of Friday night and, on one occasion at least, had managed to get her friend on the line. Greta had informed him tersely that Charly was away over the holiday and hung up.
He couldn’t believe it. Charly wasn’t free until Sunday, when they had been planning to take a drive out to the country together. Thinking of the holiday plans they had hatched in Excelsior cut him to the quick and he gave up dialling her number. It was late by the time he left the Castle and rode out to Friedenau. Bruno was already on his way to bed, but sat drinking with him for a while. It was becoming a habit, but not even the alcohol could banish the thought of Charly.
There was no sign of her when he arrived at the Castle on Saturday, even though he wasn’t working. In A Division he found only an exceedingly bad-tempered Wilhelm Böhm, who didn’t say a word and looked at him as if he were a disgusting insect. He hadn’t thought it possible, but it was almost worse than having the man yell at him.
Zörgiebel had been right, there was an icy atmosphere in the whole of A Division. Still, Rath was sure he could handle it, even if the business with Charly had hit him hard. She seemed to despise him for what he had done, for his secrecy, for the humiliation he had inflicted upon Böhm but, most of all he suspected, for the fact that she had fed him exclusive information about the Möckern Bridge investigation. He hadn’t told her anything about his plans, let alone his findings. He had sucked her dry, squeezed her like a lemon.
But, what was he supposed to have done? By the time he’d met her he was already up to his neck in it and he needed this success. He, Gereon Rath, needed a personal success, a success that he didn’t want to, couldn’t, share with self-righteous superiors such as Böhm.
His parents had called on Friday evening and congratulated him. Zörgiebel had probably notified his old friend, and mentioned Gereon’s days off too. Didn’t he fancy coming to Cologne for Whitsun, Engelbert Rath had asked. ‘It would make your mother so happy.’
Gereon didn’t have an excuse to hand. He had arranged to meet friends, he said, and besides, he had to look for a new flat. Weak excuses. His father naturally assumed there was a girl behind it and began to tease his son. The old man could believe whatever he wanted. Gereon couldn’t deal with his family right now, with the exception of Ursula perhaps, his younger sister. He missed her sometimes, but the rest of them could go hang. The silence over Severin; and then the speeches in Anno’s honour, so skilfully delivered by Engelbert that Gereon always felt like a failure. There was no way he was ever going to measure up to Saint Anno.
The only person who could cheer him up now was Bruno, although Rath had thought about going away over Whitsun to give the Wolters space. Bruno had just given him a serious look and said, ‘You’re not imposing at all. It’s great to have you here, Gereon. You’re the son Emmi and I never had.’ It had taken Rath a moment to realise that Bruno was teasing him. Uncle was only twelve years older than him, and Emmi Wolter at most seven or eight. He must have a pulled a great face, because Bruno had burst into laughter.
The Wolters had invited guests to stay over the holiday, a couple they were friendly with, Rudi and Erika Scheer, as well as Agnes Sahler, a friend whose husband had died two years before. Though the invites had been sent out long before Rath had been made homeless, and there couldn’t have been any intention of pairing the two off, a strange atmosphere developed between them. Whether by accident or design, neither made much of an effort with the other, preferring to keep to the existing couples in the room. A few times Rath had stolen away from the company and tried to ring Charly. No-one picked up.
On Whit Sunday, the three men had sat in the garden drinking, long after the women had retired to bed. Rudi Scheer, a quiet, friendly man of about fifty, had talked about the old days on the firing range and how Bruno had taught the new recruits how to shoot. For the first time, Rath heard something about the time that had brought Bruno the nickname Parabellum. Scheer was still responsible for the armoury at Alex, but Bruno didn’t want anything to do with weapons. Rath asked why he had been transferred to Vice.
‘Ach, the accident,’ Scheer had said, only to fall silent immediately when Bruno cast him an angry glance.
‘There are things it’s best not to talk about,’ he had said.
He had changed the subject to the Kardakov case. Rath talked about the progress of the investigation, despite having been more or less cut off by Böhm. Zörgiebel had reassigned the case to the DCI, even if the latter had never officially relinquished it. Rath knew they hadn’t found Kardakov yet, and that the Countess was still missing. The two Russian heavies had been arrested and brought to Alex on Friday night, but turned loose again on Saturday morning. He didn’t tell Bruno it was the same Russians he had tried to arrest after the raid, hoping they hadn’t been released in the same manner as the week before. Special treatment! Just thinking about it made him angry. He ought to have given the pair a good grilling when he had the chance. Kardakov would have been theirs long ago.
