Goldstein, page 44
There could be any number of things a woman might do on a Sunday afternoon in the company of several gentlemen, and evidently she disapproved of them all.
‘I have a message for Fräulein Ritter,’ Alex said, pretending she had to write something on the envelope. She waited until the woman had descended the stairs before fetching a picklock, acquired for the Wertheim break-in, from her bag. Only when she heard the front door close did she take the picklock and prise open the door to the flat.
Perhaps it was bravado, but she wanted to surprise the court woman by returning the money to the pot. It was possible, of course, that she hadn’t even noticed it was gone, and wouldn’t realise the amount had increased by thirty marks. Alex was picturing Charlotte’s face when she noticed the mess. The flat was like a bombsite.
All the drawers had been pulled out, their contents strewn across the floor. Books were torn from shelves, letters and files were scattered everywhere. Total chaos. It looked like a break-in, but hadn’t the old woman said Fräulein Ritter had only left a few minutes before?
In the company of several gentlemen.
Alex racked her brains. What had happened here? Which gentlemen had Charlotte left with? Were they the ones responsible for this chaos? Perhaps they were cops who had found out she was sheltering a wanted criminal?
She put the envelope back in her bag and looked around, hoping to find an answer. There were no traces of a struggle, although someone had clearly been looking for something. It couldn’t be the little handheld pistol that must have rolled out of some drawer or other, Charlotte’s weapon from the tannery. Cops would have taken something like that with them, wouldn’t they? She picked it up. The cool, heavy metal felt good. She pulled the magazine out. It was empty, though the rounds lay close by. She had to fiddle around, but soon the magazine clicked back into place.
She didn’t want to leave the money in this chaos. Who could say if it would ever reach Charlotte? She left the envelope where it was in her bag and stowed the pistol next to it. It wouldn’t hurt to own a thing like that, if Kralle’s crew came looking for her again. She knew a handbag wasn’t the best way to conceal a weapon, but there was nothing about her new summer dress that could serve as a holster.
She was just about to open the door when she heard footsteps in the stairwell. Since she didn’t want to have to explain what she was doing coming out of an empty flat, she listened at the door. Someone was coming up the stairs with a heavy tread. A man. Another instant, and he would be past. The coast would be clear.
When the footsteps approached the door to the flat, she instinctively retreated a few metres on tiptoes. The doorbell rang and she tried to hold her breath.
There was another ring. Away, she thought, go away! Can’t you see there’s no one home?
A key turned in the lock, and her heart almost stopped. She fumbled for the pistol, looked for the safety catch and aimed, just as the man appeared in the doorframe. His hands were already in the air.
Rath had been prepared for anything, but not a girl standing in the hallway with a little pocket pistol trained on his chest. The inside of the flat looked as if a bomb had been dropped. ‘What’s all this then?’ he asked.
The girl looked at him suspiciously. She was like a cornered beast of prey. Rath had recognised her immediately. The fake hair dye couldn’t fool him, nor the smart summer dress.
‘It’s Alex, isn’t it?’
Her answer was a tentative nod.
‘Charly told me about you.’
‘Charly?’
At last she spoke to him, but her pistol was still raised. He debated whether he could get to his Walther, but it was hopeless. He had to talk. ‘Charlotte Ritter. The woman who lives here.’
‘I see.’
He pointed his chin at the pistol. ‘Does it have to be like this?’
She let the weapon drop. ‘No, I just thought that . . .’
That was all she had time for. Rath made a full-length dive, reaching with both hands for her firing arm. He felt the little minx kick and punch, but absorbed the blows until he had control of the weapon, letting it slide across the hall floor into the kitchen and under the table. He held her arms tight and used his body weight to press her flailing legs to the floor. It was an unfair match, and the struggle was soon over.
‘Now, how about telling me what you’re doing in this flat, threatening me with a pistol.’
She spat at him and he dodged just in time.
