Babylon Berlin, page 37
‘I appreciate rivalry in my division, Böhm, but make sure you don’t poison the atmosphere. We can only make progress if we work together.’
He hadn’t been looking at Böhm when he said this last sentence, but Rath.
‘I think it would be advisable for you both to shake hands,’ Buddha continued. ‘You haven’t even said ‘good morning’ to each other yet.’
‘Is that right?’ Böhm stretched out a paw, and Rath grasped it. He would have preferred a reconciliation with Charly, and gazed across at her while Dr Schwartz continued with his explanation.
Half an hour later, Rath had already botched his first chance at making up with Charly. Gennat hadn’t forced them to shake hands, but had sent the pair of them off together. The division chief had detailed around twenty officers to question the inhabitants of Heinrich-Roller-Strasse, which bordered directly onto the cemetery, and allocated number 17 to Gereon Rath and Charlotte Ritter.
If it was supposed to have been a peace-making manoeuvre, then it had backfired horribly. Yet how Rath’s heart had leapt when Gennat assigned her to him, whether through joy or nervousness he couldn’t say. Her proximity alone made him euphoric, the chance to work with her even more so. Only for her behaviour to sober him up.
Cold and impersonal, she had walked beside him like a stranger, barely saying a word and addressing him formally when she did. Nor was it just for appearance’s sake. The look in her eyes told him she hadn’t forgiven him.
‘What do you suggest, Inspector?’ she asked, when they were standing on the other side of the cemetery wall, outside the five-storey tenement. Their colleagues had long since disappeared into the neighbouring houses.
‘We can drop the titles, nobody’ll hear us,’ he said.
‘I have no intention of creating professional difficulties for myself by being too familiar with an inspector, especially one who hasn’t earned it.’
She was a lawyer, a pretty good one too by the sound of it.
‘That was exactly what I wanted to talk about. Don’t you at least want to…?’
She cut him off. ‘I don’t recall the superintendent giving you orders to discuss anything with me.’
If that was how she wanted to play it, Rath could be just as clinical.
‘Very well, Fräulein Ritter. So that there is no danger of our becoming over-familiar with one another, I suggest that we question the witnesses separately. You do one half, I’ll do the other.’
He had actually addressed her formally, and didn’t get the feeling she was too upset. Clearly the whole concept rankled more with him.
‘As you wish, Inspector.’
‘Then you take the two upper floors and I’ll take the three below.’
Her long legs were already flying up the stairs.
Rath shrugged his shoulders and set to work.
He was finished quickly. You couldn’t even see over the cemetery wall from the ground floor flats, and no-one had noticed anything suspicious, neither the caretaker nor the teacher who lived opposite. As for the flats higher up, there was no-one home except for Elfriede Gaede, a deaf old lady on the first floor. Though Frau Gaede had a prime view of the cemetery, she only had eyes for the numerous cats that prowled through her rooms. It took some time for Rath to realise that Frau Gaede was not only deaf but almost completely blind. And he was happy to leave the stench of cat piss behind.
Downstairs, he stepped onto the street and looked around. There was still no sign of Charly. To the left of the tenement, by the corner of a red-brick house, he could see Plisch and Plum, each with a cigarette. Rath joined them and lit an Overstolz. At least the pair hadn’t run away as he approached.
‘You finished too?’ he said, placing the cigarette carton back in his pocket.
‘It’s a school,’ Czerwinski said, ‘huge building, but only the caretaker and his wife live there.’ He drew deeply on his cigarette. ‘Neither of them saw anything.’
‘It’s a crackpot idea, if you ask me,’ Henning said. ‘What are the people here supposed to have seen? Whoever dumped the body came via the cemetery. Clambering over the wall would be far too obvious, with a corpse at that. It must’ve been someone who knew the cemetery staff, someone who knew a police officer was being buried here today.’
‘It was in all the papers,’ Rath replied. ‘There can’t have been too many freshly dug graves at Georgen Cemetery this morning.’
‘Strange business,’ Henning said. ‘Why would someone throw an old corpse into a fresh police grave?’
