Goldstein, page 6
‘I’ve never known you so quiet, Kalli. Normally you’d talk the hind leg off a donkey. Or do you need a telephone to speak? You should have bought yourself one, then you wouldn’t have to traipse all the way to the S-Bahn station.’
The voice was now directly behind him, just as calm as it had been on the telephone but a thousand times more threatening.
‘Your friend here smashes my face in if I say anything. Is this a new police tactic?’
‘The police are experimenting with new tactics, but I’m not about to discuss them with you. I assume you know why I’m here.’
‘My telephone call just now?’ Kalli shook his head indignantly, as if in denial of this whole scene, this whole situation. ‘It was just a little fun.’
‘I didn’t hear you laughing.’
‘I’m not about to rat anyone out. I’ve never blabbed. Ask anyone in the neighbourhood.’
‘You’re joking, aren’t you? Should I be laughing?’
‘Those two brats. That was different. They were criminals. I’ve got no intention of talking, believe me. I’d be getting myself into all kinds of trouble.’
It took a moment for the voice to respond. ‘Do you know what?’ it said. ‘I actually believe you. You won’t go to the papers, I’m one hundred percent sure of that.’
Kalli felt almost euphoric. ‘No, I won’t. Absolutely not. I don’t even know anyone there.’
Stephan fell silent again, and Kalli felt as uneasy as he had at the start of the conversation. ‘What else do you want from me?’ he asked. ‘Untie me. I’m thirsty.’
‘One last thing, then you can have something to drink.’ By the sound of his voice, Stephan must have been back by the door. ‘You mentioned a witness. Give me a name, and you’ll be rid of me. My friend here too.’
Kalli gazed confused at the cop, who had got up from the sofa again and started looking at the photos on the wall.
‘You meant the other boy, didn’t you?’ the man at the door continued. ‘The one who escaped. Did he come here? Try to make some money? Is he the one who’s been spreading these tall tales?’
They didn’t know Alex was a girl. Stupid cops, so full of their own importance! Kalli would’ve liked nothing more than to laugh out loud, but was prevented by the feeling of helplessness growing inside of him. Why didn’t they untie him? It wasn’t as if he was going to scarper!
‘The other boy?’ he said, shrugging his shoulders – so far as he could with his hands tied. ‘No, he hasn’t been here. He probably knows not to show his face.’
‘Why is it I don’t believe you?’ Though Kalli couldn’t see him, he was certain that Stephan was shaking his head. ‘Not that it matters. Just tell me where I can find the boy. That’s all I need to know.’
‘No idea. I don’t know the brats myself. They only sold me stuff that one time. It’s not as if they left a forwarding address.’
The man behind him said nothing more. The cop, however, ceased looking at the photo and moved towards the record player, dropping the tone arm on the record so that it made a hideous sound as it jumped up and down, before locating the groove. The bastard! Destroying his records! And so damn loud! Finally the cop found the volume control. Only, he didn’t turn it down, as Kalli had expected, but up, until it couldn’t go any higher. Adieu, mein kleiner Gardeoffizier, adieu, adieu . . . Kalli had never heard Richard Tauber sing so loud. The cop drew nearer and grinned.
8
With its tooting cars and rumbling buses, the cacophony on Stresemannstrasse was a thousand times preferable than the soporific murmur in the hotel hall. Behind the trees on Askanischer Platz the brick colossus of Anhalter Bahnhof rose into the grey-blue sky.
Rath crossed over, keeping the two stairways that led onto the street in view. One of them was right outside the hotel, the second by the southeast corner of the station. They weren’t steps down to the U-Bahn station, but exits from the pedestrian tunnel, which connected the Excelsior with Anhalter Bahnhof. The tunnel was the hotel’s pride and joy. No brochure omitted it, and Goldstein had discovered it on his very first day . . . well, good for him, but luckily Rath had stationed Gräf there.