‘I’ve had enough wrestling matches for one day,’ he said. ‘Shall we bring this to a peaceful end, or do I have to spend the next three hours on top of you?’
Her eyes looked daggers. ‘The first one,’ she said.
He stood up and kept a close eye on her, but she made no move to punch, kick or spit again. He picked up her handbag.
Alex stood up and held her hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but it’s what you have to expect when you threaten someone with a gun. It’s no laughing matter.’
‘I know that but, shit, life is no laughing matter.’
Rath couldn’t help but smile. ‘What are you doing here, and where’s Charly?’
‘I could ask you the same thing.’
‘I’m her . . . fiancé.’
‘What are you going to do? Are you going to call the cops?’
‘I am the cops.’
He had said it casually enough, but noticed how she gave a start, squinting towards the exit as if she might hightail it at any moment.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m one of the good guys. You don’t have anything to fear from me. Charly told me all about you, and about the business in KaDeWe with the cop. I’m sorry about your friend.’
Rummaging in her bag he pulled out a set of picklocks, and his compassion came to a sudden end.
‘Did you break in here?’
‘Did you think I crawled in through the keyhole?’
‘Are you responsible for this chaos?’
‘I didn’t take anything.’
‘What’s this?’ He pointed to her envelope and fished out a dozen ten mark notes.
‘I was returning it. I borrowed money from your fiancée.’
He shook his head in disbelief.
‘Take a look if you don’t believe me. There’s a letter inside.’
He skimmed what she had written. Thank you for everything, it said. I’m sorry about the money. I found it by chance and borrowed it because I needed it. I hope this will make up for it. Sorry.
‘You borrowed it, did you?’
‘I pay my debts. The money doesn’t belong to you, anyway. Put it back in the envelope and give me back my bag.’
She had a big mouth, no doubt about it, but she was right too. He replaced the envelope and returned the bag.
‘Take your time, and tell me what happened.’
‘I’ve only been here a few minutes. This is how it looked when I got here. Maybe those men have something to do with it.’
Rath felt an alarm bell sound in his head. ‘What men?’
‘Your girlfriend went off with a couple of men. That’s all I know.’ Alex shrugged. ‘Ask the woman, your neighbour. She saw them.’
‘Frau Brettschneider?’
‘Whatever her name is. The one opposite.’
‘Frau Brettschneider.’ Rath sighed. ‘What exactly did she see?’
‘She said that Fräulein Ritter left a few minutes ago: In the company of several gentlemen. That’s all.’
The alarm bells were sounding even louder now but, knowing that he was to blame for the trouble Charly was in, he said nothing. Instead, he dashed across the landing, positioned himself on the doormat, and pressed the bell above the name Irmgard Brettschneider. Never in a million years had he imagined this. He rang a few times, but there was no one inside.
‘You can ring as much as you like, she isn’t home.’ Alex was standing behind him, bag on her shoulders. ‘I reckon she’s taking her Sunday stroll or something.’
He was beginning to calm down again. Perhaps there was a logical explanation for all this. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
‘Do you have a problem with me leaving?’
She was already on the stairs when he called after her. ‘The fact that I’m turning a blind eye doesn’t mean I approve of robbing department stores.’
Alex turned when she was halfway down. ‘I couldn’t care less. Keep your opinions to yourself.’
‘They aren’t my opinions; they’re the law. Breaking and entering is illegal. Think about that.’ Shit, he thought, you sound just like your own father.
Alex reacted like an obstreperous daughter. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you should have a think about it too. I mean, what does a department store like that actually do? They buy jewellery and watches for I don’t know how many tens of thousands of marks and put it in their display window and charge double the price. Ten thousand marks for putting something in the window? I do a lot more for my money, I can tell you.’
She was gone. Probably she isn’t too far wrong, he thought. Figuratively speaking, any number of so-called pillars of the German economy did little more than window dressing to make their exorbitant gains.
