Babylon Berlin, page 43
The assistant detective stood flabbergasted, pistol still cocked in his hand. He rushed to the banister and looked down. On the pale stone floor, lay a powerful-looking man in a dark suit, arms and legs strangely contorted. The image almost resembled a swastika. A bright-red trickle of blood was oozing from under the black body, spreading quickly and growing thicker all the time.
The assistant detective put away his pistol and stumbled down the steps.
The man was lying face down in an ever expanding pool of blood, beside him the broken chunk of banister. Gräf leaned over the body and turned the man’s head to one side. A scar ran right across the left cheek.
The creaking of the steps made Gräf look up. A dainty woman was gazing upon the dead man and the blood. Eyes wide open, white as a sheet.
‘Is he dead?’
Gräf’s felt his neck in vain for a pulse. He nodded.
‘My God!’ The woman was already at the door. ‘Stay here. I’ll get the police.’
‘Stop,’ Gräf called after her, ‘I am the police!’ She was already gone, but it wouldn’t hurt if she came back with a few cops. That way he could stay with the corpse.
He listened into the silence. Everything was quiet. Had no-one in the house heard anything apart from the young woman?
In the dark of the stairwell, he had been unable to make out her face, but in her appearance and manner, she had almost reminded him a little of Charly. Only, this woman was blonde; and Charly would never have worn a blue hat.
Rath had been away for almost half an hour in total when he finally returned to Yorckstrasse. The green Opel was still parked in the shadow of a tree on the corner of the street. Exactly as he had left it – except for one detail. It was empty.
At first Rath thought that Gräf had simply leaned forward to pick up his notepad or something, but as he drew closer he realised his initial impression had been correct.
Gräf was no longer in the car!
Where the hell had the assistant detective got to? Had he actually no longer been able to stand the build-up of pressure in his bladder and disappeared into the nearest pub to use the toilet? Was he making a relieved face even now?
He hadn’t even locked the Opel. Rath shook his head and sat back in the driver’s seat. In vain he looked for a piece of paper, any sort of message. He opened a packet of Overstolz and lit a cigarette. Well, the lad would soon be back. Hopefully he had prepared a decent excuse. And hopefully Fallin hadn’t slipped through their fingers.
Fallin! Of course! There was another possibility: Nikita Fallin had returned!
Hopefully nothing had happened to the boy. If his past was anything to go by, the burly Russian was capable of anything.
Rath checked his Mauser, pulled his hat a little lower over his forehead and got out of the car. Slowly he moved over to the house, smoking, head bowed. If Fallin was looking out of the window, he didn’t want him to recognise a familiar face from Kakadu. He trod his cigarette out before opening the front door.
Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t this.
On the half landing Assistant Detective Reinhold Gräf was crouched over the corpse of a man whose scar face identified him beyond any doubt as Nikita Fallin.
31
It was just after four when he dropped Gräf off at the station. At least the observation had been cut short; Gennat hadn’t detailed the relief until six o’clock. Rath had alerted the Castle from the first telephone he could find, and only then called the 103rd precinct in Möckernstrasse. He didn’t want to be accused of not giving his division chief enough information this time. Let Buddha come out in the murder wagon to see for himself!
He came too. Gennat hadn’t driven out to a crime scene for a long time. It was clear to all officers present that something must be up if Buddha himself was stepping out of the murder wagon.
This time it was one hundred percent certain they were dealing with a murder. Gräf had told them he had witnessed the fall, and the chunk of banister lying next to the corpse clearly displayed saw marks. The suspicion that someone had transformed the banister into a deadly trap was confirmed when Forensics examined the fourth floor. A big chunk was missing from directly opposite the door to Fallin’s flat, where his suitcase was still standing. The banister had been carefully sawn into. In his reconstruction of events, which Rath supported, Gräf had claimed it was probably the woman’s cry that had enticed the Russian over to the banister in the first place. He had leaned over to see who was calling him, before plummeting to his death.
