Goldstein, page 9
At the crack in the door appeared a dishevelled, dark-haired creature, her face crumpled with sleep. ‘Morning, Alex. Do you have a cig for me?’
Alex let go of the knife and sank back. ‘Vicky! You gave me a real fright creeping in here like that. I thought you were Kralle, or some other arsehole.’
‘I heard something and thought I’d take a look. I didn’t see you last night with the others.’ Vicky came towards her. She had a pretty face under her unkempt locks, and big eyes that made it seem as if she were permanently gawping at something, even when she was as sleepy as she was now.
‘I didn’t get here until the middle of the night,’ Alex said. ‘Who’s all here?’
‘Oh, Fanny, Kotze, Felix and a few others. Not many. Most of them are gone already. Where’s Benny?’
Alex was speechless. She had assumed the whole world must know about Benny’s death, at the very least her friends – if you could call the people in Roederstrasse friends. But, of course, Vicky didn’t know. How could she? Alex hadn’t told anyone and, since Benny’s death, hadn’t spoken to a soul except Kalli. It was perfectly natural that Vicky was asking after him. Alex had always appeared with him in tow, every goddamn day these last few months.
‘Didn’t you hear? The thing in KaDeWe? Benny’s dead.’
‘That was you?’ The news took all the strength from Vicky’s legs. Her knees gave way, and she slid down the wall beside Alex. ‘Fuck,’ she said. ‘Benny of all people. He was always so careful.’ She slammed her fist against the wall and then again a second time, and started to cry softly, hardly making a sound.
Alex took the quivering girl in her arms. How could she comfort her? By saying what she scarcely believed herself? That the cops had killed Benny as if he were a rat, a parasite, vermin. She could imagine there were any number of people, and not just cops, who would be only too glad to treat her and Benny and Vicky the same way. Just do away with the dirty little brats who were ruining Berlin’s streets with their begging and stealing, who shot off their mouths when a respectable citizen told them they should be at work instead of loitering around town.
If only they knew what real life was like. There were far too many people in this city, and far too few jobs. More than enough to eat, but far too little money to pay for it. People had to live somehow. The idea of going on the game, as Vicky and others she knew had sometimes done, repelled her. That someone like Kralle could do whatever he wanted with her body, for money, made her furious. The only thing a guy like him would see was her knife. You could earn your money that way too, Alex had discovered, thinking of the fatso at the Christmas market whose trousers she had pierced before robbing his purse. She hadn’t known then that the money would be her start-up capital for a life on the streets.
Vicky stopped sobbing, and wiped the tears away with her sleeve. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But Benny . . . I liked him, you know?’
‘Of course. I liked him too.’
‘It was you in KaDeWe!’ Vicky’s eyes grew even larger. ‘But then the cops are looking for you. You know that, right?’
‘They’re looking for a boy.’
‘You’re injured as well,’ Vicky said, pointing towards Alex’s bandaged wrist.
‘A memento, nothing serious. Benny bound it.’
Vicky didn’t ask any more questions. She seemed to recognise the rag from Benny’s shirt. ‘I could really use one now,’ she said.
‘One what?’
‘A cig. Do you have a cig?’
Alex fetched the Manoli tin from her jacket. There was only one left.
Vicky whistled through her teeth. ‘Nice,’ she said. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘Benny.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know!’ Vicky looked horrified. ‘I don’t want it.’
‘They need to be smoked. I don’t want to look at them anymore.’ Alex turned the tin on its head, and let the last Manoli drop out. ‘Come on, we’ll share it,’ she said. Share it like she always did with Benny. A fitting end for the last cigarette he had ever stolen.
Vicky produced a carton of matches and lit the cigarette for her. Alex took two drags and passed it on. The two girls smoked in silence. Gradually, Alex started feeling better, less alone. The desolation that had threatened to overwhelm her on waking had vanished.
‘When’s he being buried?’ Vicky asked.
