Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

‘I hope nevertheless that you continue to confer real films upon us.’

‘My duty is to my public, Herr Marquard. Now if you’ll excuse me, Herr Rath has come here especially to see me.’

‘Rath?’ Marquard raised an eyebrow. ‘Aren’t you investigating the death of Betty Winter?’

Rath nodded.

‘The papers say her accident could have been murder. Do you have any leads?’

‘It’s still early days.’

Oppenberg took Rath to one side and led him to the cloakroom. ‘You must have news if you’re visiting me here,’ he said.

‘Depends. News for me, but not news for you.’

Oppenberg considered this, only for the attendant to interrupt his thoughts and pass him his heavy winter coat with fur collar, together with leather gloves and homburg.

‘Let’s go down to the Esplanade,’ he said. ‘We can speak freely there.’

Rath couldn’t wait that long. ‘I’ve spoken to Krempin,’ he said, as they crossed Potsdamer Strasse.

‘So you found him!’

‘No, he found me. He called me.’

‘Where’s he hiding?’

‘No idea. Not in your flat anymore, anyway.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘The empty flat in Guerickestrasse. In your block of flats. Don’t pretend you didn’t know.’

‘I swear I had no idea. I own several houses in that street, including the one Felix lives in.’

‘He manipulated the lighting on your behalf, in return for which you found him a hiding place.’

‘I have no idea… really.’

‘Herr Oppenberg, you’ve lied to me once already. I can only work with you if I know I can trust you.’

A few pedestrians turned as Rath’s voice grew louder.

‘Calm down,’ Oppenberg said. ‘Let’s talk like adults, and not in the middle of the street.’ He took Rath by the arm and pulled him down Bellevuestrasse. ‘Come on, we’ll be there in a moment. Let’s have a drink. We can discuss these matters at our leisure.’

Moments later they were sitting in a recess at the Esplanade Hotel bar, waiting for the bottle of wine Manfred Oppenberg had ordered. He seemed to be known here. ‘So,’ he said, already looking more cheerful than he had done on the street. ‘Tell me what Krempin said and why you’re so worked up.’

‘You lied to me! You smuggled your man into Bellmann’s studio knowing full well about his sabotage plans. He was supposed to delay the shoot.’

‘Delaying the shoot is not sabotage.’

‘What else would you call dropping a heavy spotlight on an expensive sound film camera?’

‘That was his plan?’

‘Stop acting the innocent, he was there on your behalf.’

‘I can assure you, I knew nothing of his plans. Felix had completely free rein. Yes, he was to delay the shoot, but how he did so was his business.’ Oppenberg shook his head. ‘Felix tried everything. He even made a move on Winter, but…’

‘And when none of that worked, he came up with the camera idea. Without telling you?’

‘It was probably too late anyway. Bellmann had smelled a rat and cast everything aside, put the new adventure film with Victor Meisner completely on ice and started shooting this schmaltzy rubbish.’

‘And you couldn’t allow that to happen…’

‘Our film is supposed to be out first. That’s all that counts. Vom Blitz getroffen is a completely new departure, a divine romantic comedy, and the divine is meant literally. I bought the book a year ago, and had it adapted last autumn. Somehow Bellmann must have got wind of it, and now he’s trying to pip me to the post with one of his sorry efforts… And then there’s Vivian’s disappearance… It’s enough to make you despair.’

‘And your despair was so great that you were prepared to risk the life of an actress. I’ve warned you, if you should be involved in a murder I won’t be able to make any allowances.’

‘Your imagination’s getting the better of you. I don’t know what Felix was planning, but it certainly wasn’t murder.’

‘Let’s call it manslaughter then.’

‘It’s Victor Meisner you ought to be accusing, if the newspapers are to be believed.’

‘Don’t get confused now! Without the spotlight, this wouldn’t have happened. And the lighting was manipulated. We know that much for certain.’

Oppenberg shook his head. ‘It just isn’t his way.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘Felix would never risk the life of another person. Whatever he figured out with the spotlight, believe me, it was perfect.’

‘So perfect that Betty Winter’s lying dead in the morgue?’

‘I don’t know why she’s there.’ Oppenberg shrugged his shoulders. ‘That’s your job.’ The waiter arrived with the red wine and poured. Oppenberg raised his glass. ‘I will support you as best I can.’

‘Why should I believe you when you’ve already lied to me?’ Rath asked when the waiter had withdrawn.

‘I didn’t lie to you. Perhaps I didn’t tell you the whole truth.’

‘Why didn’t you say that the houses in Guerickestrasse belong to you?’

‘I didn’t think it was important.’

‘And the empty flat? Didn’t it stand to reason that Krempin would be hiding there?’

‘Right under the noses of the police?’

‘Fair enough,’ Rath conceded. Perhaps Oppenberg was right. ‘Still, in future you have to tell me everything , whether you think it’s important or not. Otherwise this won’t work. Don’t go thinking you can do as you please.’

‘My dear Rath, I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression. I will help you solve your case as best I can. As long as you keep to your side of the bargain. Have you discovered anything about Vivian’s whereabouts?’

Rath was speechless at how easily Oppenberg reverted. ‘Speaking of bargains, I’ve kept to my side more than you have to yours.’

Oppenberg reached inside his jacket pocket. ‘You’re right.’ He counted out five twenty-mark notes on the table. ‘A down payment.’

Rath gazed at the notes. He could certainly use the money; the car wasn’t cheap to run, and the money he had found in his mailbox one morning in late summer had mostly gone on its purchase. Still, something inside him resisted Oppenberg, who seemed to think all problems could be solved by money. He pushed the notes back over the table. ‘I think we’re friends,’ he said.

Oppenberg returned the money to his pocket with a shrug. ‘Tell me what you have found.’

‘Vivian Franck’s final taxi journey,’ Rath said. ‘After she left her apartment.’

‘On the day of her departure?’

‘She was never in the mountains. She never made it to the station, even though she loaded her cases into the taxi.’

As he was speaking it occurred to him that he hadn’t asked Ziehlke, the taxi driver, what had happened to her cases.

‘Where did she go?’

‘Wilmersdorf, Hohenzollerndamm. Does that mean anything to you? Does Vivian know anyone there? An actor, or a producer perhaps?’

Oppenberg shrugged. ‘In Wilmersdorf? Not that I know of.’

‘Someone picked her up. If you could put together a few photos of Vivian’s acquaintances, I could visit the taxi driver again. Perhaps he’d recognise the man.’

‘No problem.’

‘Good, then I’ll be in touch.’

Rath left the table without finishing his glass of wine.

The demons had gone. Rath never knew when, but at some point they would simply vanish from his dreams as unexpectedly as they had arrived.

He had slept peacefully, but wakened early. He hit the alarm before it rang, got out of bed and, by half past six, was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. The sound of Duke Ellington’s piano rippled through from the living room. In his notebook he wrote down what he had to do that day.