Babylon Berlin, page 40
‘What brings you here?’ he asked. ‘New revelations? If so, I hope they’re right this time.’
‘Come on. You didn’t do too badly out of it. All the papers published it – it’s just that Abendblatt was a day early.’
‘You’re right. A canard that everyone prints is hardly a canard anymore.’
Rath looked around. There was no sign of Elisabeth Behnke.
‘Has my room been let already?’ he asked.
‘No, it’s barricaded up like the Reichsbank. You’d think old Behnke was looking after the British crown jewels.’
The kettle began to whistle. Rath watched Weinert as he tipped the boiling water carefully into the coffee filter.
‘So where is our dear old landlady?’
‘Should be here any minute. Just running a few errands. Perhaps you could have supper together – if she’s forgiven you, that is, you old dog. Receiving female visitors, just imagine! Tsk, tsk!’
‘I bet you’re still at it every night.’
‘Every night? I couldn’t possibly at my age. But that doesn’t mean I’m about to let some old landlady spoil my fun.’
‘Just make sure you don’t get caught! The consequences can be dire.’
‘Sometimes I think she’s known for a long time, but doesn’t dare throw me out. Perhaps she’s afraid of appearing on the front page of Abendblatt.’
‘She wasn’t afraid of being arrested by CID, I can tell you that.’
The men laughed. Weinert poured the coffee. Rath felt the hot liquid flowing through his body, dispelling the fatigue that was constantly threatening to take hold of him.
‘What do you want from her?’
‘It’s private, which in this case means work-related. Nothing to concern the free press.’
‘Normally that’s something for the free press to decide itself.’ Weinert finished his coffee. ‘Still, you’re in luck. I’m in a hurry, so there won’t be any eavesdropping.’ He stood up. ‘Nice to see you again. Let me know if you have anything interesting in future.’
‘You’re not going to leave me alone, are you? I’m a stranger these days!’
‘You’re a policeman…’ Weinert hesitated. ‘But you’re right, it’s irresponsible. I’m going to lock my room.’
‘I promise I’ll be good and wait here. If she takes too long, I’ll leave a note.’
Weinert left the room. Rath heard the journalist slam his bedroom door, probably after retrieving his hat and coat, and then the heavy front door clicked to.
Rath poured himself more coffee and stared into his cup. The clock on the wall was ticking loudly. He shifted back and forth impatiently in his chair. He had more important things to do than to wait for his former landlady. In truth, it would probably be enough to take the telephone with him; then he could leave right away.
Rath went to his old room and shook the door. Weinert had been right: it was locked.
Where did Elisabeth Behnke keep her keys?
Probably in her private chambers, and he had already seen that the door was ajar.
He felt even more uneasy in her flat than he had done in the kitchen. If she caught him here he really would have some explaining to do. As he searched the drawing room, he listened intently for any noise, above all the turning of keys in heavy doors. After a quick tour through her bedroom, he finally found what he was looking for.
Rath had only been in her living quarters once before, about six weeks ago when he had signed the rental agreement. On that occasion, she had led him straight into this strange drawing room, on the one hand a fairly normal, plush living room of the sort that had been modern during the Kaiser’s reign. On the other it was a kind of military shrine, in the centre of which stood a large oil painting depicting Helmut Behnke in the uniform of a Prussian sergeant, underneath it a sabre with black and white tassels, which had been presented to his widow upon his death, and any number of photos showing Helmut Behnke during the war. In front of this memorial wall stood the bureau where she had fetched the keys to Rath’s room.
Rath stared at this morbid display, which took up an entire wall. Instead of looking in the drawers for Elisabeth Behnke’s keys, he decided to examine the photos, his gaze coming to rest on a picture that was familiar to him. He had already seen it once, in an office in Friedenau. It showed the newly appointed sergeants Helmut Behnke and Bruno Wolter. Bruno Wolter, Helmut Behnke’s old comrade, looking slim and gazing proudly into the camera. The picture must have been hanging here during Rath’s first visit too, only on that occasion he hadn’t noticed, as he had been studiously ignoring this altar to a fallen soldier. Indeed he had barely even looked across, since he didn’t want to show his new landlady just how much the display had unsettled him.
