Philip Kerr - Berlin Noir

Inge laughed. ‘That’s what he said about Pfarr. He was pretty sure that Pfarr was cheating on his wife, and that he had a mistress. He saw him with a woman on several occasions at the same nightclub. He said that Pfarr seemed embarrassed at being discovered. Otto said she was quite a beauty, if a bit flashy. He thought her name was Vera, or Eva, or something like that.’

‘Did he tell the police that?’

‘No. He says that they never asked. On the whole he’d rather not get involved with the Gestapo unless he has to.’

‘You mean that he hasn’t even been questioned?’

‘Apparently not.’

I shook my head. ‘I wonder what they’re playing at.’ I thought for a minute, and then added, ‘Thanks for doing that, by the way. I hope it wasn’t too much of a nuisance.’

She shook her head. ‘How about you? You look tired.’

‘I was working late. And I didn’t sleep all that well. Then this morning there was a damned air-raid practice.’ I tried to massage some life into the top of my head. I didn’t tell her about Goering. There was no need for her to know more than she had to. It was safer for her that way.

That morning she was wearing a dress of dark-green cotton with a fluted collar and cavalier cuffs of stiffened white lace. For a brief moment I fed myself on the fantasy that had me lifting her dress up and familiarizing myself with the curve of her buttocks and the depth of her sex.

‘This girl, Pfarr’s mistress. Are we going to try and find her?’

I shook my head. ‘The bulls would be bound to hear about it. And then it could get awkward. They’re quite keen on finding her themselves, and I wouldn’t want to start picking that nostril with one finger already in there.’ I picked up the phone and asked to be connected to Six’s home telephone number. It was Farraj, the butler, who answered.

‘Is Herr Six, or Herr Haupthändler, at home? It’s Bernhard Gunther speaking.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but they’re both away at a meeting this morning. Then I believe they’ll be attending the opening of the Olympic Games. May I give either of them a message, sir?’

‘Yes, you can,’ I said. ‘Tell them both that I’m getting close.’

‘Is that all, sir?’

‘Yes, they’ll know what I mean. And make sure that you tell both of them, Farraj, won’t you.’

‘Yes, sir.’

I put the phone down. ‘Right,’ I said.‘ It’s time we got going.’

It was a ten-pfennig ride on the U-Bahn to the Zoo Station, repainted to look especially smart for the Olympic fortnight. Even the walls of the houses backing on to the station had been given a new coat of white. But high above the city, and where the Hindenburg airship droned noisily back and forwards towing an Olympic flag, the sky had gathered a surly gang of dark-grey clouds. As we left the station, Inge looked upwards and said: ‘It would serve them right if it rained. Better still, if it rained for the entire fortnight.’

‘That’s the one thing they can’t control,’ I said. We approached the top of Kurfurstenstrasse. ‘Now then, while Herr Haupthändler is away with his employer, I propose to have a squint at his rooms. Wait for me at Aschinger’s restaurant.’ Inge began to protest, but I continued speaking: ‘Burglary is a serious crime, and I don’t want you around if the going gets tough. Understand?’

She frowned, and then nodded. ‘Brute,’ she muttered, as I walked away.

Number 120 was a five-storey block of expensive-looking flats, of the sort that had a heavy black door that was polished so keenly they could have used it as a mirror in a negro jazz-band’s dressing room. I summoned the diminutive caretaker with the enormous stirrup-shaped brass door-knocker. He looked about as alert as a doped tree sloth. I flashed the Gestapo warrant disc in front of his rheumy little eyes. At the same time I snapped ‘Gestapo’ at him and, pushing him roughly aside, I stepped quickly into the hall. The caretaker oozed fear through every one of his pasty pores.

‘Which is Herr Haupthändler’s apartment?’ Realizing that he was not about to be arrested and sent to a K Z, the caretaker relaxed slightly. ‘The second floor, apartment five. But he’s not at home right now.’

I snapped my fingers at him. ‘Your pass-key, give it to me.’ With eager, unhesitating hands, he produced a small bunch of keys and removed one from the ring. I snatched it from his trembling fingers.

‘If Herr Haupthändler returns, ring once on the telephone, and then replace the receiver. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, with an audible gulp.

Haupthändler’s were an impressively large suite of rooms on two levels, with arched doorways and a shiny wooden floor covered with thick Oriental rugs. Everything was neat and well-polished, so much so that the apartment seemed hardly lived in at all. In the bedroom were two large twin beds, a dressing-table, and a pouffe. The colour scheme was peach, jade-green and mushroom, with the first colour predominating. I didn’t like it. On each of the two beds was an open suitcase, and on the floor were empty carrier-bags from several large department stores including C & A, Grunfeld’s, Gerson’s and Tietz. I searched through the suitcases. The first one I looked in was a woman’s, and I was struck by the fact that everything in it was, or at least looked, brand-new. Some of the garments still had the price tags attached, and even the soles of the shoes were unworn. By contrast the other suitcase, which I presumed must belong to Haupthändler himself, contained nothing that was new, except for a few toiletries. There was no diamond necklace. But lying on the dressing-table was a wallet-sized folder containing two Deutsche Lufthansa air-tickets, for the Monday evening flight to Croydon, London. The tickets were returns, and booked in the name of Herr and Frau Teichmüller.

Before leaving Haupthändler’s apartment I called the Adlon Hotel. When Hermine answered I thanked her for helping me with the Princess Mushmi story. I couldn’t tell if Goering’s people in the Forschungsamt had tapped the telephone yet; there were no audible clicks, nor any extra resonance in Her-mine’s voice. But I knew that if they really had put a tap on Haupthändler’s telephone, then I ought to see a transcript of my conversation with Hermine later on that day. It was as good a way as any of testing the true extent of the Prime Minister’s cooperation.

I left Haupthändler’s rooms and returned to the ground floor. The caretaker emerged from his office and took possession of his pass-key again.

‘You will say nothing of my being here to anyone. Otherwise it will go badly for you. Is that understood?’ He nodded silently. I saluted smartly, something Gestapo men never do, preferring as they do, to remain as inconspicuous as possible, but I was laying it on for the sake of effect.

‘Heil Hitler,’ I said.

‘Heil Hitler,’ repeated the caretaker, and, returning the salute, he managed to drop the keys.

‘We’ve got until Monday night to pull this one back,’ I said, sitting down at Inge’s table. I explained about the air-tickets and the two suitcases. ‘The funny thing was that the woman’s case was full of new things.’

‘Your Herr Haupthändler sounds like he knows how to look after a girl.’

‘ Everything was new. The garter-belt, the handbag, the shoes. There wasn’t one item in that case that looked as though it had been used before. Now what does that tell you?’

Inge shrugged. She was still slightly piqued at having been left behind. ‘Maybe he’s got a new job, going door-to-door, selling women’s clothes.’

I raised my eyebrows.

‘All right then,’ she said. ‘Maybe this woman that he’s taking to London doesn’t have any nice clothes.’