He went back inside Charly’s flat. They had made a real mess: books and papers were scattered all over the floor; only her address book was in its rightful place, next to the telephone on the chest of drawers, and open at the letter R. On the second line, under Raabe, Karin, written in her fine, elegant hand stood Rath, Gereon, Luisenufer 47, 1. Rear Building. Tel. Moritzplatz 2955. Complete with address and telephone number. All that was missing was his shoe size.
It looked as if someone was about to pay him a visit. Perhaps he could still catch the bastards. Before leaving he looked under the kitchen table. The pistol was no longer there. Alex had outmanoeuvred him after all.
108
She didn’t have the faintest idea where she was. The men had dropped a hood over her head as soon as they left Moabit, and hadn’t removed it until they set her down on this stool.
It felt like she was in a bad film. What was happening? Tornow and his helpers had taken an ordinary civilian captive from her flat in broad daylight. She still couldn’t believe it.
In addition to Tornow and the man with the pistol was a third man who had driven the car. She had identified it as a Horch, but hadn’t been able to read the number plate.
The room was windowless, a cellar perhaps, but she couldn’t be sure. Unlikely though, on reflection, since she could feel the heat of day. All three men sat behind a table. It felt like a tribunal, a Holy Inquisition, and she was the witch standing trial.
At least they hadn’t bound her.
Tornow sat on the left, with the older man – Charly put him in his early fifties – in the middle. The pistol lay before him on the table. To the right was the driver, whose face she saw for the first time. Draped behind the three of them was a kind of flag or wall-hanging, a black cloth, which bore the silhouette of a great white hand, reminding her of the lapel badge and sew-on patch they had found in Kuschke’s box.
So, there it was, the first link between Arsehole-Cadet Tornow and the deceased Kuschke. If she had any lingering doubts that Tornow was responsible for the sergeant major’s death, they were now well and truly swept aside.
‘Do you know why you’re here, Fräulein Ritter?’ the older man asked. Evidently he was the highest ranking of the three. Charly debated where she knew him from; she was almost willing to bet he was a cop too. The driver likewise.
Police officers who abducted a woman. Unbelievable!
‘Why I’m here? Probably because you wanted to play a hand of Doppelkopf and you were missing a fourth man. Well, I’m afraid I must disappoint you. First, I’m a woman, and second, I only play skat. Seeing as you don’t actually need me, can I go?’
‘I have to admire your sense of humour in a situation like this.’
‘Exactly what kind of situation are we talking about? So far, all I’ve seen are criminal offences: trespass, intimidation, false imprisonment. What the whole thing means, I’m still not sure. Are you trying to extort money? Again, I have to disappoint you there, my parents really aren’t that rich.’
‘That’s a shame, but I would have thought our operation spoke for itself. We’re trying to prevent you from making a serious mistake. It seems you sighted Police Lieutenant Tornow at a given time and in a given place, despite the many witnesses who would attest otherwise.’
‘What an elegant sentence. You must be either a cop or a lawyer.’
The man smiled. ‘Well, you’re a bit of both, aren’t you. With the emphasis on bit.’
Now Charly remembered where she had seen the man, although she still wasn’t quite sure. ‘Do you really think you’re going to get away with this? You abducted me! I might not know where you’ve taken me, but I do know who I have to thank for it.’
‘We’re aware that you’ve already made Lieutenant Tornow’s acquaintance, but he isn’t here. Nor did you see him in the Hansaviertel.’
‘I know who you are too, Chief Inspector Scheer. I hope you’ve seen to your own alibi.’
The man in the middle appeared genuinely thrown. So, it was him. Rudi Scheer. It had been a shot in the dark. Scheer had run the armoury at Alex, before being transferred out for weapons smuggling.
‘You have good powers of observation,’ Scheer said, ‘but I’m not here either. Just like Sergeant Klinger next to me.’
He meant the driver. No doubt he had given the man’s name and rank to demonstrate their certainty that no one would be brought to account.