‘It is odd,’ Rath agreed.
The killer hadn’t allowed Kardakov to surface for no reason; that was certain. Perhaps they wanted to put one over the commissioner? Or Rath? Was it even the killer who had dumped the corpse? There was something artificial about the whole thing: the cocaine in the jacket pocket, the identity card, and to top it off the Berolina pin. Was Marlow involved? Was someone trying to tell them that Dr M. or Red Hugo had killed the two Russians? Perhaps a rival Ringverein, one that was trying to create trouble for Berolina and make a fool of the police at the same time? The Nordpiraten weren’t on good terms with Berolina at the moment. Perhaps it merited a closer look.
The three men finished smoking and Rath decided to accompany Henning and Czerwinski back to the cemetery. He wasn’t going to wait around for Charly, only to be treated like dirt.
Despite their cigarette break, the trio were among the first to report back to Gennat, but without much to go on. A man from number 19 had seen two men that morning dragging a cart across the cemetery’s main avenue, but couldn’t remember the exact time. Officers were gradually returning, even those who had questioned the cemetery staff. Buddha listened patiently to all the reports, barely making any notes. He was said to have a phenomenal memory.
They were slowly building a picture. The cemetery gardener had only dug one grave yesterday, that of Jänicke. Just before ten today, the man had assured, there had still been no corpse inside, as that was when he had checked the beams for the coffin. That meant the pair – if it was indeed the two men that the witness had seen – must have completed the job between ten and eleven. It was something to go on at any rate.
It wasn’t until the last of the officers returned from Heinrich-Roller-Strasse that Charly re-emerged, walking alongside Reinhold Gräf, smiling and chatting animatedly.
Without warning, Rath was overcome by a severe pang of jealousy.
C’mon man! He thought. You’ve got enough problems as it is without worrying about her! Forget Charly, put her out of your mind! Don’t let her treat you like this!
For the time being their work was done. The first CID officers were already on their way back to the Castle to write their reports. Two undertakers had removed Kardakov’s corpse from the grave and placed it carefully in a zinc coffin. Then they had set off. The mortuary car was already waiting for them at Greifswalder Strasse.
From the grave to the mortuary car, Rath thought to himself, as he watched the men. Usually it’s the other way round.
He had seen the storm coming. Erika Voss was waiting with the news.
‘The commissioner would like to see you, Inspector.’
Rath knew it would be no ordinary meeting, and he was right. He had never seen the fat man so furious. Zörgiebel rose from his desk to pace up and down the room, his voice operating in the higher registers.
The door to the outer office was closed but Rath knew that Dagmar Kling could hear every word.
‘Do you have any idea of what you’ve got me into?’
Rath’s instinct told him it was best to remain silent.
‘You’ve made a mockery of me and the entire Berlin police force. In front of everyone!’
Rath still said nothing. Let Dörrzwiebel tire himself out. At least no-one could say the commissioner was his best friend anymore.
‘We issued a warrant for a man, stated he was the prime suspect in a murder inquiry, and it turns out the man has been dead longer than his alleged victim! How d’you think that looks?’
‘I’m sorry, Commissioner, but it wasn’t me who dumped the body there!’
‘It was you, Herr Rath, who set the entire police force on the wrong track! We’ve gone to enormous lengths to search for a man who’s been dead for weeks. Every paper published his photo, just like every paper is now going to publish this unspeakable story. What other surprises do you have in store for us? Whose corpse is going to turn up next? The Countess?’
Rath shrugged his shoulders. ‘I hope not, Commissioner.’
‘I’ll give you I hope not! I’m not sure you quite understand, Inspector. If you weren’t the son of Engelbert Rath, you’d be packing your case right now for Köpenick! There’s a vacancy there at the moment. You can go back to finding lost cats, and be glad I’m not making you dust court exhibits for the rest of your days!’
That was how easy it was to fall out of favour with Zörgiebel.
Only yesterday he had been feted as the man who would bring glory to the commissioner. Now he was the police dunce, the sole reason why Zörgiebel cut a sorry figure in the press.