Wolter could be seen elsewhere on other photos, always with Helmut Behnke. The pair really did seem to have been inseparable. Until, that is, a French grenade had ripped off both of young Sergeant Behnke’s legs at Soissons, and he had succumbed to his injuries a few days later. Höllenschlacht an der Aisne a military film would later dub it: Slaughter on the Aisne.
Rath tried to tear himself away from the pictures, but they drew him into the past, into the war, reminded him how different things might have been if he had only been born a few years earlier. Like Anno…
Then he saw a face that prompted a flash of recognition in his brain. A face he hadn’t been expecting to see in this gallery, which suddenly jerked him wide awake.
Was it possible?
Five men by an artillery gun, looking tired but gazing proudly and confidently ahead. A captain and four lance corporals, a picture like a thousand others.
On the shaft in front sat the captain, left hand leaning imperiously on a cane. Alfred Seegers. To the left next to the cartwheel was Lance Corporal Rudolf Scheer, while directly behind the captain stood Lance Corporals Behnke and Wolter.
To the right of Wolter stood a man whose moustache reminded him of a police mug shot. The man was a few years younger, and the ends of his moustache were twirled upwards in the manner of Kaiser Wilhelm, but it was him, no doubt about it: Josef Wilczek!
Saint Josef!
The man from Berolina had been one of Bruno Wolter’s former comrades!
30
Friday night, and there were still tables to be had in Venuskeller without bribing a waiter. It was just before ten and the revellers wouldn’t be arriving until later, the band was playing its heart out and the first guests were trying to match the noise with their chatter. In place of last time’s American Indian routine, Rath was treated to a performance by harem girls, two rather plump women in pastel-coloured, semi-transparent veils undressing one another. Not very erotic, but they were probably saving the edgier routines for later.
Rath never thought he’d be back here of his own accord. Yet here he was, fighting back his fatigue. The noise merged in his ears to form a single, soothing slur. He didn’t even bother to order when the waiter came to his table.
‘I need to see Dr M.’
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know what doctor you’re referring to, sir. Can I get you something to drink?’
He seized the man by the collar. A few guests looked round.
‘Listen to me, my friend. If you’re getting cold feet because someone’s asked for the doctor, fetch Sebald to take the decision out of your hands. But do something. Believe me, Dr M. wants to see me; he doesn’t want me to have a drink here.’
‘Very well, sir.’ The waiter seemed unperturbed as he disappeared with his tray. Rath gazed after him and lit a cigarette. The man didn’t go to the counter, but instead opened a discreet little door beside the sparsely populated dance floor. Well, what do you know! How was it that every time he learned something new about this case, he understood less than before? Every insight gave way to disenchantment. The knowledge that Josef Wilczek was in cahoots with Bruno Wolter had once again thrown up more questions than it had answered.
His discovery just now in Nürnberger Strasse had sent the adrenaline pumping through his body. He had felt like a chemist who had chanced upon a new element, albeit one he was unable to classify. He must have stood in front of that picture as if in a trance, his gaze rigid while the thoughts raced through his mind.
Outside on Nürnberger Strasse a car horn had sounded almost right outside the window, and it was this noise that had taken him back to the present, and reminded him what he was actually there for. He had opened the drawer and removed her keyring, tried the keys one by one until he opened the door to his old room. It looked exactly the same as before, only the bed wasn’t made. With a tug, he pulled the telephone cable out of the wall.
Once he had put the keys back, he simply lifted the picture off the wall.
Before dropping the Opel off at the Castle, he had driven to Potsdamer station. He couldn’t think of anything better than to stow the picture and the telephone in his locker alongside the pistol and notebook. Its contents increasingly resembled a curiosity cabinet, and he wondered whether anything inside would be admissible as evidence.
