Philip Kerr - Berlin Noir

‘I’m looking for a diamond necklace,’ I said. He sat down opposite me.

‘Well, Herr Gunther, I’m the acknowledged expert on diamonds.’ His head gave a proud little flourish, like a racehorse, and I caught a powerful whiff of cologne.

‘Is that so?’ I said.

‘I doubt if there’s a man in Berlin who knows as much about diamonds as I do.’ He thrust his stubbly chin at me, as if challenging me to contradict him. I almost threw up.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ I said. The coffee arrived and Jeschonnek glanced uncomfortably after his secretary as he minced out of the room.

‘I cannot get used to having a male secretary,’ he said. ‘Of course, I can see that the proper place for a woman is in the home, bringing up a family, but I have a great fondness for women, Herr Gunther.’

‘I’d take a partner before I’d take on a male secretary,’ I said. He smiled politely.

‘Now then, I believe you’re in the market for a diamond.’

‘Diamonds,’ I said, correcting him.

‘I see. On their own, or in a setting?’

‘Actually I’m trying to trace a particular piece which has been stolen from my client,’ I explained, and handed him my card. He stared at it impassively. ‘A necklace, to be precise. I have a photograph of it here.’ I produced another photograph and handed it to him.

‘Magnificent,’ he said.

‘Each one of the baguettes is one carat,’ I told him.

‘Quite,’ he said. ‘But I don’t see how I can help you, Herr Gunther.’

‘If the thief should try and offer it to you, I’d be grateful if you would contact me. Naturally, there is a substantial reward. I have been authorized by my client to offer twenty-five per cent of the insured value for recovery, no questions asked.’

‘May one know the name of your client, Herr Gunther?’

I hesitated. ‘Well,’ I said. ‘Ordinarily, a client’s identity is confidential. But I can see that you are the kind of man who is used to respecting confidentiality.’

‘You’re much too kind,’ he said.

‘The necklace is Indian, and belongs to a princess who is in Berlin for the Olympiad, as the guest of the Government.’ Jeschonnek began to frown as he listened to my lies. ‘I have not met the princess myself, but I am told that she is the most beautiful creature that Berlin has ever seen. She is staying at the Adlon Hotel, from where the necklace was stolen several nights ago.’

‘Stolen from an Indian princess, eh?’ he said, adding a smile to his features. ‘Well, I mean, why was there nothing in the newspapers about this? And why are the police not involved?’ I drank some of my coffee to prolong a dramatic pause.

‘The management of the Adlon is anxious to avoid a scandal,’ I said. ‘It’s not so very long ago that the Adlon suffered a series of unfortunate robberies committed there by the celebrated jewel-thief Faulhaber.’

‘Yes, I remember reading about that.’

‘It goes without question that the necklace is insured, but where the reputation of the Adlon is concerned, that is hardly the point, as I am sure you will understand.’

‘Well, sir, I shall certainly contact you immediately if I come across any information that may help you,’ said Jeschonnek, producing a gold watch from his pocket. He glanced at it deliberately. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must be getting on.’ He stood up and held out his pudgy hand.

‘Thanks for your time,’ I said. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

‘Perhaps you’d be kind enough to ask that boy to step in here when you go out,’ he said.

‘Sure.’

He gave me the Hitler Salute. ‘Heil Hitler,’ I repeated dumbly.

In the outside office the anaemic boy was reading a magazine. My eyes caught sight of the keys before I’d finished telling him that his boss required his presence: they were lying on the desk next to the telephone. He grunted and wrenched himself out of his seat. I hesitated at the door.

‘Oh, do you have a piece of paper?’

He pointed to the pad on which the keys were lying. ‘Help yourself,’ he said, and went into Jeschonnek’s office.

‘Thanks, I will.’ The key-ring was labelled ‘Office’. I took a cigarette case out of my pocket and opened it. In the smooth surface of the modelling clay I made three impressions – two sides and a vertical – of both keys. I suppose that you could say I did it on impulse. I ‘d hardly had time to digest everything that Jeschonnek had said; or rather, what he hadn’t said. But then I always carry that piece of clay, and it seems a shame not to use it when the opportunity presents itself. You would be surprised how often a key that I’ve had made with that mould comes in useful.

Outside, I found a public telephone and called the Adlon. I still remembered lots of good times at the Adlon, and lots of friends, too.

‘Hello, Hermine,’ I said, ‘it’s Bernie.’ Hermine was one of the girls on the Adlon’s switchboard.

‘You stranger,’ she said. ‘We haven’t seen you in ages.’

‘I’ve been a bit busy,’ I said.

‘So’s the Führer, but he still manages to get around and wave to us.’

‘Maybe I should buy myself an open-top Mercedes and a couple of outriders.’ I lit a cigarette. ‘I need a small favour, Hermine.’

‘Ask.’

‘If a man telephones and asks you or Benita if there is an Indian princess staying at the hotel, would you please say that there is? If he wants to speak to her, say she’s not taking any calls.’

‘That’s all?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does this princess have a name?’

‘You know the names of any Indian girls?’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘I saw a film the other week which had this Indian girl in it. Her name was Mushmi.’

‘Let it be Princess Mushmi then. And thanks, Hermine. I’ll be speaking to you soon.’

I went into the Pschorr Haus restaurant and ate a plate of bacon and broad beans, and drank a couple of beers. Either Jeschonnek knew nothing about diamonds, or he had something to hide. I’d told him that the necklace was Indian, when he ought to have recognized it as being by Carrier. Not only that, but he had failed to contradict me when I described the stones incorrectly as baguettes. Baguettes are square or oblong, with a straight edge; but Six’s necklace consisted of brilliants, which are round. And then there was the caratage; I’d said that each stone was a carat in weight, when they were obviously several times larger.

It wasn’t much to go on; and mistakes are made: it’s impossible always to pick up a stick by the right end; but all the same, I had this feeling in my socks that I was going to have to visit Jeschonnek again.

After leaving Pschorr Haus, I went into the Haus Vaterland, which as well as housing the cinema where I was to meet Bruno Stahlecker, is also home to an almost infinite number of bars and cafés. The place is popular with the tourists, but it’s too old-fashioned to suit my taste: the great ugly halls, the silver paint, the bars with their miniature rainstorms and moving trains; it all belongs to a quaint old European world of mechanical toys and music-hall, leotarded strong-men and trained canaries. The other thing that makes it unusual is that it’s the only bar in Germany that charges for admission. Stahlecker was less than happy about it.

‘I had to pay twice,’ he grumbled. ‘Once at the front door, and again to come in here.’

‘You should have flashed your Sipo pass,’ I said. ‘You’d have got in for nothing. That’s the whole point of having it, isn’t it?’ Stahlecker looked blankly at the screen. ‘Very funny,’ he said. ‘What is this shit, anyway?’

‘Still the newsreel,’ I told him. ‘So what did you find out?’