Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

By the time he arrived in his office, she had already discovered that Vivian Franck had no relatives in Berlin. Rath was growing to appreciate his secretary more and more. True, she didn’t display a lot of initiative, but any tasks he assigned her, she carried out with care and attention. The documents from the passport office revealed that the dead actress came from Breslau. Erika Voss had already called the local station and was waiting for further information on the Franck family.

The way things looked, the person Vivian Franck was closest to in Berlin was also the person Rath intended to see next: Manfred Oppenberg.

Before setting out on the long journey towards Babelsberg, he tried the taxi office again, but there was still no sign of Ziehlke. No sooner had he hung up than Erika Voss popped her head in. ‘Assistant Detective Lange is here for you.’

The new man from Hannover was standing behind the secretary. ‘Inspector Rath,’ he said, ‘DCI Böhm said I should place myself at your disposal.’

Böhm wasn’t leaving anything to chance. Rath liked the new man, but even if he didn’t know it himself, Lange was being used as a spy. Still, what were police hierarchies for?

‘Perfect timing, Lange,’ Rath said. ‘You can hold the fort here. I need someone to establish contact with our colleagues in Breslau, where Vivian Franck’s family lives. Fräulein Voss is waiting for them to call back but isn’t authorised to issue our colleagues with instructions.’ He gestured towards Gräf’s abandoned desk. ‘Please take a seat in the meantime – I have an appointment. And if you would like a coffee. Fräulein Voss…’

The secretary smiled. ‘Make yourself at home, Herr Lange,’ she said.

Rath took the AVUS to Babelsberg, as he didn’t have a moment to lose. Wannsee ten kilometres proclaimed big letters by the tollhouse. The fun only cost a mark. He flogged the Buick mercilessly over the arrow-straight track, but it was already almost twelve when he reached the group of studios at Neubabelsberg. This time he didn’t park on Stahnsdorfer Strasse but drove the car directly onto the site. The porter opened the gate when he saw the police badge. The oriental city in which Rath had lost his bearings scarcely a week ago had been stripped down to a shell, and he could already make out the great hall from the gatekeeper’s lodge. He drove the car up as far as the door. Security let him in straightaway.

The set looked similar to that of Liebesgewitter : a drawing room, perhaps a little more elegantly and tastefully furnished than Bellmann’s. On the parquet Rudolf Czerny was rehearsing with a woman who bore a vague resemblance to Vivian Franck. Bellmann had done a better job when he replaced Betty Winter with Eva Kröger, Rath thought. Since he couldn’t find Oppenberg anywhere, he waited dutifully until Czerny had finished rehearsing. The actor recognised him and came over.

‘Herr Rath,’ he said, shaking his hand. ‘What brings you here? Have you found a lead on Vivian?’

‘That depends,’ Rath said. ‘I’d like to discuss it with Herr Oppenberg.’

‘I’m afraid you’re too late. Our producer has just left us for a few hours.’

‘I hope he hasn’t gone to his office; they’re the ones who sent me here!’

‘No, he’s been invited to a lunch, can’t be too far away, I think. But wait…’ Czerny looked around enquiringly. ‘Silvia,’ he called. ‘Can you come here for a moment?’

A lively brunette with a clipboard under her arm hurried over. She was mid-twenties at most, with a severely knotted hairstyle that failed to disguise a pretty face.

‘Silvia, can you tell Herr Rath here where the boss is this afternoon?’

She looked Rath up and down before answering. ‘The invitation is from an important business partner.’

‘Which business partner, and what restaurant will I find them in?’

Again she hesitated a little before answering. ‘Not a restaurant,’ she said. ‘Herr Marquard likes to entertain his guests at home. He has a kitchen to rival the best in Berlin.’

‘Marquard, the cinema owner?’

She seemed surprised that he knew the name. ‘He runs his cinemas purely as a hobby. Well, that’s not quite true – he also owns a film lab and a big distribution firm. One of the largest of the independents. Important if you want to stand up to the all-powerful Ufa.’

‘Like Montana?’

‘And many other smaller firms. Marquard is fighting on our side against Ufa.’

‘And against talkies.’

‘He’s not interested in money. For him, it’s about the art. He isn’t the only one who views sound film as an attack on cinematics. He believes that smaller firms should focus on silent film, especially as Ufa is throwing everything it has behind talkies.’

‘But Herr Oppenberg sees things differently.’

‘Exactly. Everyone here at Montana sees it differently. Talkies might cost a vast amount of money – hiring the recording equipment from Tobis is expensive enough alone! But Oppenberg says if we don’t keep up we might as well pack it in, and I fear he’s right.’

Rath nodded. ‘And that’s why he’s meeting Herr Marquard today?’

‘He hopes, above all, to persuade him to open up his distribution company to talkies. We had to distribute Verrucht through another company, and even though the film did well enough, it was by no means a financial success. That has to change with our second talkie. My personal view is that at some point Herr Marquard will have to acknowledge that sound film has just as much artistic potential as silent. Only he mustn’t take too long over it. We need him to help us fight Ufa.’

Rath nodded. ‘Even so, I’m going to have to interrupt this important meeting.’

She appeared almost scandalised. ‘A meal in a private residence! I don’t think you can just go barging in. Herr Oppenberg…’

‘Leave Herr Oppenberg to me. He’ll want to see me, trust me.’

‘If you say so.’ Silvia fished out the address of a villa on the Wannsee.

Rath needed less than quarter of an hour. He parked the Buick on a quiet street lined with trees. Behind the trees was a huge building with countless nooks and crannies, oriels and turrets, crowned by an immense keep; a huge castle villa – built according to the Middle Ages model, if not always stylistically accurate. Rath hadn’t seen anything like it outside of the Middle Rhine. In this English-style park, however, the crenellated structure appeared more like a haunted castle that had been magically transported from Sussex to the sand of the Brandenburg March.

The name Marquard was all that stood on the highly polished brass plate. Rath pushed the bell. While he waited, he couldn’t help thinking of the eloquent opponent of sound film whom he had met in Pschorr Haus. So, this was how the cinema owner and film distributor Marquard lived.

He’s not interested in money. True, Rath thought, anyone who lived like this didn’t have to be interested in money, they simply had it. The heavy oak door opened and a white-haired servant surveyed the uninvited guest.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked in a scratchy voice that sounded as if it was rarely used. Must be at least eighty, Rath thought.

‘I’d like to speak to Herr Oppenberg,’ he said politely. ‘I was told…’

‘I’m afraid I cannot disturb the gentlemen while they are dining.’

Rath showed the old man his card. ‘Tell Herr Oppenberg it’s about Vivian Franck, and please ask Herr Marquard to excuse the interruption.’

The servant raised an eyebrow over Rath’s identification before turning silently away.

He returned five minutes later. ‘If you could wait in the vestibule,’ he said, stepping invitingly to the side. ‘Herr Oppenberg will be with you presently.’