He had taken the car back, but avoided Gennat’s office. Erika Voss had already finished work for the evening when Rath spread the contents of the Wilczek file across his desk. He almost had the impression he was avoiding his secretary, and perhaps he was. He leafed through the file that he himself had put together. Above all, he was interested in the older cases that had been transferred to the file in note form: Wilczek’s prior convictions. Rath noted the dates and got hold of the old case files. Had Bruno Wolter ever had any official dealings with Saint Josef? All his efforts were in vain. There was nothing. No arrests, nothing at all. Not even a premature release from custody, an instance of special treatment as with Selenskij or Fallin. Yet Rath was certain that Wilczek had worked as a police informant for his former comrade-in-arms Bruno Wolter, even if such details were kept off the record.
Fallin’s flat in Yorckstrasse was near the Excelsior and Rath had taken a little stroll there before freshening up for the evening in his hotel room. When no-one came to the door, he had picked the lock and taken a look inside. He didn’t have much time to scrutinise the flat, but at least the Russian wasn’t lying dead in his bath. Rath had left again before he ran the risk of being caught. He told himself not to immediately expect the worst. Perhaps Fallin had gone into hiding because he had got wind of his friend’s death.
‘Benno’s already informed me that you’re unarmed, Inspector. I hope you haven’t been snorting any cocaine this time.’
The voice brought him back to the Venuskeller. Sebald’s balding head gleamed over the shiny table-top like the moon over the Wannsee.
‘Take me to your boss, then you can get back to enjoying your dancers,’ Rath said. ‘Maybe you should have a think about your stage programme while you’re at it. This veil dance would be an impertinence even somewhere legal.’
‘I wouldn’t use that tone with Herr Marlow if I were you,’ Sebald said.
They didn’t even have to go over the road this time, as Marlow had made himself comfortable in one of the back rooms. He was sitting at Sebald’s desk with a few figures hanging around the darkest corners of the room, all of them in evening dress. Liang was standing behind Marlow’s chair.
‘Good evening, Inspector,’ the crime lord greeted him, just as friendly as during their first encounter. ‘Excuse me for making you wait. You mustn’t think that your presence had escaped our notice. I wanted to see if you were keeping to our agreement…’
‘What agreement?’
‘Not to visit Venuskeller on your own time.’ Marlow drew on his cigar. ‘Believe me, I know how difficult that is. And secondly…’
Right on cue a side door opened and a naked girl entered, lighting a cigarette with the table lighter on Sebald’s desk before disappearing as quickly as she had emerged. Rath recognised the well-built performer from the American Indian routine. The men in the room grinned suggestively, all of them, that is, apart from Marlow and the Chinese man.
‘…secondly I had things to do.’ Marlow was grinning now too, though it was almost charming when he did it.
‘Patience is one of my greatest virtues,’ Rath said. ‘You need it in my job. The same goes for staying power.’
‘Then Iet’s hope you have that too.’
‘I wouldn’t be sitting here getting on your nerves otherwise.’
‘Oh, is that what you’re doing?’
‘I hope so.’
‘And I hope you have more to offer than last time.’
‘Why don’t we see? But I’ll only speak to you in private.’
Marlow laughed. ‘I don’t think this is the place for you to be imposing conditions. Besides, you can never speak to me entirely in private, you should know that by now.’ He waved his left hand limply through the air as if swatting a fly. ‘Sebald, take your men for a little stroll. I’m sure Liang is more than capable of catering to our friend’s needs.’
He said it in a very friendly manner, but it sounded like a threat. Sebald left the room with four men. Three remained behind.
Marlow came straight to the point.
‘I’ve been reading about your exploits in the papers recently, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I see you’re investigating murders these days. So far without much success, or am I wrong?’
‘I’ve just told you I’m patient. You have to be able to wait for success too. For the moment, for example, when you are escorted into a Black Maria by two police officers.’