The identity of the woman and the possibility that she had intentionally lured Scar Face into the trap was just a hunch at first. However, it was corroborated by the knowledge that the woman, whom Gräf had seen, hadn’t called the police as promised. Quite the opposite, she had fled from them.
Gräf, who was inconsolable at his faux pas, had been unable to make out her face in the dark stairwell. The only thing he had noticed was her blue hat. Rath could imagine whom the assistant detective had encountered, but preferred to keep it to himself. Not only because he wasn’t sure if he really had seen the Countess on Grossbeerenstrasse just before, he also believed that a dirty pig like Nikita Fallin deserved his violent end.
Like Vitali Selenskij before him. Two Black Hundredists who for more than three years had been eating out of the hand of an unscrupulous Stahlhelmer. Who had tortured Kardakov and the hapless Boris so brutally. Bruno Wolter’s sadistic helpers.
Now both were dead and the thought that their avenging angel, Countess Sorokina, might also pick up the trail of Uncle secretly filled Rath with satisfaction.
It was more likely, however, that she had no idea the two Black Hundredists were in cahoots with a Prussian police officer. Only he knew that, Gereon Rath.
After he dropped Gräf off at Alex, Rath drove on to Potsdamer station. The motor pool could wait on the vehicle, Rath still had things to do. The officers at the Castle would just have to make do without him today.
First of all he went to the station and opened his locker. What a hotchpotch of items he had accumulated: a notebook, a pistol, a photo of wartime companions, a telephone ripped from the wall. And a packet of cocaine. All his dirty secrets were here.
He took the cocaine and stowed it in his pocket. Now he needed it. The sleeplessness of the last few nights was beginning to take its toll. Sometimes he couldn’t tell if he was awake or dreaming. Was there really someone standing behind him? Or was it just his shadow? He had to be careful he wasn’t seeing ghosts.
Before he returned to the car, he locked himself in one of the cubicles in the station toilet. He didn’t have much experience when it came to taking cocaine. He tried to remember that night in Venuskeller, the generous Oppenberg and the nymphomaniac Vivian. Rath knew he needed a surface that was halfway flat as well as something to snort with, so he used his ID and a twenty mark note. Werner von Siemens gazed at him sternly, almost reproachfully, as Rath rolled him into a little tube. The white powder in the packet was lumpier than the stuff in Venuskeller. He cut it with the help of his Mauser until he thought it was fine enough for his nose, then laid a line out ready. He didn’t want to take too much, not knowing how strong the dose was. He stuck the paper tube in his nose and snorted the white powder up like a vacuum cleaner.
That numbness again, and then the desired effect. A wreck only moments before from extreme lack of sleep, he suddenly felt immense energy coursing through his veins. Quickly, he stowed the equipment away, splashed a little cold water on his face and proceeded through the station concourse back to the car. He could have uprooted a tree, but he felt more like cutting Bruno Wolter down to size.
Still, one thing at a time. He drove out to Steglitz.
Ahornstrasse was in a nice, middle-class district. Rath parked the Opel and rang the doorbell. It didn’t take long for someone to answer.
There was no need to ask if he was in the right place. The man in front of him was wearing a brown uniform, a black belt and the armband that was increasingly common in Berlin these days: blood-red with a black swastika framed by a white circle. Otherwise, he didn’t look especially military. More small and slight, like a bookkeeper. Rath had caught him knotting his tie.
‘Yes?’ he said.
‘Heinrich Röllecke?’
‘What can I do for you?’
Rath had a flash of inspiration. ‘I’m a friend of Bruno Wolter,’ he said.
‘Bruno? Why isn’t he here himself?’
‘Lots to do at the moment. Besides, he needs to be careful. He’s still under surveillance.’