He was wondering where Goldstein might have got to, when he emerged from the ground on Möckernstrasse, right by the station. The Yank was wearing the same outfit as before, a light, sand-coloured suit, matching hat and pale trenchcoat. Having reached the top of the stairs, he came to a halt and looked around. Rath made no attempt to conceal himself. If Goldstein saw him he would perhaps give up and return to the hotel.
The American was already making for the taxi stand outside the station when Gräf emerged, a little out of breath, searching for his target. Rath intercepted him.
‘Looks like our man’s about to take a taxi,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay on him, you go back to the hotel. Plisch and Plum will take over in just under an hour.’
Gräf nodded and made an about-turn.
When Rath turned to face the taxi stand, Goldstein was gone. At the same moment, a premium-class taxi detached itself from the line and rolled towards Stresemannstrasse, where a number of cabs were filtering into the moving traffic. Rath made out a sand-coloured hat in the backseat; indeed, thought for a moment that Goldstein had briefly raised his hand, as if waving.
He made a note of the taxi number and sprinted for his car, which was parked by the station. By the time he’d started it, Goldstein’s taxi was turning onto Stresemannstrasse, going towards Potsdamer Platz. Rath overtook an Opel looking for a parking spot and followed the taxi. He had a vehicle in his sights without quite knowing if it was Goldstein’s taxi or not and, metre by metre, was drawing nearer. At Potsdamer Platz they stopped at a red light. Rath was so close he could read the number: 7685.
The light jumped to green, and on they went down Bellevuestrasse, across Kemperplatz and into Tiergartenstrasse. Rath stayed with them until, just as he decided that the American must be heading for the west, the taxi turned right, without indicating, towards the Grosse Stern. Goldstein had seen him.
They tried to lose him at the roundabout, first going all the way round several times, only to turn suddenly onto Charlottenburger Allee. Rath stayed with them, and caught them again by the Brandenburger Tor. How much was Goldstein paying the driver, he wondered. Refusing to be shaken off, he followed the crazed taxi further east, both drivers flouting every traffic regulation under the sun.
After three-quarters of an hour and an odyssey through Weissensee and Pankow, the wild chase was suddenly over. Having just turned onto a side street in deepest Wedding, the taxi came to a halt so abruptly on the kerbstone that Rath almost kept driving. He parked on the other side of the road, keeping the taxi in view. The meter must have clocked up an astronomical sum. Goldstein got out, and looked around, as if checking he was in the right place, before putting on his hat and marching purposefully towards a pub on the corner. He opened the door and disappeared inside. The taxi stayed where it was, engine running.
Rath got out and crossed the street, keeping the pub door in view, and held his badge against the taxi window. The driver wound down the window.
‘Yes, Inspector?’
‘Did your passenger say how long you had to wait?’
‘He did.’
‘So, when’s he coming back?’
The man shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘Did he or didn’t he tell you how long you had to wait?’
‘Take it easy, man. He said I should wait until the meter shows twenty.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘Beats me. Only thing I know is it’s at twelve fifty. He’s already paid, so here I am waiting, and that’s that.’ Rath slammed the roof in rage and turned away.
The name of the pub hardly inspired confidence: Rote Laterne. The Red Lantern. A fug of beer met him as he entered the half-darkness, making out a lounge that stretched into infinity, a dark tunnel in which the bar shone like a promise. A few male guests sat in silence. One of them was barely capable of keeping himself upright, but even he turned his head to look. Rath couldn’t see the Yank anywhere. The woman behind the bar continued to tap beer without looking up.
‘A man must have come through this way,’ he said. It wasn’t a good idea to show his badge here. He turned to the barmaid. ‘Did a man come through here?’
The woman, who seemed a little fragile, gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. ‘A while ago.’ She gestured towards the back. ‘Asked for the toilets.’
The narrow, dark corridor reeked of piss. Rath held his breath and flung open the toilet door, not expecting to find Goldstein by the urinal. He quickly made sure the cubicle was also empty and continued on his way to the courtyard. No trace. He hurried through a large archway leading onto Reinickendorfer Strasse, a wide street with lots of pedestrians, and spotted him there. The light-coloured hat was too elegant for a neighbourhood like this, where most people wore plain caps. Goldstein was making for Nettelbeckplatz, crossing the carriageway just before the railway bridge. For a moment, Rath thought he was headed for the S-Bahn station, but he turned into Lindower Strasse, which looked just as run-down as the street where the taxi was waiting. Had he taken a wrong turn?
