Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

‘Your health, Captain. Since when have you been here? Didn’t realise I’d been detained!’

‘Just arrived.’

‘An optimist, are you?’ The man gestured towards the empty glass. ‘Laying the bait…’

‘I have a date,’ Rath said, now finding the man disagreeable. ‘But there doesn’t seem to be much going on at the moment.’

‘You should’ve been here an hour ago. What an atmosphere! There was a pirate sitting here cracking all sorts of jokes, standing round after round. And a gypsy girl, getting merrier by the glass, lovely bir…’

‘A gypsy girl?’

The man hesitated, until the penny dropped. ‘I see. The gypsy’s with you.’ He laughed out loud. ‘No offence, but you’re a bit late.’

‘I know.’

‘Too late, if I may say so. I fear you won’t be seeing your gypsy again tonight. Cleared off about half an hour ago with the pirate, together with another couple. Probably wanted to make a night of it somewhere else.’

Rath had reckoned with all sorts of possibilities, but not this. Kathi had stood him up. How cheap could you get?! The news cut him to the quick, despite everything, and in this stupid uniform he felt more out of place than ever.

‘Come on, friend!’ His neighbour clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t take it so hard. There are enough girls here. And table telephones. That’s how I met mine.’

‘That’s not why I’m here.’

‘All right, all right! You North Germans are so uptight.’

The harem lady returned to escort her beau onto the dance floor. Rath would’ve liked to ask old Sequin Hat where Kathi and her companion had got to, but it was too late now. He shouldn’t have snapped at the man.

He felt no desire to go chasing after her and, if this was how he finally got rid of Kathi, so be it. He could definitely drink better when she wasn’t there, much better. He took the wine from the ice bucket and went to the bar where there was also a table telephone and delivery tube. He poured himself another glass and waved the cigarette girl over. ‘A six-pack of Overstolz, please.’

‘We only sell ten-packs.’

‘That’s fine, and a lighter too.’

She fished the pack deftly from her sales tray. ‘Fifty pfennigs,’ she said.

Rath pressed a mark into her hand. ‘Keep the change,’ he said. Her thanks came in the form of a dazzling smile, which cheered him up straightaway. Old Sequin Hat might be a creep, but he was right about one thing. There were plenty more fish in the sea. He tore open the pack and stuck a cigarette in his mouth, trying to be as casual as possible, but his hands were shaking with excitement, likewise when he lit the match. He had resisted all day, and his defeat felt all the better for it.

Yes, he wanted to smoke again! Fuck all those non-smokers! Fuck Kathi!

As he took the first drag, he felt the nicotine like a hammer blow, pleasing, slightly painful; a wave that spread out from his lungs to his whole body. He felt almost as he had at twelve when he had pinched a couple of his brother Anno’s cigarettes and smoked them with his pals on their building site hideout in Klettenberg. All four had ended up crouched by an excavation, puking like world champions. Paul, who handled it best of all, had helped him home. ‘I think Gereon has given himself an upset stomach, Frau Rath. What did he have for lunch?’ His mother’s concerned face. Father wasn’t home; he’d have seen straight through them. On Paul’s recommendation, he had attempted to combat the nicotine smell with sorrel – which had only made him vomit again.

It seemed scarcely credible that he had started smoking only a few years later. For that he had the Prussian military to thank.

He took a careful drag on his cigarette; he had to get used to smoking again first. Still, he had time. He would get good and tanked up, have a little think, at least while that was still possible, then get a taxi home. The right amount of alcohol would banish the demons and rock him peacefully to sleep.

He stubbed the cigarette out and waved the barman over, ordered a cognac and had the bottle of wine cleared away. A good day all in all: he had avoided Böhm and made significant strides in the Winter case. Once they got their hands on Krempin, which was only a matter of time, the rest would take care of itself. With Oppenberg onside, he was closer to Felix Krempin than the rest of the search. Yes, everything was going just fine.

It even looked as if he’d managed to get rid of Kathi, at least for the night.

Rath drank the cognac and ordered another. The barman placed a fresh glass on the counter, and in the same instant there was a ringing noise and a little light came on. Something had arrived at pneumatic delivery tube 51. Everyone stared eagerly at the package, but Rath wasn’t interested in who had sent flowers or confectionery to their beloved. He reached for his glass and drank. The barman read the note and handed Rath the little package.

‘Here, Captain, it’s for you.’

The glass nearly fell out of his hand. Rath took the package with a shrug and read the accompanying note. For the Captain of K ö penick. He looked round. The smooching couple were back at table 28, otherwise no one.

Inside was a bright green feather and a note. Rath shielded the text from prying eyes to his left and right and read. Had a dance yet? If the Captain would like to ruffle a few feathers…

‘Where’s it from?’ he asked the barman.

He pointed towards the other end of the bar. ‘Table fifty-two.’

Rath looked across but there were too many people standing in the low light. He pocketed the letter and green feather, took his cognac and moved to the dance floor, where it was busier than Potsdamer Platz at five in the afternoon.

He saw her straightaway. A bright green hen in a short skirt and feather boa gambolling across the dance floor. Though her legs and backside weren’t bad, the woman’s face was all too reminiscent of the bird she had come dressed as. Rath hid behind one of the pillars. The dancing hen still hadn’t seen him.

One more cognac and then home, he told himself. Feeling halfway safe behind the pillar, he kept an eye on the dancing hen with the predilection for Royal-Prussian officers, who was no doubt just waiting for a captain to cut in on her. Then he thought he saw a face that didn’t belong at all.

Nonsense, he thought, you’re seeing ghosts.

But there it was again. A face under an Indian feather.

What the hell was she doing in a place for people who couldn’t stand to be alone? Now there were two reasons to make a speedy exit, but he couldn’t avert his gaze and, when he saw how she was smiling at her cowboy dance partner, the pain was so great he instantly forgot about Kathi. Charlotte Ritter.

Who was this grinning twit with the fringe who dared receive a smile from Charly?

It had been months since he had seen her. Fräulein Ritter has to concentrate on her exams, his colleagues at Alex had said, and Rath had seen it as fate’s way of telling him to forget about her. Even with Kathi in bed next to him, however, he hadn’t managed.

How on earth had she ended up here?

Only when he heard a familiar voice did he realise he’d been gawping at her the whole time. ‘Boss? Well, there’s a thing. Have they promoted you to Captain?’

Fatboy Czerwinski was standing there grinning beside him. Prison clothing hardly made him more attractive.

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Rath. ‘You? Out and about without Henning?’

‘He doesn’t want anything to do with Fasching.’

‘I know how he feels.’

‘Ha, good one!’ Czerwinski nudged him in the ribs.

Rath was about to explain the difference between Fastelovend, the name for Carnival in Cologne, and Fasching, when a second prisoner emerged from the darkness carrying two beers. Detective Inspector Frank Brenner suddenly became less friendly when he recognised his colleague in the captain’s uniform. Without saying a word, he passed Czerwinski a beer, and the men clinked glasses and drank.