‘The political police should be more concerned with the Red Front than making trouble for their own… Blast!’ Röllecke began knotting his tie once more. ‘Well, get to the point, man! I have to get to a meeting. The Gauleiter is speaking. Dr Goebbels doesn’t beat around the bush, so the SA need to be there on time. Before the Reds even think about kicking up a stink. I hope you understand. I’d ask you in otherwise.’
‘That’s OK. I think we can keep it brief. It’s about what happens next on Luisenufer.’
‘An infuriating business! I said from the start we should have used a German. But Bruno absolutely insisted on this Russian. Now he’s dead.’
‘At least it was a Russian that died, not a German!’
Röllecke laughed. ‘You’re right there. I like you, young man. Our country needs men like you!’
‘Selenskij’s death is being investigated as murder.’
‘Well, probably couldn’t have been avoided. A stupid mistake. Now the police are snooping around. It’ll calm down again, we just need to be a little patient.’
‘Don’t you think that Hermann Schäffner could be a problem…’
‘Scharführer Schäffner is a reliable man. The fact that the police turned the flat upside down wasn’t his fault. Besides, they won’t find anything: he’s seen to that.’
‘If you say so.’
‘You can count on the SA, my friend! We’re no less reliable than you Stahlhelmer. It isn’t words that count but actions, and it’s time the Stahlhelm got that into their heads. Bruno’s been talking about a new consignment for weeks, yet nothing’s happened. My people are growing impatient. I’ve given them a few rusty rifles we finagled out of the Red Front. Absolute rubbish, all of it. At some point we’re going to need some decent weapons.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m glad you see it that way too. Please inform Lieutenant Wolter that if the loyalty of nationally minded fighters isn’t to be sorely tested, it’s time to put his money where his mouth is!’
‘I’ll do that Herr Sturmhauptführer.’
‘Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready. My driver will be here in a moment.’
Rath was unable to say goodbye, as Röllecke had already slammed the door.
The vain, self-righteous squirt! Rath was shuddering as he returned to the car. Röllecke had bought his story without a second thought.
It was exactly as he had suspected. Bruno Wolter and his friends in the SA had secured Selenskij the flat on Luisenufer in order to monitor the Countess. The DCI with the affable face was an arms dealer. An arms dealer who would stop at nothing.
He had to take him to task. He wanted to hear it from him. The truth, or the lie. Bruno would have to look him in the face.
He couldn’t say what he was hoping to achieve; he only knew that he had no choice. He had to show Wolter there was someone who had seen right through him and his shady deals.
Rath felt his heart beat faster as he turned into Friedenau from Rheinstrasse.
The man was at home. E Division had finished early for the evening. Rath parked directly behind the black Ford. He rang but no-one answered. As he listened to the echo of the doorbell, he became aware of a rattling, clunking noise and gazed round the corner into the garden where they had sat during Whitsun. The garden furniture was still outside, and Uncle was trudging up and down the lawn wearing loose work slacks, a sleeveless vest and a broad-brimmed old hat as he pushed the mower back and forth. A regular citizen going about his evening tasks, it was scarcely credible that this man was a cold-blooded killer. Rath went behind the house.
Bruno only saw him when he reached the lawn. He left the reel mower where it was and took a few steps towards Rath, wiping his sweaty hands on his vest.
‘What a surprise,’ he said. ‘Knocking off already? And people are saying how much A Division have had on recently.’
‘They’re not wrong. We’ve just had to scrape a man off a stone floor. Tried to fly through the stairwell. Yesterday a dead Russian, and today more of the same. These people live life on the edge, maybe they picked the wrong fight.’
‘Or maybe they’re just stupid. That’s my theory anyway.’
‘There was me thinking you had a high opinion of them. Of Selenskij at any rate. That’s what Heinrich Röllecke said.’
Surprise registered briefly on Bruno’s face. ‘So, you were at Röllecke’s?’
‘Yes, and he was rather talkative!’
‘Doesn’t sound like him.’
‘You’re lagging behind with your consignment. He doesn’t like that.’
Although Bruno still had himself under control, Rath could see the little digs and provocations were hitting home.
