Babylon Berlin, page 47
Marlow was growing nervous. What kind of stunt were they trying to pull? His men laid their weapons carefully on the floor of the loading ramp.
Marlow decided to put an end to this theatre and went down to join them. The train should be here in twenty minutes. He could count on Kuen-Yao. Until then the main thing was to avoid a bloodbath. He had to intervene to gain some time. When he stepped onto the ramp, all eyes turned towards him.
‘Good evening,’ he said to Wolter. ‘You wanted to speak to me?’
‘Johann Marlow?’ Wolter asked.
Marlow nodded. ‘Why are you invading my private property and threatening my men?’
‘I heard that you are expecting a goods train this evening.’
‘Looks like it. Do you think I hang around goods sheds at night for fun? What about my people? They’re just trying to go about their work, and you are preventing them from doing so. Does the commissioner know what you’re up to?’
‘I don’t think you’re the type to complain to the commissioner.’
‘Wait and see.’
‘Let’s wait for your train first! Then we’ll see what you’re having delivered.’
‘Then what?’
‘Perhaps it’s something I ought to have confiscated.’
‘Believe me, you won’t be able to haul it off on your own.’
‘We have enough people. More than you think.’
He could see his men were getting nervous. The wait was making him uneasy too, more than he cared to admit. Wolter’s left hand was in his coat pocket, playing with his ID; in his right he was still holding the pistol. Darkness was falling and there was still no sign of the train.
In the meantime they had frisked all of Marlow’s men and disarmed them. Rudi had dealt with Marlow himself – and found no weapon. That had surprised Wolter. Now Dr M. was standing alongside his men. The five of them didn’t seem chastened in the slightest.
‘Are there still people in the shed?’ Wolter asked.
‘If there were,’ Marlow said, ‘I wouldn’t have come out just now, but ordered them to shoot you.’
‘Got anything against me sending a few people in?’
‘As long as they don’t break anything.’
Wolter was getting annoyed. The whole time Marlow was talking to him as if his people had the upper hand, not the other way round.
He was just about to give his men a sign when he was interrupted. There were two brownshirts approaching from the direction of Rüdersdorfer Strasse. What the hell was going on? Who had sent for the SA? In full uniform at that? Stupid fools!
Wolter recognised Heinrich Röllecke, marching purposefully towards them. Alongside him was Hermann Schäffner, the caretaker from Luisenufer, with a black leather bag.
Wolter gazed at the uniformed soldiers. When they had reached the ramp, the Sturmhauptführer stretched a hand out towards him. At least he didn’t give the Hitler salute!
‘Everything ready as arranged,’ Röllecke said.
Wolter had no idea what was going on. ‘What’s the big idea?’ he asked. ‘Did Seegers request you as back-up? Not necessary! I have enough people here!’
‘What do you mean, Seegers? You sent your man to me yourself. We just want our share. The truck’s waiting in Rüdersdorfer Strasse.’
‘What man? What are you talking about?’
‘I’ve got the money with me anyway. I hope you have the weapons.’
‘They should be here any moment.’
‘Are they Reds?’ Röllecke gestured towards Marlow and his men, who were standing huddled in a corner.
‘They belong to Red Hugo, but that’s about the only red thing about them.’
Dusk was encroaching ever more on the evening. At a distance, three lights emerged from the semi-darkness and grew gradually brighter. Everyone stared at the triangle as if spellbound. A locomotive was shunting two sealed goods wagons onto the platform. They approached, squealing and rumbling, moving ever slower until the buffers of the front wagon almost bumped into a tank car, and came to a halt. The locomotive hissed, rooted to the spot like a phantom train. No-one on the loading ramp uttered a word.
Wolter ended the silence.
‘That’s the consignment,’ he said to Röllecke. ‘Where’s the money?’
‘You’ll get it once I’m satisfied with the quality of the goods.’
‘Then take a look!’ Wolter remained by the tank car, where he had positioned himself to keep Marlow’s men in check. He had a bad feeling about this. If it was a trap, then it should be Röllecke who fell into it.