Alex hadn’t thought about that. Benny was dead. His corpse was lying somewhere, most likely a police station, and at some point would need to be buried. ‘How should I know when he’s going to be buried? I can’t exactly stroll into the police station and ask. They probably don’t know his name. The paper didn’t even get his age right.’
‘Will they bury him with no name?’
Alex shrugged her shoulders. ‘They’ll get hold of it somehow. They’re cops.’
‘The cops I know are pretty fucking stupid. Besides, they don’t give a shit if they have to bury one of us without a name or a gravestone.’
‘You mean, Benny won’t even get a proper grave?’
‘What do I know, but wouldn’t it be better if they knew his name?’
‘Wouldn’t that be like . . . grassing?’
Vicky suddenly seemed very certain. ‘Someone has to tell the cops who he is. As a favour. It’s the last time we’ll be able to help him.’
‘I don’t know . . . I can’t . . .’
‘If you give me ten pfennigs for the telephone booth, I’ll do it. I’ll call the cops and tell them who Benny is. So that he at least gets a proper grave with his name on it.’
Alex felt tears welling in her eyes and had to pull herself together to continue. ‘I don’t even know his surname,’ she said.
Vicky comforted her. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll find out. I think he and Kotze were in the same home.’
17
It was impressive, the desk in the corridor, more imposing even than that of Police Commissioner Grzesinski. A real whopper. Rath had noticed it yesterday by the lifts on his way to Goldstein’s room. He spread his things across its spacious, intarsia-decorated top. Alongside his cigarette case – this time he had come prepared with a dozen Overstolz – lay two well-thumbed newspapers, a cup of coffee, a glass of water and a half-full ashtray.
After yesterday, he had changed tactics. Weiss, to whom he had reported that morning, wasn’t prepared to assign more men, despite what had happened. Thus, a new plan was required.
If it no longer mattered whether they were seen or not, there was no reason why they couldn’t station themselves outside their target’s door, and the desk made a perfect observation post. The service might not be quite as good as in the lobby – the ashtrays weren’t emptied every three minutes – but Rath had managed to order a coffee along with copies of Tageblatt and the Vossische Zeitung, and he felt perfectly content. Especially since he could take turns with Gräf, and no longer had to spend the whole day in the same place.
The lift door opened with a soft pling. An elegant lady, who had linked arms with a smallish man, glanced at his desk curiously as she passed. Rath gazed after her; any distraction was welcome, especially one with such a nice rear end. The sound of someone clearing his throat made him spin around. Next to him stood the hotel detective, who must also have emerged from the lift.
‘Good morning,’ Rath said, and stood up.
Grunert gave a sour smile and shook his hand. ‘Our conversation yesterday was interrupted,’ he said. ‘I looked for you in the lobby, but your colleagues said you were up here.’
Rath nodded. ‘It’s the best view of room 301.’
‘If not exactly inconspicuous.’
‘It isn’t about being inconspicuous, it’s about being effective.’
Grunert smiled his pickled smile. ‘I would be most grateful if you finally explained why you are here.’
‘You’re aware that any information I do give must remain between us, and is subject to the utmost discretion?’
Grunert nodded.
‘Good. The matter is quite simple: Abraham Goldstein, your esteemed guest, is strongly suspected of being a member of an American criminal cartel, and for this reason has been placed under surveillance by the Prussian Police. We don’t want Berlin turning into Chicago, do we?’
Rath had hoped to lighten the mood a little with his final remark, but Grunert continued to look as though he had a bad stomach ulcer. Perhaps he did, too.
‘And what is this . . . strong suspicion based on?’
‘You’ll understand that I can’t tell you that. It’s confidential CID material.’
‘I just hope your suspicions aren’t based purely on the fact that Mister Goldstein is of Mosaic faith.’
‘Rest assured,’ Rath said. ‘The order to place Mister Goldstein under surveillance comes from Deputy Commissioner Weiss himself.’
Grunert gave a satisfied nod. Accusing Bernhard Weiss of anti-Semitism would be laughable.
They took such things seriously in the Excelsior. The hotel was thought to have once ejected Adolf Hitler out of consideration for its Jewish guests who, it was said, could not be expected to share the same roof as such a crude anti-Semite.
