Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

‘So you went to Switzerland without her?’

‘Everything was booked. When she didn’t appear and I couldn’t get hold of her anywhere, I took the next train. I knew from her concierge that she’d got into the taxi with her cases and thought, maybe, she’d taken another train and was already there, or would be coming later.’

‘But she never did?’

Czerny shook his head. ‘I haven’t seen or heard anything from Vivian in nearly four weeks.’

‘Weren’t you worried?’

‘At some point you have to face the truth. After three or four days waiting in the snow, I accepted that Vivian had given me the boot, plain and simple.’

‘If that’s true then you’re not the only one. She must have given Manfred Oppenberg the boot too. Only he doesn’t want to believe it.’

‘Not turning up to the shoot like that, it just isn’t her. Vivian’s more reliable than you think.’

‘Professionally, at least.’

‘I know very few people as hard-working as her.’

‘So why skive off a film Oppenberg’s making purely with her future in mind? To avoid running into you and her benefactor? It makes no sense, putting her career at risk like that!’

‘She isn’t risking anything. Vom Blitz getroffen is her second sound film. She’s already proved in Verrucht that she isn’t one of those old divas who are afraid talkies will reveal their speech impediments and acting limitations.’

‘Where do you think she is now?’

Czerny shrugged his shoulders. ‘Search me!’

‘Just tell me everything you know, and everything you think you know.’

‘There was… well, she told me a little while ago that she had met someone.’

‘A lover.’

‘No, she wouldn’t have told me that. A producer.’

‘You mean Vivian might’ve been unfaithful to Oppenberg where it really hurts?’

‘More than if she’d have run off with a young lover anyway. He’s invested a load of money in her and is expecting it to start paying off soon.’

‘Why would she want to leave?’

‘Because the grass is always greener.’

‘Oppenberg doesn’t seem to have taken that possibility into account.’

‘He still has her under contract. She can’t just get out of it like that.’

‘Nevertheless, you think it’s possible.’

‘If she’s somewhere no German lawyer can reach her…’

‘In Hollywood…’

‘Her English is good enough.’

Rath nodded thoughtfully and took a sip of water.

‘What do you think?’ Czerny poured himself another whisky. ‘Can you find her?’

‘Maybe. Where did she go after she got into that taxi?’

‘Not Anhalter Bahnhof anyway.’

‘Then we need to ask the taxi driver. Do you have the telephone number for Vivian’s apartment?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Call it. I need to speak to the concierge.’

Soon Rath was speaking to the old man from the marble foyer. He seemed to have a good memory. ‘The taxi Frau Franck drove off in?’ he said.

‘Must have been on the eighth of February,’ Rath offered.

‘Are you sure? Wait a moment, I’ll take a quick look.’ Rath heard a hollow thump as the receiver banged against the counter, followed by the rustling of paper. ‘So, here we are. You can always count on your old Panske, eh?’

Rath tried not to lose patience. ‘You made some notes, did you?’

‘Certainly did. I ordered the car at nine, and half an hour later it was outside the door.’

‘Can you remember the driver?’

‘Not exactly, but I do know he wasn’t the strongest. And those heavy cases to boot! Poor guy!’

The lady in the taxi office was less forthcoming. ‘Of course we can find out,’ she said, ‘as long as you know the exact time and address. But how do I know you’re really from the police? Can I call you back at the station?’

‘I’m out in the field right now.’

‘Then you’ll have to come here. Belle-Alliance-Strasse sixteen.’

‘If you could look everything out for me, I’ll come by in person.’

‘You could be anyone.’

‘I have a police ID.’

‘Come by, identify yourself, and I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Looks good,’ Rath said to Czerny. ‘I think we’ll find him.’

‘Can you keep me up to date? I mean, if you hear anything?’

‘That still doesn’t solve my biggest problem. I’m invited to a Fasching ball tonight. Any idea where I can get hold of a costume at this hour?’

Czerny looked surprised for a moment, then grinned. ‘It’ll mean going back out to Babelsberg.’

‘Well, if it isn’t the Captain of Köpenick! Are you here to confiscate the box office?’

The man at the entrance was clearly a joker. Perhaps that’s why he was wearing lederhosen and a sailor’s cap.

‘There should be a ticket for me,’ Rath said.

‘Yes, Sir!’ The joker stood upright and saluted. ‘Can you take a look, Lissy?’ he called to the tinsel angel sitting behind the box office. The angel didn’t have to search long before passing the ticket to the Bavarian who tore it in half and gave a stub to Rath. ‘You’re late,’ he said.

‘I’m aware of that.’

‘Don’t worry, there are still plenty of ladies here.’ The Bavarian sailor winked.

‘I have a date.’

‘Well then, in you go.’

The air was heavy with cigarette smoke. Thin rays of light flitted through the grey-blue haze from dozens of rotating mirrored globes, their flecks gliding over walls and the heads of guests. The place was full to bursting. The babble of voices almost drowned out the music. They had even hired a singer to perform the latest hits. A few guests were singing along, arm in arm, swaying at their tables, but most weren’t even listening. They were busy talking, dancing or canoodling. Imaginative costumes were few and far between: there were any number of pirates or fiery Spaniards running around, a few sailors, a few cowboys and not many Indians. Most had simply donned a colourful hat or a discreet half-mask, while the women were wearing as little as possible.

Rath knew the Resi as a slightly bourgeois marriage bureau, but today the stiffs seemed intent on exploring the wild side. Moving through the rows to his table he felt rather old. The Prussian captain’s uniform, borrowed from the Babelsberg costume fund, constricted his body like a corset and made him so stiff it felt as if he had swallowed a walking stick. What’s more, the sabre dangling by his legs kept getting caught on tables, chairs and people. It was a good thing the evening was already more than halfway over. It was nearly half past ten.

He took another look at his ticket. Table 28, right by the bar. Kathi wasn’t there, only a smooching couple oblivious to everything around them. Rath checked the teeming bodies on the dance floor and eventually made out two gypsy girls, neither of whom was Kathi.

He sat by the smooching couple, who still seemed not to have noticed him. At some point Kathi would show up. Having to spend a little time waiting for her would help ease his guilty conscience. He ordered a bottle of Mosel-Riesling and two glasses, the only drink they could agree on. Even at New Year that had been his undoing.

She still hadn’t turned up when the waiter brought the wine. Was she sitting at another table watching, about to call or send a message by pneumatic delivery tube? You could do all that here at the Resi. It was a Mecca for shy types, and people who ‘needed all the help they could get,’ as Gräf had said after learning that Czerwinski was a regular. The super cautious could even exchange photos via delivery tube before agreeing to a first dance.

The waiter placed the glasses on the table and poured. Rath held his hand flat over Kathi’s glass. The waiter placed the bottle in an ice bucket and disappeared. In the meantime, the smooching couple had taken a breather. She stood up, smoothed down her crinkled harem costume and took her leave. The man gazed after her with a satisfied grin, straightening the colourful sequined hat on his head. Another one who needed all the help he could get, Rath thought. He raised his glass to the lipstick-smudged face and the man reciprocated with his flat beer.