Yet Goldstein didn’t seem like a lost tourist. He strode purposefully towards Müllerstrasse and descended the steps to the U-Bahn. Rath had to increase his pace to keep up, and saw him again on the platform, just as a train was approaching.
Goldstein grinned without, however, making any attempt to climb aboard. Rath stayed close to a door, ready to jump in if he had to. The stationmaster’s ‘Keep back!’ came through the loudspeakers and had the effect of a starting pistol on Goldstein. He dived into the train, and Rath did likewise, just making it into third-class as the train started and the doors engaged.
‘Are you daft or something?’ grumbled an ill-tempered worker, whose foot Rath had trampled. ‘Pay attention, can’t you?’
‘Sorry,’ Rath mumbled. The next station was Schwartzkopffstrasse; they were heading south. Rath poked his head out of the door, but Goldstein didn’t get off. There was no other way of keeping the Yank in view. He was sitting in second-class and there was no connecting door. He still hadn’t got off when the ‘Keep back’ sounded. Only at the last moment did Rath pull his head in.
‘You’re a strange one,’ the worker said. ‘Don’t know whether you’re coming or going.’
The man got out at Stettiner Bahnhof, leaving Rath in peace. The rest of the passengers looked at him quizzically when, with each new station, he moved to the door, blocking the path of those boarding and alighting and earning himself a few shoves. Goldstein didn’t dismount until Kochstrasse.
Goldstein waited for him at the foot of the steps. ‘Well, Inspector,’ he said. ‘This Berlin of yours is a lovely city.’
They climbed the stairs, gangster and police inspector together.
‘If you want a guided tour,’ Rath said, ‘I’d recommend one of Käse’s travel buses. You’ll see more for less money.’
‘I’ll remember that. Will you be joining me?’
Rath gave a sour smile.
They reached Friedrichstrasse. Dusk was falling and the first shops had switched on their neon signs.
‘Will you escort me back to the hotel?’ Goldstein asked. ‘It shouldn’t be too far from here, the taxi driver said.’
‘I’ll do anything I can to make your stay in our city as unpleasant as possible.’
Goldstein shook his head. ‘Is that the famous Berlin hospitality?’
‘We don’t like your sort here. This isn’t Chicago.’
‘So I’m a bogeyman and this is a city full of angels. Is that it?’
‘All I want is for you not to get away. As long as I manage that, I’m happy.’
At Wilhelmstrasse, Goldstein stopped at the corner outside the Prinz-Albrecht-Palais. He tapped a Camel out of the carton and lit it before replying. ‘Who says I’m trying to get away, Officer?’
9
The sun disappeared behind the roofs and sent a final glimmer over the horizon. How peaceful the city seemed from here, how spectacular the view. The palace dome, the cathedral and the tower of City Hall seemed within touching distance, though not quite as close as the dark roofs and brick walls of the women’s prison. To the right, the Friedrichshain treetops towered over the roof ridges and swayed gently in the breeze.
Alex sat next to the skylight, smoking a Manoli, drawing so deep it was as if she wanted to absorb everything; to keep all the fumes inside. She was smoking to quell her anger, but it wasn’t working.
They had shared the first cigarette from that tin only two days before, but already it seemed like an image from another life: Benny standing before her smiling, so uncertain and so in love. His shy overtures, the failed kiss . . . And she had turned him down. Damn it!
Every evening they spent in Flat B they would sit here on the roof and share a cigarette before going to bed. They had to smoke it outside as cold cigarette smoke could give them away.