The two SA men marched to the first wagon. Eagerly Schäffner removed the bolt and slid the heavy door open, staring inside as if he had seen a ghost.
Röllecke stepped forth impatiently. ‘What is it, man? Stand aside.’
Then he looked on in surprise too. Furiously, he approached Wolter.
‘Is this a joke?’
‘What?’
‘Hiding this man in the wagon. Where are the weapons?’
‘What man?’
‘The messenger you sent yesterday.’
Röllecke gestured towards the goods wagon. Out of the darkness stepped Gereon Rath, with pistol drawn.
He must have looked at least as surprised as Hermann Schäffner. Rath hadn’t counted on it being his caretaker, of all people, who opened the wagon, but rather one of Marlow’s people or even Bruno himself.
A successful entrance, nevertheless. He looked around, and saw that all eyes were on him. It was starting to get dark. Hopefully Gräf had what he needed in the can.
‘I wouldn’t shoot if I were you,’ he barked at Wolter’s companions, who had aimed their weapons nervously in his direction.
‘Well, if it isn’t Inspector Know-it-all,’ said Wolter. ‘And why,’ he asked with a smile, ‘shouldn’t I tell my people to simply blow you away?’
‘Because there are marksmen positioned under the roof of the goods shed who have each one of you in their sights and are just itching to pull their triggers. Besides, I haven’t come alone.’
Rath raised his left hand. The men inside the goods wagon had been waiting for this sign and leapt out with weapons drawn. In no time there were two dozen armed
plain-clothes officers standing on the platform. Behind them Liang climbed out of the locomotive.
‘Quite a little army,’ Wolter said. ‘Scary stuff. I trust they’re not actually going to do anything.’
A few of the younger Stahlhelmers grinned uncertainly. The two SA officers obviously found it less amusing that their weapons deal was off. Röllecke looked as though he was about to breath fire.
‘This little army consists of upright police officers who will now arrest you and your men, DCI Wolter.’
‘Why would they do that? Is it illegal to be in a train station?’
‘Drop the act. We’ve heard enough, and we have enough in the can too.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you’re saying.’
‘Up there with the marksmen there’s also someone who’s good at taking pictures.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ If Wolter was surprised, his face wasn’t giving anything away.
‘It means that the Berlin police force now has enough evidence to prove that one of its officers, DCI Bruno Wolter, is in cahoots with the SA and engaging in illegal arms deals.’
Wolter laughed out loud. ‘Where did you get that idea?’
He hadn’t even finished his sentence when the shot rang out. Wolter had squeezed the trigger with a smile, and shot as casually from the hip as other people light cigarettes during a conversation. A single shot.
Heinrich Röllecke gazed more in surprise than horror at the little red stain that was growing ever larger on his brown shirt. He wheeled halfway round as his knees buckled, and toppled onto the concrete of the ramp.
Hermann Schäffner crouched by his side and felt for his pulse. Nothing there. The SA man gazed at his dead commander in disbelief. It took a moment for him to work out what had happened.
‘You bastard,’ he cried, before, still squatting, he pulled a heavy Colt-Browning and started firing wildly in Wolter’s direction. He was able to squeeze the trigger five times before a shot from Wolter’s Luger blew the gun out of his hand.
Wolter laughed, as Schäffner was overpowered by two police officers. He hadn’t been hit by a single shot.
Nevertheless, several had gone into the tank wagons beside him; and one of them must have caught the drain valve of the middle chamber.
As if in slow motion, Rath saw a metallic bolt fall to the ground at an angle behind Wolter. There was a sound like the banging of a gong as the heavy part struck the floor.
In the same instant that Wolter turned to fire at his putative attackers, hydrochloric acid spurted out of the defective valve.
The acid sprayed out of the tank at high pressure, hitting Wolter in the face and transforming it within a fraction of a second into a confused grimace. He fired a desperate reflex shot, before covering his eyes with his arms. The pistol clattered to the floor.