‘Since you’re just imagining all this, Fräulein Ritter,’ Tornow said, ‘why don’t you tell us what you know, and what Gereon Rath knows? And whether you have any proof? What did you find in Kuschke’s flat?’
‘One thing I do know: there’s no way you’ll get away with this.’
‘There are certain influential people who move in our circles. Underestimate us at your peril!’ Tornow smiled. How could he be so friendly in a situation like this?
‘That’s why you imagine you’re above the law?’ Charly was talking herself into a rage. ‘Do you know what you are, Herr Scheer? You’re nothing but a crummy arms dealer. They should have finished you off when they had the chance, instead of transferring you out to Charlottenburg.’
Scheer looked at her in amusement.
‘You abducted me,’ Charly continued, ‘do you really think you’re going to get away with it, or are you planning to kill me, to keep all this hushed up? Don’t you think Gereon Rath already knows what happened and who’s behind it?’
She certainly hoped he did.
‘What Gereon Rath knows is what you’re supposed to be telling us,’ Scheer said. ‘You needn’t fear for your life. We aren’t going to harm a hair on your head. We won’t have to. Of course, we won’t shy away from it if need be, but we’re counting on your good sense. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to make a fool of yourself, and risk your career.’ He tried to smile, but didn’t manage quite so well as Tornow. ‘You won’t be getting much sleep in the next few hours. That can make people rather talkative, you know.’
It didn’t sound like they were going to release her any time soon.
109
Rath parked the Buick in Ritterstrasse, pulled his hat down and turned up the collar of his coat despite the warm weather. Only now did he approach Luisenufer. There were no suspicious vehicles near the courtyard entrance and the coast seemed clear. The yard was deserted, as always on a Sunday. What if they’ve laid a trap? he thought, stepping into the dim stairwell. What if they’re waiting for you in your flat? He took the Walther out of its holster, released the safety catch and hoped he didn’t run into Frau Liebig or her husband from upstairs.
He turned the key slowly, quietly, and stormed into the flat, weapon drawn, pointing the Walther into every room. Nothing. Whoever had been here was gone.
Rath had guessed what awaited him, but was still surprised at the havoc. It was worse than Spenerstrasse. Half his tableware lay shattered on the kitchen floor, books and papers fluttered on the floor. Flowerpots were tipped over and in pieces, the wardrobe was completely empty, and his mattress had been sliced open, along with his favourite chair. But they had saved the worst for the living room.
They had cleared out his record cabinet.
A great many of his records were broken, including some that were irreplaceable, having been sent over from the States by his brother Severin. The bastards would pay for this; Tornow and whoever else was in cahoots with him!
He tidied as best he could, found a cup that was still intact and put water on for coffee. He had to collect Kirie from the Lennartzes in half an hour, and could use a shot of caffeine to help him think things through.
Two hours later, Rath was parked in Spenerstrasse again. Dusk was falling as he rang on Irmgard Brettschneider’s door for the second time that day. Beforehand he had taken another look inside Charly’s flat, but nothing had changed.
The neighbour who had so often regarded him suspiciously, but never exchanged a word with him, now stared as though he were an apparition.
‘What can I do for you?’ she asked.
‘Good evening, Frau Brettschneider. Would you mind doing me a favour?’
She gazed at him as if he were asking for a cup of flour and two eggs, and Rath realised now would be a good time to reach for his police identification. He took the document out of his jacket and held it under her nose.
‘Rath, CID,’ he said. ‘It concerns Fräulein Ritter. She was seen leaving her flat this afternoon in the company of several men.’
‘Has she . . . Is she . . .’ Irmgard Brettschneider struggled to find the right words. ‘Is it prostitution?’ she asked finally. Rath didn’t know whether to laugh or vent his rage on this careworn woman with the overactive imagination.
‘Please! Fräulein Ritter is a judicial clerk.’
Frau Brettschneider gave a confused nod. ‘Of course, of course. I just thought . . . with the police in the building. So . . .’
