Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

He has found it. His new life.

Rath heard a ringing from the stairwell that had to be coming from his flat. He was the only person who owned a telephone in the rear building. It rang a final time as he opened the door.

After hanging up his hat and coat, he went to the living room, put on a record and sank into his chair. Coleman Hawkins’s saxophone performed pirouettes, as unpredictably beautiful as a leaf in the wind. Rath closed his eyes.

Where would he be without the records from Severin? He wouldn’t have lasted three weeks in this city. No matter how he tried to regain control of his messed-up life, it always went wrong. Professionally, he felt like a hamster trapped in a wheel. Would he ever make police director like his father? It seemed increasingly unlikely. And his private life? His group of friends was limited to Reinhold Gräf, with whom he occasionally got drunk in the Nasse Dreieck, and Berthold Weinert, with whom he occasionally went for dinner and to exchange information. Of his Cologne friends, Paul was the only one who hadn’t turned his back on him after the fatal shooting in the Agnes quarter. His fiancée, Doris, the woman with whom he had intended to start a family, had dropped him like he had the plague.

He had seen Berlin as an opportunity to start afresh with women too, but the way things were looking he would be a bachelor forever, like Buddha. Well, as long as he didn’t become like Brenner or Czerwinski, running after pneumatic delivery tubes in the Resi…

He lit an Overstolz. At least he could smoke again in his flat without anyone moaning. He didn’t miss Kathi, not really. If she wanted to stay with that gypsy from the Resi, then why not? No, he didn’t miss her one bit.

He missed Charly.

He couldn’t get her horrified expression out of his mind. Had she recognised him?

So what if she had? He had ruined things anyway, completely ruined them months and months ago. Sometimes he thought his life with her might have taken a different turn, that she represented one of those rare opportunities you had to grasp with both hands. But what had he done? He had waved the opportunity goodbye with his damn lying, returned to his hamster wheel, and carried on turning.

Perhaps he had finally set something in motion after dealing Brenner that beating, but most likely in the wrong direction.

The telephone rang again. Who could it be? Kathi phoning to tell him it was over? Brenner challenging him to a duel? Or Böhm taking him off the case? He lifted the black receiver and responded with an innocuous ‘Yes?’

‘There you are at last! I thought you weren’t coming home tonight.’

‘Father?’

‘Listen, my boy,’ said Engelbert Rath, ‘I don’t have much time. Your mother and I are about to go over to the Klefischses. I’m seeing the mayor tomorrow on the parade route. What news can I give him?’

He hadn’t lifted a finger in the Adenauer matter. ‘It’s Sunday today. The Ford plant is closed, and yesterday I didn’t have any time.’

‘You still haven’t done anything? Do you know how pressing this matter is, boy? And how important?’ Engelbert Rath was appalled. ‘I’m staking my good name on ensuring the honour of our city and mayor is not besmirched.’

Why shouldn’t your honour and name be a little besmirched for a change? Rath thought. ‘I’ll take a look at the Ford plant in the next few days,’ he said dutifully. ‘The blackmailer’s probably around there somewhere.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘Who else would have an interest in keeping Ford in Berlin at all costs?’

‘Maybe the blackmail is just a ruse to put us off the scent. It’s in the interests of Konrad’s political opponents to put one of our Party’s most capable men out of action, perhaps even inflict serious harm on the Catholic cause as a whole.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘How could a Ford worker, even the plant manager or managing director, get hold of such confidential information from Deutsche Bank? More likely it’s someone from a completely different circle.’

‘First we need to uncover the leak. If Adenauer could make a list of everyone who knows about the secret agreement between him and the bank.’

‘He has already. All people of integrity.’

‘Of course,’ said Rath ironically. ‘So you already have a list of names?’

‘That’s the first thing you do in a case like this.’

‘How about sending it to me?!’

‘I’ll send it straightaway, but see to it that this matter is dealt with as quickly as possible.’

‘If it really is his political opponents, how am I supposed to stop them from spilling the beans in future?’

‘Once you have a name, everything will take care of itself. Everyone has their dirty secrets.’

The call ended. Rath always forgot that his father was more politician than policeman. Still, he was right about one thing: the blackmailer must have good links to Deutsche Bank. Someone must have spilled a few secrets in confidence, a conversation that had been overheard by chance or deliberately monitored.

The telephone rang again. Rath tore the receiver from the cradle. ‘What is it now?’

Not his father. At the other end of the line, Rath heard only gentle breathing. Then finally a male voice. ‘Inspector Rath?’

Not a voice he recognised. ‘Speaking.’

‘You’re the inspector in charge of the Winter case, aren’t you?’

‘What gives you that idea?’

‘It’s in the paper. I…’

‘What’s this about, please?’ Rath couldn’t stand it when people didn’t get to the point, or when they pestered him with police matters at home.

‘The Winter case, as I said.’ The caller cleared his throat before continuing. ‘Inspector, you’re looking for the wrong man.’

‘Krempin, is that you?’

It took a moment for the answer to arrive. ‘You have to believe me. Otherwise there’s no point continuing.’

‘It’s good you called. You’re an important witness.’

‘Don’t talk rubbish! I’m not a witness, I’m your chief suspect.’

The man wasn’t stupid. Rath held the receiver in his hand, frantically considering how he could bring Krempin in. First, keep him on the line.

‘So,’ Krempin continued. ‘Do you believe me?’

‘You haven’t told me what all this is about.’

‘It’s about whether you trust me, and whether I can trust you.’

‘If you’re innocent, you have nothing to fear. I’ll do everything I can to help you.’

Krempin paused before continuing. ‘I didn’t kill Betty Winter, that’s the most important thing. You have to believe me! It’s just a series of stupid coincidences. No one meant for her to die.’

‘Why did you disappear from the studio after the accident?’

‘That’s not what happened! I didn’t leave after the accident; I left before it. I had been at home for hours when it happened.’

‘How do you know when it happened?’

‘From the paper, where else? How do you think I know you’re the one chasing me, or that I’m being chased in the first place?’

‘Are you surprised we’re looking for you? Why did you just clear off like that?’

It took a moment for Krempin to answer. ‘Because I’d been exposed. It had to happen sooner or later, I simply waited too long. And then the false name…’ The man fell silent once more.

‘Herr Krempin, you can tell me everything. I’ve spoken to Oppenberg, I know that you…’

‘You spoke to Manfred?’ There was relief in his voice, as if a weighty confession had been heard. ‘Then you’ll know that it was simply a question of delaying Bellmann’s shoot. That’s the only reason I came up with the spotlight idea. The camera’s insured, he could’ve had it replaced. Just not that quickly. It takes a long time to deliver these new, soundproof special cameras, especially at the moment. One or two weeks’ delay would’ve been enough. Especially now, with Vivian not here.’