Flat B was really nothing more than an abandoned hovel in a Büschingstrasse attic, located in a rear building in which the majority of flats stood deserted. A perfect hideaway, perhaps a little too warm on hot days, but otherwise ideal. Benny had found it, God knows how, but he’d always had a good nose for a bolt-hole, and only very seldom in the last few months had they actually been forced to sleep outside. Whenever they had, there’d always been something to smoke, even if it was rolled together from the stubs of other cigarettes.
The last of the daylight shone over the roofs in the west. In the courtyard below it was already dark. Most people were in their beds. Alex flicked away the cigarette butt and watched it descend like a drunken firefly. Its embers corkscrewed into the night.
Yes, they had been damn lucky these last few weeks, but somehow she had sensed that fate would make them pay. With so much luck, something was bound to go wrong and, indeed, something had. Benny had died. It was as if all their luck was merely borrowed, and the repayments were far too high.
Kalli, that rat, had fobbed her off with a twenty, a measly twenty! Well, the skinflint would be sorry. Her mind was made up. It had to be tonight. In an hour’s time it would be dark enough and she could get on the tram and head back out. Without cigarettes, there was no reason to sit on the roof any longer.
Their alarm system was a few tins on a washing line that Benny had connected to the door at the foot of the attic stairs. She was about to climb back through the window when there was a high-pitched, hollow clatter and footsteps on the stairs. Shit! Who was trying to get into the attic at this hour? She pulled her legs back and moved away from the window opening. Not a moment too soon. The door to the attic opened, and she heard a man’s voice, so loud it was as if he was standing right next to her.
‘What is it this time, Frau Karsunke? Everything here’s dark.’
‘Little brat, coming up here like that. She doesn’t even live in the building.’
Alex scarcely dared breathe. The attic’s forty-watt bulbs came on and cast a yellowy shimmer on the roof tiles.
‘Are you sure? Doesn’t look like there’s anyone here to me.’
‘I saw her. Not for the first time either. Something’s not right.’
Alex had never heard the caretaker say a word, but knew it was him; she could picture his red face. He began to shout: ‘Hello? Is there anyone there?’
‘She must be hiding. You need to take a look-see, Herr Ebers.’
The abandoned hovel with the number fourteen was situated right at the end of the corridor. During the day, they would stand the mattresses against the wall, pack their sleeping bags away, and pile all their junk in front so that it looked like the last tenant hadn’t cleared the flat when they left. One by one Alex heard the doors creak open.
‘Guard the stairs, Frau Karsunke, so that no one can get away.’
The thought of escaping down the stairs past the two of them disappeared no sooner than it arrived. She stood stock-still on the roof, right next to the dormer window. Just stay calm. In half an hour they’d be asleep in their beds, and she could exit the building.
A few days ago she had asked Benny if it wasn’t time to look for a new hideout. He had played it down, saying that this one still had a few days in it. Soon they’d rent a proper flat with the KaDeWe money Kalli had promised. She had let herself be convinced, but still had a funny feeling about Flat B. If only she had listened to her instincts.
‘I told you, there’s no one here,’ the caretaker said. ‘Perhaps she really is with the Grünbergs, like she said.’
‘They’re all asleep. She went upstairs two hours ago and never came back.’
‘There’s no one here, anyway.’
‘Then maybe she’s in one of the empty flats.’
‘They’re all locked. Listen, Frau Karsunke. You got me out of bed. I’ve come up to take a look, but that’s it now. There’s nothing here.’
‘What about the window?’
‘What about it?’
‘The skylight. It’s ajar.’
‘Someone’ll have opened it while hanging the washing.’
Alex heard footsteps approaching. Hopefully he wouldn’t come onto the roof. She stood rigid. If he wanted to see her, he’d have to climb out. She heard the window hinge creaking but, from the sound of the bolt, it was being closed rather than opened. The idiot caretaker had locked her out and she could scarcely hear their voices.
A few minutes later the light in the attic went off. They were gone. She poked her head around the corner. Darkness everywhere. Perhaps it was a trap? Perhaps the caretaker was still there, waiting for her to show herself. Whatever, the main thing was that she had no idea how to get down.
In the meantime, what light remained had been swallowed by the night.
