Babylon Berlin, page 44
‘I haven’t shot anyone.’
‘You shot someone in Cologne, remember? And you killed Josef Wilczek. Why else would you have given Ballistics the wrong bullet? It can only have been you.’
‘What you’ve just told me is as good as a confession. A confession that you killed Jänicke!’
‘Ach, would you cut it out!’
‘You know that Jänicke was killed with Krajewski’s Lignose because you’re the one who pulled the trigger!’
‘But where’s the pistol now? It isn’t in my possession, Inspector! Make sure you don’t dig yourself a hole you can’t get out of.’
‘Do you even know why you became a police officer?’
‘For the same reason I still am one. To maintain law and order and fight against those trying to destroy it. What about you? Why did you become a police officer? Because Daddy told you to?’
Rath ignored the jibe. ‘My reason is very simple. I’m a police officer so that bastards like you don’t get off scot free.’
‘We all deserve punishment. You’re a Catholic, you should know that.’
‘I can go to confession.’
‘Then go.’ Wolter smirked. ‘Stop pretending you have less to confess than me!’
‘You shouldn’t brag so much! I can finish you if I want to!’
‘Really? If you tell the truth about you and Josef Wilczek then perhaps you’ll have something on me. Perhaps. It would, of course, presuppose that you’re a credible witness. And there I have my doubts. Still, if you want, you can always take that chance. Tell them what you did with Wilczek! Tell them why Inspector Gereon Rath made no progress on the Wilczek case! Let’s see what happens. I won’t be doing it. I can promise you that much. I won’t be leaving you holding the greasy end of the stick. Don’t ask me why. For old time’s sake, perhaps.’
‘You really are a cynical arsehole.’
‘I’m a police officer and a realist. If you just thought about it for a moment, you’d realise I have more on you than you have on me. But that’s not what this is about. I want peace. So why don’t we just forget about the whole thing and pretend it never happened? Serve up the two dead Russians as the killers, and Zörgiebel will be happy. Why? How? Wherefore? No-one’s interested in these questions anymore. You want a career with CID, don’t you? Then you have to turn a blind eye occasionally, and not ask too many questions.’
‘Don’t you dare tell me what I have to do!’
Wolter looked him and up down, squinting. ‘Please excuse me. Emmi will be back any moment and I want to be finished with the lawn by then.’ He put his hat back on, turned round and trudged back to his lawnmower.
Rath looked at his broad, sweaty back, helpless with rage. When he was back in the car he slammed the flat of his hand against the steering wheel so hard it hurt.
The worst thing about it was that Wolter was right. There was nothing he could do, absolutely nothing. He couldn’t even find an outlet for his rage.
32
She was in the middle of tracing her eyebrows when the doorbell rang. It couldn’t be him already. Or could it? If he was one of those overly punctual types, then the evening would be over before it had even begun.
‘Greta, can you see who it is?’ she called from the bathroom door. ‘It’s almost certainly for you!’
She wasn’t expecting him for a good hour. Ten o’clock, she had said. She had got back from the station at eight, needing a little time to recover after such a lousy day.
Gereon Rath had reported another corpse. Every day it was someone new. The murder suspects were dropping around him like flies. Only, these dead Russians might actually be the killers. Unlike Kardakov, with whom he had made Böhm look a fool, only for it to emerge that he had been duped himself. She had almost felt sorry for him, the way the whole Castle made fun of him for selling Zörgiebel a dead man as the killer, but she had pushed aside her sympathy. He deserved everything he had coming, a thousand times over. The way he had treated Böhm, the way he had treated her. She thought she had finally found a man who might last longer than a week. Much longer, perhaps even the rest of her life. Yes, she had fallen in love. How unforgivably foolish! It made what he had done to her even worse, the dirty swine!
Now at last Herr Rath had his killers. There was no doubt the Russians had tortured their two fellow countrymen, and they had probably killed them too. A storage shed with a cellar had been rented in Nikita Fallin’s name on the site of the Anhalter goods station. ED had found traces of blood on the concrete floor, in addition to various tools, among them a large sledgehammer, likewise stained with blood. There were large quantities of heroin hidden in a spare tyre, and in the warehouse above they had found a number of cars, all stolen, some with fresh paintwork. The Russians seemed to have been running such a lucrative car dealership that they had been prepared to use one of their own stolen vehicles to plunge their first victim into the canal.
Unfortunately, that part would have to remain a mystery. Zörgiebel wouldn’t mind: who needed a motive? The important thing was that the murders were solved!
Nevertheless, it looked as though someone had had a major hand in both their deaths. An electric hairdryer didn’t fall into the bath of its own accord; and the banister in Yorckstrasse had been prepared in advance.
Reinhold had been obliged to eat some humble pie for letting the woman escape. He couldn’t even describe her properly, because he had only caught a brief glimpse of her in the gloomy stairwell, most of it spent staring into the light. To atone for his error he had stayed at the Castle until Gennat had almost booted him out. Quite unlike Gereon Rath, whose whereabouts were still unknown. The man was taking too many liberties, even for Buddha, who usually gave his officers plenty of leeway.