‘I’d like to put things right, Commissioner.’
‘That’s rich. How do you propose to do that?’
Rath had an inkling why Zörgiebel was so incensed. The SPD had arranged to have its party conference next week at Magdeburg, and the commissioner would not only have to justify the bloody May riots to his fellow social democrat party members, but also his force’s record on law enforcement in the imperial capital. Given the recent headlines, Zörgiebel could hardly expect to make a good impression. Now, on top of everything else, there was the incident at the cemetery. An unparalleled embarrassment, a clear loss of authority. Zörgiebel must be afraid his party would tear him to pieces.
‘I just meant that if I can help in any way, I will do so, Commissioner. At least give me a chance.’
‘I’ll give you one final chance, young Rath, and I urge you to take it. Bring me the people responsible for these awful crimes, these brutes who have so brazenly made fools of us, so that we can finally put them away. I want to see results in five days at the latest.’
‘That isn’t much time, Commissi…’
‘If you want to keep your desk in A Division, you ought to make use of it!’
‘It’s actually DCI Böhm who’s been working on the case, and Superintendent Gennat…’
‘I don’t care how you do it! If Böhm doesn’t want you, then you’ll have to work alone. It’s what you do best after all.’ Zörgiebel was standing behind his desk now, motioning towards the door. ‘Now get out! Get to work! The next time you walk through that door, I expect you to have something for me. A killer, and this time with evidence that’s admissible in court. Do we understand each other?’
Rath nodded and opened the door. Yes, he understood and he was willing to bet Dagmar Kling had understood every word too.
Dr Schwartz had worked like never before. Even the autopsy report on the Jänicke case hadn’t been ready this fast.
It was an effort for Rath to keep his eyes open as he ploughed through the medical jargon. It was already late and he lit another cigarette to keep himself awake. The ashtray on the little table inside Gennat’s office was already overflowing. He and Buddha were the only ones still working in A Division.
Trudchen Steiner had been the last to leave. The secretary had just had time to bring them the evening papers, almost all of which had accorded the incident at Georgen Cemetery a big spread. Most had dug up the old picture of Kardakov and placed it next to a photo of Jänicke’s funeral. Speculation was running wild, as Rath had expected. Buddha likewise, it seemed, as the reports didn’t faze him in the slightest. The superintendent sat at his desk, puffing thoughtfully on his cigar.
‘Don’t you want to go home, Inspector?’
Gennat seemed genuinely concerned.
‘No, sir. I’ve made a mess of things, and I’d like to sort it out. I’ll work through the night if I have to.’
‘I have a bed here so I don’t have to go home,’ Gennat said, ‘but I am not going to share it with you.’
Rath laughed. ‘That won’t be necessary, sir. If you want to go to bed, just tell me. I’ll take a taxi back to the hotel.’
‘Are you still at the Excelsior?’
‘I haven’t had time to find myself a place.’
‘Remind me tomorrow. Perhaps there’s something I can do.’
As ill-disposed as many of his colleagues at the Castle were to him at the moment – Böhm and Charly in particular – Gennat was treating him well. He had made it clear that he wanted Rath on the case, for his insight into Kardakov’s character. Irrespective of whether he had been wrong in the past, Buddha still believed that Rath could be of assistance whether Böhm liked it or not.
He immersed himself in the autopsy report once more. Truth be told, he had expected the results to be similar to the Möckern Bridge case but, though there were many parallels, there were also some surprising differences.
As was the case with Boris, the abuse Kardakov had suffered hadn’t caused his death. It was probably the same torturers, professionals who knew how to hurt their victims without injuring them fatally and used drugs in a calculated way. They alternated between torturing their victims and nursing them back to health, administering pain-killing injections for any appropriate response. That was how you coaxed information out of your victims, not through pain alone. Dr Schwartz had also detected traces of heroin in Kardakov’s body and found injection sites, as with Boris before him. Nevertheless, it wasn’t the heroin that had caused Kardakov’s death.