Marlow’s voice changed immediately and the temperature in the room grew icy. ‘You certainly are brave, Inspector. I recommend that you think carefully about how much bravery you can afford to show in this room.’
‘Is that supposed to be a threat? You wouldn’t dare kill me as well!’
‘As well? What’s that supposed to mean?’ Marlow raised his eyebrows. ‘Whatever ideas you might harbour about my business, I haven’t killed anyone.’
‘Then had killed. Let’s do some straight talking for once. What’s your role in all this? How many people do you have on your conscience?’
Marlow flicked the ash from his cigar.
‘Don’t get carried away now. If we’re going to do some straight talking, then why don’t we start with you. I’ve always been open and honest; you on the other hand would have me believe you were after the Sorokin gold. An outright lie. So, what game are you playing?’
‘I’m looking for a murderer.’
‘Then you should damn well look somewhere else!’
Marlow slammed his fist on the table so suddenly that Rath gave a start.
‘When you showed up just now in Venuskeller, I thought perhaps you’d realised that cooperating was in your interests too. Now here you are again, talking big!’
‘You’re always saying how much you want to work with me. Yet after our last conversation you tried to have me killed!’
‘Where do you get such ridiculous ideas? Believe me, Inspector, if I really wanted you out of the way, you wouldn’t be sitting here now.’
Marlow seemed genuinely appalled.
‘Why should I work with you?’ Rath asked.
‘Finally, a sensible question!’ Marlow’s voice sounded just as warm and friendly as it had at the start of their conversation. ‘I’m going to offer you a very simple deal. I’ll help you arrest your killer, you help me find the gold.’
‘That’s only going to work if you tell me everything you know, including your role in all of this.’
Marlow smiled his smile, which inspired more fear than confidence.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But first, two things. One: if the gold turns up, leave it in the care of Marlow Imports, without the police making any trouble.’
‘As long as you guarantee me free rein to catch the killers, even if it means arresting someone from Berolina.’
‘I’ll provide reinforcements if you like.’
‘Let’s not get carried away,’ Rath said. ‘The second point?’
‘That you don’t use anything I have said or am about to say in court.’
Rath only needed a moment to consider. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘So, who goes first?’
‘I’ve already told you so much, Inspector. Now it’s your turn.’
Rath took a cigarette from his pack before he began.
‘You know that one of your men is working for the police?’ he said, waving the match out. ‘Was working.’
Marlow raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘I hope you have a name.’
‘Josef Wilczek.’
‘Saint Josef!’ Marlow blew a cloud of smoke across the table. ‘Of all people! That rat would’ve snuffed it years ago if it wasn’t for me.’
‘You saved his life?’
‘I removed a bullet from his bloody guts. He was one of the people still playing war in 1919.’
‘So you really are a doctor?’
‘Let’s say that I have certain medical skills.’
‘So Wilczek was part of the Freikorps?’
‘An armed group at any rate, one that wore field grey and rifle slings.’
‘An ex-front soldier who couldn’t help himself. That fits. Wilczek was working in tandem with an old war comrade at the station. Bruno Wolter, DCI in Vice.’
‘Well, well! Your old boss?’
Rath was amazed. ‘You’re well informed.’
‘Normally it’s the police who work for me, rather than the other way round. I made a few inquiries after you dropped by so suddenly two weeks ago.’ Marlow gave the Chinese man a wave, and Liang poured whisky into two glasses. Rath sniffed at the glass and nodded appreciatively.
‘From Scotland,’ Marlow said. ‘Better than the hooch that Sebald serves out there.’ His head gestured towards the door leading to Venuskeller. The noise from the bar was barely audible in the back room. ‘So,’ he said, raising his glass, ‘let’s drink a toast.’
The men drank.
‘I had a feeling the police were in on it,’ said Marlow finally. ‘I thought there was something funny about Wilczek’s death. It was a cop that did for him. Yet your first thought is to make Berolina nervous.’
