Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know his name but I recognised his voice. Even though he must have called from the train station – there was loads of noise.’

Rath took the photo Oppenberg’s secretary had looked out for him from his pocket, and laid it on the counter.

‘Was it this man?’

The concierge took one look at the glossy print of a smiling Rudi Czerny and could barely contain himself. ‘Hats off!’ he said. ‘The Prussian police are on the ball! Who’d have thought it?’

Rudolf Czerny’s flat was nearby on Reichskanzlerplatz. He wasn’t home, of course, as he was still filming in Babelsberg, but Rath visited precisely because he knew Czerny was still filming. All the same, he rang the bell three times and knocked loudly to be certain no one was at home. He was slowly getting the hang of the skeleton key that Bruno Wolter, his first boss in Berlin, had shown him how to use. At first he had resisted, but he had to admit it was a useful tool.

Rudolf Czerny lived more modestly than his lover, but then he wasn’t kept by Manfred Oppenberg.

Rath rummaged through the flat, taking care not to upset the disorder. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, perhaps some evidence of the affair with Vivian Franck, perhaps some indication of her whereabouts. It was perfectly possible she’d made herself scarce. And Czerny? Was he holding the fort until he could join her, or had she left him in the lurch like her benefactor Manfred Oppenberg? If what the concierge had said was true, then she had left without him three weeks ago – or he without her.

There were brochures on the living room table advertising holidays in the Swiss Alps. Freshly washed ski equipment hung in the wardrobe. Czerny had clearly been in the mountains himself. Finally, Rath found a towel with the words Hotel Schatzalp, Davos embroidered on the edge. Rudolf Czerny seemed to collect his holiday souvenirs from hotel supplies.

Rath gazed out of the window onto the wide expanse of Reichskanzlerplatz and the Funkturm. Daylight was fading. The first neon signs were lighting up. He decided to wait and telephoned the station, getting Gräf on the line.

‘Weren’t you going to call at one?’

‘I’ve had my hands full. Has Böhm been in touch?’

‘At five-minute intervals. He’s probably about to come over because the line’s busy.’

‘Listen, I know it’s the end of the day, but there’s something important you need to do.’

‘Hmm?’

‘At just on five, there’s the Wessel funeral. Böhm’s dead Nazi. At the Nikolai Cemetery.’

‘Yes?’

‘Go over there and take a look.’

‘What the hell?’

‘Böhm forced it on us.’

‘Since when do you take his orders so seriously?’

‘One of us has to go, and I can’t get away from here. I’ll tell you more on Monday morning.’

‘Aye aye, Sir.’

Rath didn’t get the chance to wish Gräf a good weekend before he hung up. His Saturday evening was ruined, but then he, Rath, wasn’t crouched in a strange, cold apartment for his own amusement.

Perhaps it was the word ‘amusement’, but suddenly he found himself thinking of the ball at the Resi, for which he still had no costume. He had missed the chance to back out and Kathi had moved heaven and earth to get tickets. If Czerny didn’t appear soon, they wouldn’t be able to arrive together.

Still, Kathi would understand, just like she always understood. He was on duty, simple as that. All he had to do was find a halfway decent costume and see to it that he didn’t show at the Resi too late.

Czerny put him out of his misery at just after half past five. Rath was sitting in one of the comfy chairs when he heard the key in the lock. He remained seated to give the actor a suitably theatrical reception. The light in the hall went on and, from the safety of the dimly lit living room, Rath looked through the crack to see a small, slim man hanging a toffee-coloured coat and brown hat on the hallstand.

The living room door opened and a hand turned the light on. Rath was now visible but Czerny hadn’t seen him, and continued reading a script as he groped his way towards the bar. Vom Blitz getroffen, Rath read on the cover sheet.

‘Good evening, Herr Czerny.’

The actor gave a start. ‘How did you get into my apartment?’ He didn’t sound intimidated: if anything, there was a hint of aggression. The man knew how to look after himself. Rath would have to be on his guard.

‘Through the door,’ he said and showed his police ID. ‘I just wanted to ask a few questions.’

‘But first you had to scare me half to death? Is breaking and entering part of the job these days? I’d call it trespassing.’

‘I’m not here on behalf of the police. In this instance, we share the same employer…’

‘I’m an actor…’

‘…and you work for Manfred Oppenberg?’

Czerny nodded.

‘Me too. At least for the time being.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Your boss wants me to return his lead actress…’ Czerny didn’t say anything when Rath hesitated, but it was clear he would have liked nothing more than to shout out Vivian’s name. ‘…your lover.’

Czerny turned pale, as if Rath had pronounced his death sentence. ‘That’s why Oppenberg sent you. Because I’m sleeping with Vivian. I only saw him half an hour ago. Why doesn’t he say it to my face?’

‘Herr Oppenberg understands that now and then Vivian keeps younger lovers…’

‘Now and then.’ Czerny smiled sourly. ‘Is that what he told you? Oh yes, our producer fancies himself in the role of liberal gentleman. But believe me, his liberality has its limits. Of course he would never begrudge her a little on the side – as long as she remains his toy. But he would have no hesitation in putting me on the street if I were to so much as touch her more often than it says in the script.’

‘Still, that’s precisely what you did, isn’t it?’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘Don’t worry. There’s no need for Herr Oppenberg to hear anything of this. So long as you co-operate I see no reason why…’

‘How very kind of you,’ Czerny said, ‘but I won’t be blackmailed. Besides, I’m not the only one who Vivian…’

‘I know,’ Rath said, ‘I’ve made her acquaintance too.’

Rath watched the man’s jealousy surge. There was no reason to tell the actor that he had actually resisted Vivian’s advances. Czerny went red before exploding.

‘No one really knows Vivian!’ The words came tumbling out. ‘Everyone thinks they do, but no one knows who she is, the way she thinks, how she…’

‘Except you,’ Rath interrupted.

Czerny quietened down. ‘I thought I did,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen sides to her that no one else has seen, that no one else would believe, that no one would even dare write into her scripts. And that’s the whole problem: most people confuse her with her films!’

‘What about you?’

‘I loved her. I know it’s a cliché and naïve too, but that’s how it was.’

‘Was?’

‘I waited for her at Anhalter Bahnhof, suitcase packed, but she never came. We were to go to Davos for two carefree weeks in the snow. I’ve never felt so lousy.’

‘Why don’t you get us something to drink and take a seat? Then you can tell me what happened in your own time.’

Czerny seemed to be getting used to Rath’s presence. He fetched two glasses of water and a bottle of whisky from the cupboard. ‘I need a drink,’ he said as he poured.

‘Thanks, but I’d rather have water.’

Czerny went into the kitchen and returned with a jug. ‘Please, help yourself,’ he said and sat down.