Philip Kerr - Berlin Noir

I looked at the man in the picture. Like many German men, he wore his fair hair cropped relentlessly close to the skull, except for an absurd kiss-curl decorating his broad forehead. The face, crumpled in many places like an old cigarette-packet, wore a waxed moustache, and the general effect was of the cliché German Junker to be found in the pages of a back number of Jugend .

‘Also, he has a tattoo,’ added Goering. ‘On his right arm. An imperial eagle.’

‘Very patriotic,’ I said. I put the photograph in my pocket, and asked for a cigarette. One of Goering’s aides offered me one from the great silver box, and lit it with his own lighter. ‘I believe that the police are working on the idea that his disappearance might have something to do with his being a homosexual.’ I said nothing about the information that Neumann had given me concerning the German Strength ring having murdered a nameless aristocrat. Until I could check his story, there was no point in throwing away what might turn out to be a good card.

‘That is indeed a possibility.’ Goering’s admission sounded uncomfortable. ‘It’s true, his homosexuality led him to some dangerous places and, on one occasion, it even brought him to the attention of the police. However, I was able to see that the charge was dropped. Gerhard was not deterred by what should have been a salutary experience. There was even a relationship with a prominent bureaucrat to contend with. Foolishly, I allowed it to continue in the hope that it would force Gerhard to become more discreet.’

I took this information with several pinches of salt. I thought it much more likely that Goering had allowed the relationship to continue in order that he might compromise Funk – a lesser political rival – with the aim of putting him into his back pocket. That is, if he wasn’t there already.

‘Did Von Greis have any other boyfriends?’

Goering shrugged and looked at Rienacker, who stirred, and said: ‘There was nobody in particular, as far as we know. But it’s difficult to say for sure. Most of the warm boys have been driven underground by the Emergency Powers. And most of the old queer clubs like the Eldorado have been closed. All the same, Herr Von Greis still managed to pursue a number of casual liaisons.’

‘There is one possibility,’ I said. ‘That on a nocturnal visit to some out of the way corner of the city for sex, the gentleman was picked up by the local Kripo, beaten up and tossed into a K Z. You might not hear about it for several weeks.’ The irony of the situation was not lost on me: that I should be discussing the disappearance of the servant of the man who was himself the architect of so many other disappearances. I wondered if he could see it too. ‘Frankly, sir, one to two weeks is not a long time to be missing in Berlin these days.’

‘Inquiries in that direction are already being made,’ said Goering. ‘But you are right to mention it. Apart from that,it’s up to you now. From what inquiries Rienacker has made about you, missing persons would seem to be your speciality. My aide here will provide you with money, and anything else you may require. Is there anything else?’

I thought for a moment. ‘I’d like to put a tap on a telephone.’

I knew that the Forschungsamt, the Directorate of Scientific Research, which took care of wire-taps, was subordinate to Goering. Housed in the old Air Ministry building, it was said that even Himmler had to obtain Goering’s permission to put a wire-tap on someone, and I strongly suspected that it was through this particular facility that Goering continued to add to the ‘reservoir of intelligence’ that Diels had left to his erstwhile master.

Goering smiled. ‘You are well-informed. As you wish.’ He turned and spoke to his aide. ‘See to it. It is to be given priority. And make sure that Herr Gunther is given a daily transcript.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the man. I wrote out a couple of numbers on a piece of paper and handed it to him. Then Goering stood up.

‘This is your most important case,’ he said, putting his hand lightly on my shoulder. He walked me to the door. Rienacker followed at a short distance. ‘And if you are successful, you will not find me wanting in generosity.’

And if I wasn’t successful? For the moment, I preferred to forget that possibility.

It was nearly light by the time I got back to my apartment. The ‘painting-out’ squad was hard at work on the streets, obliterating the nocturnal daubings of the K P D – ‘Red Front will Win’ and ‘Long Live Thaelman and Torgler’ – before the city awoke to the new day.

I had been asleep for no more than a couple of hours when the sound of sirens and whistles wrenched me violently from my quiet slumbers. It was an air-raid practice.

I buried my head under the pillow and tried to ignore the area warden hammering on my door; but I knew that I would only have to account for my absence later on, and that failure to provide a verifiable explanation would result in a fine.

Thirty minutes later, when the whistles had blown and the sirens cranked to sound the all-clear, there seemed little point in going back to bed. So I bought an extra litre off the Bolle milkman and cooked myself an enormous omelette.

Inge arrived at my office at just after nine. Without much ceremony she sat down on the other side of my desk and watched me finish making some case notes.

‘Did you see your friend?’ I asked her after a moment.

‘We went to the theatre.’

‘Yes? What did you see?’ I found that I wanted to know everything, including details that had no bearing on the man’s possible knowledge of Paul Pfarr.

‘ The Base Wallah . It was rather weak, but Otto seemed to enjoy it. He Insisted on paying for the tickets, so I didn’t need the petty cash.’

‘Then what did you do?’

‘We went to Baarz’s beer restaurant. I hated it. A real Nazi place. Everyone stood and saluted the radio when it played the Horst Wessel Song and Deutschland Über Alles . I had to do it too, and I hate to salute. It makes me feel like I’m hailing a taxi. Otto drank rather a lot and became very talkative. I drank quite a lot myself actually – I feel a bit rough this morning.’ She lit a cigarette. ‘Anyway, Otto was vaguely acquainted with Pfarr. He says that Pfarr was about as popular as a ferret in a gumboot at the D A F, and it’s not difficult to see why. Pfarr was investigating corruption and fraud in the Labour Union. As a result of his investigations, two treasurers of the Transport Workers Union were dismissed and sent to K Zs, one after the other; the chairman of the Koch Strasse shop-committee of Ullstein’s, the big printing works, was found guilty of stealing funds and executed; Rolf Togotzes, the cashier of the Metal Workers Union, was sent to Dachau; and a lot more. If ever a man had enemies, it was Paul Pfarr. Apparently there were lots of smiling faces around the department when it became known that Pfarr was dead.’

‘Any idea what he was investigating at the time of his death?’ ‘No. Apparently he played things very close to his chest. He liked to work through informers, amassing evidence until he was ready to make formal charges.’

‘Did he have any colleagues there?’

‘Just a stenographer, a girl by the name of Marlene Sahm. Otto, my friend, if you can call him that, took quite a shine to her, and asked her out a couple of times. Nothing much came of it. That’s the story of his life, I’m afraid. But he remembered her address though.’ Inge opened her handbag and consulted a small notebook. ‘Nollendorfstrasse, Number 23. She’ll probably know what he had been getting up to.’

‘He sounds like a bit of a ladies’ man, your friend Otto.’