The man had died of cyanide poisoning. Dr Schwartz found the remains of the poison in his mouth, as well as thin splinters of glass, which suggested that Kardakov had bitten down on the capsule himself. Suicide, then? Or had his tormentors forced him to swallow the capsule? Had they planned to do that with Boris too? Was his heroin death an accident? Had he been given an overdose by mistake?
Two deaths that were almost identical. Only, one had died of a heroin overdose, while the other had succumbed to cyanide poisoning.
The case was more puzzling than ever.
Gennat pushed the papers to one side and was studying the forensic report again.
‘Where do you think our friend was buried before they decided to dig him up?’ he asked, chewing on his cigar.
Rath had just read the document. Kronberg’s people had found pine needles in the soil on the dead man’s clothing. There weren’t any pines trees in Georgen Cemetery.
‘Suggests a forest floor, don’t you think?’
‘Exactly what I was thinking. Let’s have a list made up of all pine forests in and around Berlin. We might just find his old grave.’
29
Rath was at the station by dawn, taking refuge in his secluded little office. Gennat had actually slept at the Castle; Rath had interrupted him shaving as he fetched the interrogation records from Buddha’s office. Apart from the two of them, A Division was still completely empty. Rath had barely slept. He was taking Zörgiebel’s threat seriously and time was precious right now.
He had ploughed through yesterday’s statements page by page, but found barely anything they could use. Perhaps the one given by the man from Heinrich-Roller-Strasse 19, who had witnessed two men pulling a cart across the main cemetery avenue. It had looked like an ordinary coffin cart, he had said, and he knew what he was talking about since he often saw them from his window. Unfortunately, Rath’s colleagues hadn’t asked what was on the cart. It was clear, however, that it couldn’t have been the staff pulling it, as the cemetery gardener had said that, after finishing the preparations for the Jänicke funeral, they had gone to the memorial service in the church. After all, it wasn’t every day they saw a ceremonial funeral. That meant the two unknown men must have entered the cemetery chapel, where the coffin carts were usually kept. Yet the chapel was locked up, and Forensics hadn’t found any signs of forced entry.
A witness from Greifswalder Strasse claimed to have seen two men dragging a carpet across the street. A cart, a carpet – perhaps the men had transferred the corpse. Either way, they had chosen a means of transport that was in accordance with the surroundings. Neither witness had thought anything of what they had seen until a few hours later when the police came knocking. Nor could they describe the two strangers. Both agreed it had been two men in grey hats and coats, but they couldn’t give any further details, no facial features, nothing that stood out. They weren’t even sure of the colour of their hair.
Rath studied Charlotte Ritter’s interrogation records particularly thoroughly. They were more carefully composed than his own, but she clearly hadn’t been able to discover anything more. There had been no witnesses in Heinrich-Roller-Strasse 17, or at least none that she had encountered.
Erika Voss arrived shortly after eight, surprised to find him in his office.
‘You’re not normally here so early, Inspector!’
‘But you are, I hope, Fräulein Voss.’
She put the coffee on without his having to ask. Up until now, he had been smoking cigarettes to keep himself awake, and was glad to have a steaming mug of coffee placed in front of him. In vain he tried to order his thoughts. On the one hand because they still had too little information to put together anything meaningful; on the other because his mind was haunted by the image of a woman. A woman who had no business being there. A slender, pretty face with a resolutely curved mouth and dark eyes you could disappear inside. The dimple on her left cheek when she smiled; if she smiled. He had to get out.
When he returned the statements to Gennat’s office Gertrud Steiner was in her place, while Henning and Czerwinski stood alongside the superintendent at his desk. Before them lay various maps, on which wooded areas were marked. Gennat gave a few brief instructions, enough for Rath to infer that the day would begin with police combing the pine forests around the city.
Nevertheless, Gennat agreed to what Rath had in mind. Indeed, Rath thought he discerned something approaching respect in the superintendent’s eyes, or at the very least approval. Whatever the case, Buddha seemed to like him and in A Division that was what mattered. A certain Wilhelm Böhm could be as awkward as he liked.