‘Inspector, we have no objection to your monitoring Mister Goldstein, although I doubt your suspicions are warranted. Nevertheless, while I fully understand the need for this operation, I must also ask for your discretion . . .’
‘Of course.’
‘ . . . and viewed in such light, your surveillance post is a little too conspicuous. At least for the remainder of our paying guests, who must be asking themselves why you need to spend the entire day seated at this desk.’
‘We’ll have to give them a story then. I certainly don’t intend on leaving my post for the sake of a few guests.’
‘A story,’ said Grunert. ‘Exactly what I was going to suggest. I’ll have a few books brought to you from the library, along with a pen and paper. You’ll be an author staying at our hotel, drawing inspiration from his surroundings . . .’
‘An author?’ Rath looked sceptical. ‘Who’s going to believe that?’
‘I’ll put the rumour about in the lobby, and soon the whole hotel will know. Old Teubner can be relied on there.’
‘I don’t know the first thing about writing. I hunt criminals!’
‘Then you’re a crime writer. That fits. And your new novel is set in our hotel.’
When Reinhold Gräf exited the lift half an hour later, accompanied by a black dog wagging its tail, he was a little taken aback by the pile of books and notepad.
‘Are you keeping a record of everyone who emerges from the lift, or just copying the wallpaper pattern?’
‘Don’t you see? I’m a famous author, setting down his latest work. Incognito, naturally.’
Gräf glanced over Rath’s shoulder. ‘Looks more like wall-paper to me.’
The only things on the page were stick men and abstract patterns.
‘I’m seeking inspiration,’ said Rath. ‘How did it go outside?’
‘Kirie was a good girl and did a wee-wee, if that’s what you mean. And Goldstein hasn’t tried to climb down the façade, though I did see him at the window, I think. I’m not sure he recognised me though. What about you? Has our friend put in an appearance?’
Rath shook his head. ‘So far just the hotel detective. This was his brainwave. But Goldstein must be awake; he let in the chambermaid.’
‘Has he had breakfast?’
‘He’s had the chambermaid. Nothing’s been brought to his room otherwise.’
As if on cue, the door to room 301 opened and the chambermaid emerged, throwing the two officers a brief glance and vanishing into the corridor. No sooner had she disappeared than the lift doors parted and the room service waiter rolled out a trolley, which he then wheeled into room 301.
‘Maybe he really did have the chambermaid for breakfast,’ Gräf whispered.
Rath shrugged. ‘He’s certainly enjoying himself.’ He looked at Gräf. ‘You shouldn’t stand here the whole time. People will think you’re my secretary. Leave the dog here and go and stretch your legs. Keep the hotel front in view. The last thing we need is for Goldstein to start climbing hand-over-hand across the balconies.’
Gräf nodded. ‘When should I relieve you?’
‘Let’s say at one. I’ll need to go walkies with Kirie then anyway.’
The detective had been gone perhaps quarter of an hour when Abraham Goldstein appeared in the doorframe of room 301 and carefully locked up. He hesitated when he saw Rath sitting at the desk, then burst out laughing.
‘Good morning, Detective, have you transferred offices?’
‘To be close to you,’ Rath said, snapping shut his notepad of doodles. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Very well, thank you.’ Goldstein pressed the button for the lift. ‘Looks like it’s going to be a nice day. Shall we then? I say we, since I assume you’ll be joining me.’
Rath grabbed the dog lead.
‘Police dog?’ Goldstein asked, gesturing towards Kirie.
The lift door opened and both men stepped in.
‘More dangerous than she looks,’ Rath said. ‘Trained to go for New Yorkers.’
‘Didn’t I say I was from Brooklyn?’
‘The dog doesn’t care.’
A lady inside looked the pair up and down; the lift boy gazed stoically into the distance.
‘What’s the latest on your car?’ Goldstein asked. ‘Repaired already?’
That hit home. Rath swallowed his rage and fell silent. Don’t let the arsehole provoke you.