‘You don’t look too healthy, Gereon. Can you tell me why your eyes are twitching like that? Have to be careful you don’t go to the dogs in A Division. The work doesn’t seem to agree with you.’
‘We’ve a lot on at the moment.’
‘Then take a holiday.’
‘Not while there’s a guilty bastard still on the loose.’
‘Come on, the case is closed. You solved it: patriotic Russians eliminating a few Reds from their home country. The killers are dead, all is well. Time to let it go, rest on your laurels for a while.’
‘Closed, my arse. There are still too many open questions.’
‘Who cares?’
‘I do, for one. It’s just that the killers can’t help us anymore.’
‘Then you’ll have to figure it out on your own.’
‘I know more than you think. There’s only one thing I don’t understand: why did Fallin and Selenskij torture Boris before they packed him off in a stolen car and sent him flying into the canal?’
‘Maybe they just messed up. It can happen. First the guy dies on them before they can get anything useful out of him, then they try to cover up the whole thing and start a campaign of disinformation. Only it fails.’
‘It was supposed to look like Boris had pinched the gold from the Red Fortress?’
‘If you say so,’ said Wolter with a shrug. ‘Sounds plausible to me.’
‘I don’t think so. It stretches credibility when someone with mangled hands and feet is found in a car he’s supposed to have driven himself, don’t you think?’
‘Not if the car ends up in front of a tree and the driver’s already mush. Maybe that was the plan, until the wheel spun out of control at the kerb and everything went tits up. By which stage things were already dead in the water. Or should I say the canal.’
Rath remembered how the vehicle had shaved a tree on its way in.
‘Then why did they dig up Kardakov’s corpse?’ he asked. ‘Was that part of another failed disinformation campaign?’
‘What do you mean failed? They made the police look pretty ridiculous there. Above all the new hero of A Division. They made him into a laughing stock.’
‘Maybe. I’m just wondering why they’d bother. A Division weren’t interested in the Russians. On the contrary, they’d released them a week before. So why would they care about making the police look ridiculous?’
‘What do I know? I’m a vice cop, not a homicide detective.’
‘You know damn well. It was their skipper who’d run into difficulties, a police officer who had murdered a colleague and realised an old friend was closing in on him. An officer who along with everything else was also having problems with a Ringverein. So he tried not only to create trouble for this Ringverein, but for the police as well – to distract them, above all the new hero of A Division, as you call him.’
‘I prefer laughing stock…’
‘Dumb luck that this laughing stock won’t let go then, isn’t it? He’s hell bent on convicting a CID officer of his colleague’s murder.’
‘Everyone’s entitled to make a fool of themselves. Like I say, I’d recommend you take a holiday. Be satisfied with what you’ve got. I’ve just given you some excellent fodder for the commissioner.’
‘Would you be prepared to testify to it in court?’
‘Why should I? It’s all just speculation. An experienced CID officer gives an up-and-coming officer a tip-off. It’s up to you to find the evidence. You’re the homicide detective, I work in E Division.’
‘I could use your assertions against you, as proof that you’re in cahoots with the Russians, and Josef Wilczek too. As proof that you’re after the Sorokin gold, that you intend to use it to buy weapons for the Stahlhelm, that you’ve been trafficking police arms for years with Rudi Scheer, cutting deals with your volunteer army, the SA and God knows who else.’
‘With the Red Front too, no doubt?’ Wolter laughed loudly. He removed his hat and wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. ‘You’ve got a big mouth for a cop with a cocaine problem.’
‘I just want to make it clear that you’ve reached the end,’ Rath countered. ‘You killed Jänicke for nothing. Just because it worked with Thies doesn’t mean you’ll get away a second time.’
‘Me at the end?’ Bruno grinned, but looked as if he’d sooner have lashed out. ‘Have you looked in the mirror recently, Gereon? Do you think the court is going to believe a coked-up cop who shot someone and then botched the cover-up?’