Wolter was swaying, trying to support himself, but could find only the acid that was forming an ever greater puddle on the concrete floor. He recoiled, and his whole body crashed to the ground, only for him to leap back to his feet. Driven wild by pain, blind and disorientated, he moved in the wrong direction, hit his head against the still spitting metal tank, stopped screaming and plunged back into the steaming puddle of acid.
Schäffner, whom two officers had taken between them, looked on in horror and everyone else stood as if paralysed.
Marlow was the first to react, issuing his men instructions and disappearing inside the shed. When he emerged a moment later with a bucket of water, the pain had caused Wolter to regain consciousness, but his strength had left him completely. From a safe distance Marlow tipped the water over the twitching, writhing body. It was impossible to move him away from the wagon, as the acid shower still hadn’t abated. Meanwhile, two of Marlow’s men had climbed onto the wagon from the other side and were trying to close the valve using an iron bar. They managed to stem the flow just enough for Liang, who had donned a pair of heavy leather work gloves, to close it properly with a few nimble flicks of the wrist and refasten the bolt that had been blown off.
Marlow grabbed Wolter by the feet. His clothes had in large part dissolved, and scraps of material and flaps of skin were left behind as Marlow dragged the heavy body across the acid-soaked concrete. Finally Wolter lay at a safe distance from the tank wagon, unconscious once more, acid steaming from his entire body. It took some time for one of Marlow’s men to emerge with a second bucket of water. Rudi Scheer and the Stahlhelmers were still gazing disbelievingly at the gruesome spectacle, while Hermann Schäffner continued to stare wide-eyed at Wolter’s steaming, acid-ravaged frame, forgetting his own bloody hand in the process.
After a few showers of water the steam began to clear, though it only made the sight of Wolter’s devastated body even more horrific. There were still shreds of clothing hanging to him. Blisters had formed on his skin, which was massively inflamed and coming loose in places to expose raw flesh. His eyeballs had melted and were leaking like undercooked soft-boiled eggs. It was impossible to say whether he was still alive. Marlow, too, had donned leather gloves, and was searching Wolter’s jacket. He lifted a damp scrap of paper and flung it furiously onto the ground. The sorry, now worthless, remains of the second Sorokin map, Rath guessed. Now the one he had given Dr M. earlier was worthless too.
The valve was still spitting slightly and stank like hell, the pungent stench of acid mixing with the smell of raw flesh and blood. A repulsive mixture.
Rath held a handkerchief over his nose and went over to Wündisch’s people.
‘We need the paramedics now,’ he said. ‘If there’s anything they can still do.’
On his signal, one of the officers opened the second goods wagon and a troop of uniformed officers sprang onto the platform, around fifty men in total.
‘Put your hands in the air,’ Rath called out to the Stahlhelmers. ‘But put your weapons down first.’
The young men obeyed immediately and one by one the handcuffs clicked. Rath issued the operation commander with instructions. The men waiting outside in the vans were to be arrested too. Only Marlow’s people were spared. There was no reason to take them to the station. None had previous convictions and they could provide firearms licences for their guns. Their boss, the owner of an imports business, had even helped police lay the trap by placing his property at their disposal.
Marlow went over to Rath.
‘Bloody hell! Turned out just the way you pictured it, no?’
Rath shook his head in silence. He thought of Zörgiebel’s words: it’ll be alright.
How wrong he had been.
Rath still wasn’t sure how he was going to tell the commissioner. They had wanted to punish Bruno Wolter and take him out of circulation. And they had done so, at least after a fashion.
‘How are we supposed to get hold of the gold now?’ Marlow asked. It sounded almost reproachful. ‘Do you think the DCI made a copy of his map?’
Rath shrugged his shoulders.
‘No idea, and to tell the truth I couldn’t care less.’
He left Marlow where he was and went over to the goods shed, from which Reinhold Gräf emerged, legs still wobbly, camera on his shoulders.
‘I hope you didn’t photograph the finale,’ he said to the pale man.
‘Too busy being sick,’ said Gräf. Rath offered him an Overstolz and this time the assistant detective helped himself.