But reporting a corpse and hanging around the crime scene, only to leave others to do the dirty work, wasn’t how to endear yourself to Gennat. Or Böhm for that matter, but he couldn’t stand Gereon Rath anyway.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. Greta poked her red head through the crack in the door.
‘Charly? Are you decent?’
‘Just about. Why?’
‘Visitor for you.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Someone from the station.’
She examined her face in the mirror. Good enough for someone from the Castle. Did Reinhold want to have a cry on her shoulder? The assistant detective could be a little sensitive at times. Especially when he had made a mistake.
She emerged from the bathroom to discover the man she had least been expecting to see standing in the hall. The man who had been missing in action at the station today. Gereon Rath.
He looked a shadow of his former self. Pitiful. Dark circles under the eyes, sunken cheeks, as if he hadn’t eaten or slept for days. What was the matter with him? He had tracked down the last of his killers, hadn’t he? Even if only as a corpse.
Upon seeing her he smiled in embarrassment, almost apologetically in fact.
‘Good evening, Inspector,’ she said coldly, and the smile on his face faded.
‘I’d forgotten we were addressing each other formally,’ he said. ‘To be quite honest, I don’t want to play these games anymore.’
‘Who said we were playing games?’
Greta cleared her throat. ‘Charlotte, I’ll be in my room if you need anything.’
Now they were alone. What did he want? At least he hadn’t brought her flowers; she’d have beaten him over the head with them.
‘Can we sit down somewhere? I need to talk to you.’
‘I wasn’t aware we had anything to talk about, Inspector! I must ask you to leave.’
‘And if I don’t want to?’
‘Then I’ll leave. And fetch the police. You ought to be familiar with the crime of trespassing.’
She reached indiscriminately in her wardrobe for a coat and stormed past him. The pig-headed fool!
She was already down by the front door when she heard his footsteps behind her on the stairs. Well, if he wanted a chase, he could have one!
He had known it wouldn’t be easy, but he hadn’t thought she’d actually run away from him. For a moment he thought it was just a stupid joke and she’d be right back, but what if she took a little longer and returned with a few cops? The nearest police station was just around the corner in Paulstrasse. Rath uttered a quiet curse as he ran out after her. When he emerged onto the street he gazed around searchingly. On one side of Spenerstrasse rose Moabit prison, on the other the lines of the city railway. There was no sign of Charly.
Rath ran to the nearest corner. Melanchthonstrasse. The link road to Paulstrasse: the 28th precinct was right on the corner, but she hadn’t gone in this direction. He turned round, catching sight of her black coat disappearing into Calvinstrasse. She was running down to the Spree. He sprinted after her, at least now he knew where she was, and caught up with her just before the bridge leading to Bellevue station.
He held her tight so she couldn’t get away again.
‘Let me go,’ she hissed. ‘You’re hurting me!’
At least she hadn’t called him ‘inspector’. He almost smiled.
‘Now listen to me, dammit!’ he wheezed, completely out of breath. She struggled like a wild horse. A few people were staring at them. ‘You can’t just run away from me!’
‘Yes I can! You repulse me!’
‘If that’s your way of saying I’m the one who messed things up between us – thank you, but not necessary! I’m well aware of it. If I could turn back time, I would. My secrecy was…’
‘You sounded me out! You used me! Pretended to have feelings for me! Are you surprised that I don’t want to see you? Get away from me! It’s enough that I have to put up with you at the station.’
‘Just listen to me, that’s all I’m asking. I shouldn’t have treated you like that, I should have been more open with you. That’s exactly what I’d like to do now, be open with you! I want to tell you everything! Hit you with so many secrets it’ll make you dizzy.’
‘If you want me back and this is some cheap trick to talk me round, then forget it!’ Her eyes flashed at him.
‘I only want to talk to you. It’s not about us. It’s about me. I don’t know what to do anymore.’
‘Why do you think I’ll listen?’
‘I can only ask you to.’
‘Why me, of all people?’
‘You’re the only person in this city I trust. I’m in such a fucking mess. I…’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Gereon, but that’s how you look too: a fucking mess.’
He must have gazed at her in surprise. For a moment, she was serious. Then, gradually, the corners of her mouth turned upwards, her dimple appeared and he knew she would listen. How long he had waited to see that smile!
In the hotel room he had paced up and down like a caged tiger, feeling himself gripped by fatigue as the cocaine gradually wore off. Yet he found no peace. He still hadn’t got over his meeting with Bruno Wolter, his anger at Uncle, at his own impotence. He was at his wits’ end. What should he do? Look on from the sidelines as a murderer went about his work at the station as if nothing had happened? Smile as he played the model police officer? Or should he make an accusation against him?
The public prosecutor would demand evidence and Rath would have to incriminate himself. In the end Wolter would fix it so that they pinned the Jänicke murder on the self-confessed killer, Gereon Rath. A motive would be easy enough to find: the assistant detective had figured out that Inspector Rath had buried Saint Josef, and so Rath had killed him too. It wasn’t any more far-fetched than the truth. If anything it was more plausible.
Rath was at the end of his tether. He couldn’t fight the lone fight any longer. He needed help. There was only person he knew he could trust, and so he had pushed his pride to one side and driven out to Charly.
