Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

Rath nodded. ‘Can you tell me how to get there?’

‘You see that door?’ Bahlke pointed across the hall to a steel door behind the engine assembly. ‘Go through there to Admin, and ask for Personnel. Oh, what the hell? I’ll take you myself.’

The red-haired assembly man seemed to think the shift supervisor was pointing at him again. Rath could see him getting more and more nervous, as if he thought he was about to get the sack. They descended the stairs until, suddenly, a loud horn sounded, drowning out the factory din.

‘What’s that?’ Rath shouted in the shift supervisor’s ear. ‘Fire alarm?’

‘No. It means someone hasn’t completed their work on time and is causing a hold-up.’

‘Leaving their workplace without getting a stand-in.’

Bahlke shrugged. ‘Or just dawdling.’ The horn sounded a second time and the assembly line ground to a halt. ‘Shit!’ He dashed off.

Rath tried to keep up. Stopping at the first station he reached, Bahlke snapped at a worker tightening padded seats. ‘What’s going on? Which idiot turned off the conveyor belt?’

The worker shrugged his shoulders. ‘I think there are problems on the marriage line.’

Chaos reigned in Section D. The four men, whose task it was to lower the bodies onto the chassis, were exchanging furious words with the two new recruits. There was no sign of the red-haired man who was supposed to be training them.

‘What’s going on here?’ Bahlke yelled. ‘Are you crazy? Who stopped the line?’

‘I did,’ a giant of a man said, positioning himself legs apart in front of them. ‘The engine’s crooked as a dog’s hind leg and there are umpteen screws missing. I’m not putting a body on that. Why don’t you ask the two recruits why the belt isn’t running?’

The small man in the thin jacket didn’t wait to be asked. ‘We’ve barely been here ten minutes, boss,’ he said. ‘Toni said hello, showed us two manoeuvres, then buggered off without saying where he was going. What chance do we have? On top of that, I have to deal with this gorilla tearing into me.’

‘I’ll give you gorilla, you squirt,’ the giant said.

‘Cut it out, Kurt, and leave the new boys in peace. Where’s Toni gone? He can’t just drop everything like that.’

‘He just ran off,’ the little man said.

‘Is he sick or something? It’s not like him; hardly even takes a piss to make sure he gets his piece rate.’

The new recruits shrugged.

Rath thought the time was right to take his leave. He left the assembly hall and went up to Personnel to ask for a list of all factory employees. Upon comparing it to the Cologne list he might, with luck, stumble across an identical surname or some other anomaly that would enable him to establish a connection between Ford and Deutsche Bank. Then he’d have the blackmailer hook, line and sinker.

A simple list of names; it was a modest enough request, Rath thought, but the goateed man behind the desk was of a different opinion. ‘Do you know how much work that would mean? We have almost three hundred people.’

‘Listen, I could force this, but then I’d be taking the original files with me and turning your office inside out.’

Goatee Beard swallowed. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You’ll get your list. I could have it finished by next week, I think.’

‘I’ll be back tomorrow morning to collect it.’ The man was about to protest, but Rath cut him off. ‘And if you don’t have anything for me, I’ll be back with a search warrant, and you won’t be able to use your office for the rest of the day. I’d factor in two days to tidy up, just so you’re aware of the alternatives.’

The man nodded as Rath took his leave, stopping at the doorway. ‘A little tip,’ he said. ‘Get down to it right away, and you’ll be finished quicker.’

There was still a group of jobseekers standing outside the brick building when he left. It might be better than the dole, Rath thought, but there was no future here, however tempting the wages might be. This was a stopgap, not so much an automobile factory as an assembly shop in a storage facility that no one else wanted to rent. No wonder Ford were looking elsewhere.

Three hundred people in Berlin would lose their jobs, but hundreds more would find work in Cologne; and from somewhere inside this building someone was trying to prevent it.

From Westhafen it wasn’t far to Reinickendorf. The receptionist was just about to close the practice, but Rath told her it was an emergency and showed her his police badge. ‘I’m a friend of Frank Brenner’s,’ he said.

‘In that case, please wait a moment.’

She went to the back, returning after a short while. ‘The doctor’s about to make a house call, but he’ll fit you in.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Please take a seat in the waiting room, though I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you. He hasn’t approved any overtime.’

‘What a shame,’ he said. She smiled coquettishly back and waved goodbye with her fingertips.

He looked around at pictures of battleships on the walls, a portrait of Admiral Tirpitz with his imposing, forked beard, and was pondering where Brenner might have served when the milk-glass door to the waiting room swung open. A man with a doctor’s case and a greying full beard stormed in, almost tripping over Rath’s legs. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘Roswitha didn’t give me your name. Have we met before?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘But you are a friend of Brenner’s?’

‘A colleague more than a friend,’ Rath said, and showed his badge. ‘We both work in Homicide.’

Dr Borghausen stared at Rath’s identification as it dawned on him who he might have here. Rath could see the hatches being battened down. It won’t save you from capsizing, he thought.

‘I see,’ the doctor said. His voice was quiet and decidedly frosty. ‘What can I do for you? Surgery ended some time ago.’

‘I just have a few questions.’

‘You’re the policeman who beat up Frank, aren’t you? What do you want?’

‘You ought to be a detective,’ Rath said. ‘The thing is, seeing as I was present when Herr Brenner sustained the injuries that have unfortunately led to his being declared unfit for duty, I wouldn’t mind comparing our experiences a little. You call him by his first name…’

‘Frank Brenner is an old friend. We served together.’

‘Then it must be his old war injuries that have surfaced again.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I doubt whether the certificate you issued would stand up to medical review.’ The doctor grew red. Time to check your blood pressure, Rath thought.

‘You mean to blackmail a Prussian doctor?’ Borghausen choked.

‘I’d like to give this Prussian doctor a choice regarding his future. Go to jail with licence revoked, possibly to return one day as a corpse-washer, or continue as a respected doctor who might have fallen foul of an old friend over a silly incident, but is otherwise very happy.’

Behind the doctor’s eyes the wheels were turning. ‘How do you know about the certificate?’ he asked.

‘I’m a detective, and perhaps a little harder-working than Herr Brenner.’

‘You know that you’re not authorised to see such certi-ficates?’

‘Who says I’ve seen anything?’

The doctor took a deep breath. ‘If I’m not mistaken,’ he said, at pains to remain calm, ‘Frank has decided not to pursue disciplinary proceedings – luckily for you. Which means that there will be no need for a medical review.’

‘It’s good of Herr Brenner to rely on defamation of character alone,’ Rath said. ‘But perhaps I’ll insist that disciplinary proceedings are brought against me.’