Rath learned why the two Russians had been released when he was back at his desk on Tuesday morning, reading through the interrogation statements. Both Fallin and Selenskij had affirmed that they held no truck with communists, nor did they maintain any ties to an organisation called Red Fortress. They had never heard of Alexej Kardakov. Above all, their claims were substantiated by still having in their possession documents indicating that they had been officers in the Ochranka, the Tsar’s secret police. They were colleagues then, after a fashion. Was that why they had originally been released from police custody?
Rath gazed in annoyance at the interrogation statements. He’d have liked to have put these Russians through the mill himself, but Zörgiebel hadn’t allowed it. It was Böhm’s case again, and that was that!
Gennat himself was looking after the Jänicke case. The team dealing with the Bülowplatz murder had been slimmed down, though perhaps ‘slimmed down’ was the wrong expression, given that it was Buddha heading the inquiry. The man weighed in at a minimum 300 pounds.
Thus Rath wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing when he returned to his desk after an enforced three-day break. The events of Friday had rather shaken things up in A Division. Was he still assigned to the Jänicke case? Or should he reopen the Wilczek file, which he’d sooner have snapped shut and shelved? The only thing Zörgiebel had made abundantly clear was that from now on his involvement in the Kardakov case would be restricted to what Böhm asked of him – no more operations carried out under his own steam. Only, the DCI hadn’t asked for anything. He wasn’t even speaking to Rath. Not about the weather, and certainly not about the ongoing investigation.
Nevertheless, he was determined to knuckle down. After yesterday, the bleakest Whit Monday of his life, the whole day spent thinking gloomy thoughts, after a day like that, where even the evening binge with Bruno had done nothing to lift his spirits, he knew that the only way to stop himself thinking of private matters, of Charly, of what would happen when next they met, was to drown himself in work. At least he wasn’t the type who joined the foreign legion because of a woman.
He decided to call Gennat. Perhaps he would take Rath onto the Bülowplatz team. That still seemed like the most meaningful assignment A Division had to offer. Jänicke’s killer couldn’t be allowed to escape unpunished. Besides, there was probably a lot he could learn from an old fox like Gennat.
Rath had the receiver in hand, but didn’t get as far as dialling.
There was a knock. A man in white work trousers stood at the door, in the one hand a wooden case, in the other a piece of paper.
‘Yes?’
‘Detective Inspector Gero Rath?’
‘Gereon!’
‘The sign writers, Inspector.’
The sign writers? Despite his best efforts, Rath could only make out one. ‘Good. Please just get started,’ he said. ‘But remember: it’s Gereon.’
‘That’s what it says here.’ The sign writer waved the piece of paper.
Gingerly, he unpacked his colours, brushes and stencils and positioned himself in front of the open door.
‘Can’t you close it?’
‘Fraid not, the light here is better. It’ll only take a few minutes.’
The man started daubing away, as calm as you like. Sometimes Rath envied such people, even if they also made him nervous.
The sign writer was almost forced to start over when a man hurried through the door and barged into him. Kronberg, from ED, was carrying a brown envelope.
‘Working on the door already?’ he said. ‘Is this going to be your office?’
‘Looks that way. Small, but at least it’s mine. Just need a secretary now. What can I do for you?’
‘Other way round,’ Kronberg said and waved the envelope bearing the stamp of the Berlin police. ‘Wonders will never cease!’
‘Have Hertha won the league?’
‘No.’ Kronberg gazed at him uncomprehendingly. No sense of humour, the man. ‘You requested a ballistics report last week. Forgotten already?’ he continued. ‘And this here is the result. You’ll be amazed. Could be a big lead, and not just in your case!’
Now it was Rath’s turn to gaze uncomprehendingly. The ballistics report from the Wilczek case? Rath already knew whose weapon the bullet came from, which was precisely why he’d been expecting it to be a dead end. How could it have turned up a lead? ED had only examined the souvenir from Krajewski’s pistol. Did that mean the porn Kaiser had been fiddling around with it before the incident on the roof?
‘We’ve taken a close look at the projectile – and found a reference sample, also submitted last week. There is a more than ninety percent chance that both projectiles were fired from the same weapon, a Lignose one hand. Popular with communists and small-time crooks.’
Yes, a Lignose, I know, Rath nearly said. ‘Which reference sample are you talking about?’ he asked instead.
‘The Bülowplatz case. We examined the bullet last week, priority you know, on the orders of the Commissioner.’