‘Ground floor,’ said the boy and opened the door for the woman passenger. Rath and Goldstein continued down to the basement, where Goldstein made a beeline for the tunnel.
‘What have you got against daylight?’ Rath asked.
‘I prefer the underworld.’
Kirie, however, was not so keen, and Rath had to pull on her lead to keep up. Only when they began climbing the stairs, back up towards the daylight, did her pace quicken.
Goldstein headed for the taxi stand.
‘I hope you won’t mind if I don’t invite you to travel with me,’ Goldstein said as he waved over the first taxi from the rank. ‘That would be breaking the rules.’
Rath took the second taxi, the driver reluctantly interrupting his reading of the paper.
‘Where to, then?’ he asked, as Rath manoeuvred the dog onto the back seat with some difficulty. Kirie had never willingly got into a car yet.
‘Follow that taxi,’ Rath said.
‘Seriously?’ The driver gazed disbelievingly into the rear mirror.
‘Do I look like I’m kidding?’ Rath showed his identification.
‘Alright, alright.’
At the same moment, Goldstein’s taxi moved from the verge onto the carriageway, and Rath’s driver accelerated. The inspector looked to the side, towards the pavement, where a baggage handler was struggling with several large items. At the last second he saw a familiar-looking coat. Shit! The Yank! Goldstein had either never got in or had got out straightaway! At any rate, he had sent the taxi on its way without a passenger.
‘Stop,’ he said.
‘Pardon me?’
‘Stop, damn it!’
‘After three metres? I thought I was supposed to tail my colleague?’
‘You did. Now stop the car!’
It took half an eternity for the taxi driver to pull over and accept a mark as payment – ‘Now I have to start again from the back! You won’t be getting a receipt!’ – before Rath and Kirie could finally get out. There was no sign of Goldstein. He must have disappeared inside the station.
Rath cursed, and dragged Kirie into the great entrance hall of Anhalter Bahnhof. Countless heads, countless hats. He gazed around and, at last, caught sight of a light-coloured fedora in the throng. He breathed a sigh of relief; Goldstein was in the queue at the ticket counter. Before he could disappear again Rath fetched up beside him.
‘You really aren’t so easy to shake off,’ Goldstein said.
‘I did warn you.’ Rath was trying hard to hide the fact that he was gasping for breath.
‘Is that why you’ve got the dog? So that it picks up my scent if I manage to give you the slip?’
‘You didn’t give me the slip.’
‘Do you know something? You’re starting to get on my nerves.’
‘Then I’m doing my job.’
‘I can think of better things to do than traipse around this city with you in tow. I’d rather stay here.’
‘You do that.’
Goldstein exited the queue and made for the main entrance. A short time later, they were back on Askanischer Platz. Gräf, who was sitting on a bench under the trees, spotted them and adopted a quizzical expression. Rath gave a discreet hand signal to let him know the situation was under control.
‘Your colleague?’ Goldstein asked. ‘I noticed him yesterday.’
‘Then I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you.’
Goldstein strolled across the square, taking a look at the neighbourhood. Rath followed. The workers were busy again at Europahaus, having erected a giant scaffolding around the entrance to the multi-storey building. Over the next few days they would install one of the largest neon signs in the city. Curious passersby kept stopping to look upwards, where workers were scrambling about on the scaffolding and screwing in the neon strips. Goldstein gazed open-mouthed towards the sky.
‘I must say, the building sites in Manhattan are more imposing. You’d need a good head for heights to work on those.’
‘These will do me just fine,’ Rath said, annoyed at himself. Why was he so talkative around the Yank? Especially when no detail escaped the man. He registered his surroundings with razor-like precision, and paid heed to even the most trivial detail.
‘Vertigo?’ Goldstein asked, quick as a flash, and Rath said nothing more, didn’t even look up at the workers. When would Weiss take him off this damn assignment? When would he get to investigate a real murder again?
‘Fancy a cup of coffee?’ Goldstein asked. ‘It’s on me.’
‘No, thank you. I can’t possibly accept.’