The men smoked in silence, examining the faulty tank wagon. Liang, still wearing work gloves, took a closer look at Schäffner’s bullet holes. He used a knife to pick a bullet out of the tank wall. His face gave nothing away. At all events he soon interrupted his work to whisper something in Marlow’s ear. Dr M.’s expression brightened again. He went over to Rath and Gräf.
‘Inspector, you assured me this operation would be carried out discreetly. I trust you’ll be true to your word.’
‘Don’t worry. The press won’t get wind of anything that happened here.’
‘Your Buddha isn’t about to move in and turn my place upside down?’
‘There’ll be no CID investigation. Officially, nothing happened here.’
‘There were loads of witnesses.’
‘The officers involved can be relied on.’
‘My people too. Then I hope you have the Stahlhelmers under control. They saw quite a bit too.’
‘They won’t say anything.’
‘Good. Then we should start tidying up. It’s about time normal business was resumed.’
Rath nodded.
Marlow gave the Chinese man a sign. Liang connected the tank wagons, climbed back into the locomotive and the train moved off slowly, leaving as it had arrived: like a phantom.
35
The Nasse Dreieck – Wet Triangle – lived up to its name. The lounge was actually triangular, just like the whole building, squeezed as it was between two tenement houses, and it was so small that one was seldom dry for very long. The pub had its advantages: the prices were decent, and the modest dimensions meant there wasn’t room for fights. If push came to shove it was close enough to Rath’s flat for him to crawl home.
There were only four tables in the public bar. Rath didn’t mind. He usually sat at the counter anyway. Just like now in fact.
‘Schorsch, another glass of beer and a short for both of us!’
‘So, two beers, and two shorts.’
‘Yup.’
‘Nothing for me?’
‘Then make it three.’
Three or four weeks had gone by since the shoot-out at Ostbahnhof. It was mid-June, and the summer had the city firmly in its grip. In the Nasse Dreieck, it was pleasantly cool. The barman placed two beers and two schnapps on the counter.
Rath raised his schnapps glass. ‘Cheers, Detective! To your promotion!’
‘Fuck the promotion,’ Reinhold Gräf said dismissively. The whole station was talking about it, a detective at twenty-three! During a moratorium on promotions at that! The subject was clearly making him uncomfortable. ‘Let’s drink to life,’ he said.
They downed the strong schnapps. In a strange way the incident at Ostbahnhof had bound them together, even if they never spoke of it. To compensate they met up with one another and drank, mostly in the Nasse Dreieck.
‘Have you heard? Buddha wants to finally assign the Selenskij/Fallin file to the wet fish,’ Rath said.
Gräf drank his beer in silence. ‘Charly was grilling me again today,’ he said after a while.
‘Does she still want to know why you’re meeting up with me?’
Gräf nodded.
‘What did you tell her?’
Gräf grinned. ‘The same as always. That it’s your irresistible eyes.’
Rath laughed, even if he didn’t really feel like it when his thoughts turned to Charly. After the botched operation at Ostbahnhof, their relationship had grown noticeably cooler again. Too many things appeared strange to her. No wonder. She must have noticed the inconsistencies in the story the commissioner was pedalling about the operation. Meanwhile Gereon Rath was saying nothing, likewise Detective Gräf.
They often talked about Charly. It was their way of talking about what happened at Ostbahnhof, and about their silence. Zörgiebel knew how to buy silence. The newly appointed Detective Gräf felt uncomfortable in his own skin. Rath no less so – and he hadn’t even been promoted.
But then how many police officers felt comfortable in their own skin?
It was late by the time the Nasse Dreieck closed, and the bricks and asphalt still reflected the heat of the day. Rath just needed to go across Wassertorplatz to be home. He didn’t even feel that drunk, despite the bill in the Nasse Dreieck being rather sizeable again. When he stepped into the rear courtyard on Luisenufer, all the lights were already out. People went to bed early round here. There were no curtains on the windows of the caretaker’s flat. The Schäffners had moved out. The caretaker Hermann Schäffner, unable to work due to the injuries sustained to his hand, had been awarded a generous disability pension by the Prussian state. Meanwhile Lennartz, the new caretaker, was still renovating.