As they strolled through the castle grounds on the other side of the Spree, dusk was already falling and they could have been mistaken for a pair of lovers as they walked side by side.
He told her everything.
How he had investigated Kardakov under his own steam, how Wilczek had assaulted him and how he had died; how he had buried the corpse and fudged the subsequent investigation. And how he was therefore the only person who knew that Bruno Wolter had shot Stephan Jänicke.
He told her about the cocaine and the fatal shooting in Cologne, even if the latter had nothing to do with current events. He only omitted a single detail, his bizarre amorous escapade with Elisabeth Behnke.
Charly listened in silence, the smile on her face long since evaporated.
‘I think I need a coffee,’ she said when he had finished. ‘You look like you could use one too. Maybe even three.’
She was actually shocked. In truth, she had thought nothing more could surprise her but what Gereon had just told her had rendered her speechless.
They returned to Spenerstrasse in silence. The streetlights were shining already.
‘I was about to report you missing,’ Greta said, when they arrived back. Charlotte could tell just by looking at her friend how curious she was. She waved her away discreetly when Gereon wasn’t looking, and Greta disappeared back to her room.
‘Would you like something to eat?’ she asked, fiddling with the stove as she put the water on to boil. The way he was sitting there, like a soldier wearied by defeat, aroused her maternal instinct. He seemed like he could really use the coffee; he looked as if he was about to fall off his chair.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t eat a thing.’
‘I hope that’s not a dig at my culinary skills...’
‘…which I haven’t experienced yet.’
‘I could only have offered you a sandwich anyway.’
‘Coffee’s fine.’
The water was just boiling when there was a ring at the door.
She looked at the clock above the kitchen table. Three minutes to ten. Her date! In all the excitement she had completely forgotten.
Georg Siegert, a colleague of Greta’s. She had dragged him out here, said he could be someone for Charly. Charly had given in, but she could really do without him now. Besides, she no longer had any desire to go out.
She ran to the door, before Greta hit on the idea of opening it.
Herr Siegert was standing there, a triumphant smile on his face, proffering a bouquet of flowers.
‘Beautiful flowers for an even more beautiful lady,’ he said.
The line was exceptionally stupid, but Herr Siegert’s cause was already lost.
Charly took no notice of the plants in his hand. Orchids! She hated orchids!
‘How dare you!’ she said. ‘What impudence!’
Georg Siegert clearly wasn’t sure what it was he had dared to do.
‘Sorry?’
‘If there’s one thing I can’t stand, Herr Siegert, it’s people who aren’t on time!’
‘I don’t understand,’ the man said, allowing the hand with the bouquet to drop finally. ‘I thought we said ten?’
‘Then take a look at your watch! You’re two minutes early! And you rang even before that! Good evening.’
With that she slammed the door in his face.
The water for the coffee was still boiling when she returned, and Gereon Rath was still sitting at her kitchen table, but she should have been quicker with that coffee. His chin was slumped on his chest. He had fallen asleep.
When he awoke, his nose was filled with her scent.
‘Charly,’ he mumbled, embracing the pillow. His hands reached out for her but found nothing. He opened his eyes. The bedding smelt of her, but she was nowhere to be seen.
He sat up. Where was he? A cosy little room. Charly’s room! Rath stretched out. He hadn’t felt this good in days. Above all, he felt well rested, and he had slept in her bed! It didn’t matter that she hadn’t slept in it herself. It hadn’t stopped her flitting through his dreams, her and her scent. He pressed his nose against the pillow and breathed in deeply.
The memory of yesterday evening returned only gradually. He had told her everything, he could remember that much, that was no dream. She hadn’t sent him packing. She had even tried to make him coffee. That was the last thing he remembered, him sitting in the kitchen while she stood at the stove making coffee.
He stood up and went over to the window. The sun was shining. His things lay neatly folded on a chair. She had undressed him down to his underwear.
Slowly he opened the door and peered outside. There was no-one in the hall. He wondered if the bathroom was free. The door was slightly ajar. The coast was clear! He slipped out of the room.
Rath gazed into the bathroom mirror. He could do with a shave, but there was nothing he could use here. He splashed water on his face and washed his upper body, put a little toothpaste on his index finger, cleaned his teeth as best he could, and washed his mouth out with some Odol.
His reflection still didn’t inspire confidence, but at least he felt fresh.
He went into Charly’s room and got dressed. Using the comb from his jacket he slicked his still wet hair back, and went into the kitchen.
There was no-one here either, but the breakfast table was laid. The clock showed half past nine. He hadn’t slept this late for a long time.
He wondered where she could have gone. And her friend, Greta. Then it dawned on him.
Of course! The Castle! Charly worked almost every Sunday.
He put some water on to boil and poured the coffee beans into the grinder on the wall. He wanted to have a coffee and then drive back to the hotel to freshen up. The Opel must still be parked outside. It was time to take it back to the station. He would have to think up a story about why he had kept the vehicle overnight, but that would be easy enough. Some observation or other, pursuit of a suspect… police duty was full of imponderables.
He heard a key turning in the door and, a moment later, Charly poked her head round the corner.
