Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

Rath entered a hall that was as high as a house and seemed as if it had been built for the latest Nibelung film. At any moment he expected to see Kriemhild, princess of Burgundy, descending the stairs.

Great double-leaf doors led from the hall into another part of the massive building. Only a small, dark oak door seemed out of place and, being more like the entrance to a castle dungeon, probably led down to the cellar. Rath realised he had taken off his hat, a reflex that must have been triggered by the sacred atmosphere of the room and its immense ribbed vault. There he stood, the grey felt hat in humbly clasped hands, examining the knight’s armour and the huge oil paintings on the walls that glorified the darkest episodes from the Middle Ages. He heard steps on the stairs and turned around.

It wasn’t Kriemhild but Manfred Oppenberg, his face filled with fearful anticipation. Things couldn’t bode well if Rath had driven specially out to Wannsee to interrupt a business lunch.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you now of all times, Herr Oppenberg.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Oppenberg said. He gestured towards the front door. ‘Let’s go to the park. I think I need some fresh air.’

As they stood outside on the half landing, Oppenberg nervously patted his jacket pockets. ‘You don’t happen to have any cigarettes on you?’ he asked. ‘Mine are on the table upstairs…’

Rath took out his new case and Oppenberg helped himself. ‘Thank you,’ he said, as Rath struck a match. The cigarette in his hand was shaking slightly. Oppenberg inhaled deeply. ‘I’ll need it.’

‘Me too,’ Rath said, lighting an Overstolz. Gradually they made their away along the gravel path, down to the lake. Rath waited a moment before speaking.

‘I’m very sorry, Herr Oppenberg,’ he began at last, and watched Manfred Oppenberg stiffen in his elegant suit, ‘but we’ve found Vivian Franck.’ Oppenberg didn’t say anything, nor did he take another drag on his cigarette. Slowly the colour drained from his face. ‘Homicide are now conducting an official investigation. I wanted to come myself to tell you in person… I’m truly sorry.’

Oppenberg pointed to a bench on the side of the path.

‘I need to sit down,’ he said. ‘Even if I’ve been expecting to receive news like this since our last conversation.’ They sat and Oppenberg gazed silently towards the silver grey shimmer behind the trees. ‘Tell me what happened.’

Rath described where and how they had found Vivian Franck’s corpse.

Oppenberg listened in composed silence for a moment and then spoke so quietly that his words were scarcely audible. ‘Find the man who did this, Herr Rath. Find him and I will reward you handsomely!’

‘Catching killers is what I do,’ Rath said. ‘And it’s the Free State of Prussia that pays me, not you.’

‘Nevertheless – a little reward couldn’t hurt.’

Rath shrugged. ‘In a case like this – I don’t know. This is no ordinary crime, no ordinary murder. Perhaps it was just an accident: a drugs accident, and her companion disposed of the body. Anything’s possible.’

Oppenberg shook his head indignantly. ‘No, not an accident! Did you investigate my suspicion that Bellmann had hired someone from the underworld…?’

‘My contact is asking around,’ Rath lied. ‘Do you really think Bellmann is capable of something like that? Of ordering a murder?’

‘That scoundrel’s capable of anything. Any crime.’

‘He feels the same about you.’

‘Of course, slander is one of his specialities. I had nothing to do with Betty Winter’s death. How many times must I tell you?’ Oppenberg stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Two film producers killing each other’s actresses? Doesn’t that sound ridiculous?’

‘You’re the one who set me on that track. We’ll see how ridiculous it is. Have you any enemies apart from Bellmann? Did Vivian Franck? Enemies capable of something like this?’

Oppenberg considered for a moment. ‘For all her popularity, I’m certain she didn’t just have friends. That’s how things are in this profession. The public only sees the adulation, it sees nothing of the jealousy.’ He gazed briefly at the lake before continuing. ‘But enemies who would do something like this? Not in the industry, at any rate. Perhaps you should take a look at the local SA’s membership list, those thugs. Maybe you’ll find the killer there.’

‘You’re saying the Nazis would kill an actress because she works for a Jew?’

‘She didn’t just work for a Jew. Vivian is… was a Jew herself. Not a particularly devout one, but those idiots don’t care whether we visit the synagogue or not. For them it’s about our race . As if we were dogs or horses, not people.’

‘You think the Nazis would do something like that? At a time when they’d sooner present themselves as victims?’

‘I don’t know what to think,’ Oppenberg said, ‘except the Nazis are no victims!’

Rath tossed his cigarette into the nearest shrub and stood up. ‘Herr Oppenberg,’ he said. ‘There’s something unpleasant I still have to ask of you. I need you to identify Vivian’s corpse.’ Oppenberg nodded. ‘I don’t want to take up any more of your time. You’re in the middle of an important meeting…’

The producer stood up as if in slow motion. ‘It all seems so ridiculous now,’ he said. ‘What am I fighting for now that Vivian is dead? Talkies were her future. Marquard liked Vivian, worshipped her, even. She was my best argument to give up his outmoded resistance and finally invest in sound. And now?’

‘But you’re still shooting. I was in the studio just now.’

‘Yes, we’re shooting,’ Oppenberg sighed, ‘but the new actress is a catastrophe! At least, if you keep picturing how Vivian would have played the scene.’

The castle towers of the Marquard villa loomed threateningly over the bleak, wintry park. Behind one of the tower windows, Rath noticed a white figure watching them. At first he thought it was the old servant, but it must have been someone else – unless he had exchanged his black suit for something lighter.

Slowly they made their way back to the house.

‘Marquard isn’t just my distributor,’ Oppenberg said. ‘He’s also one of my most important donors. You can see how rich he is, but he simply doesn’t want to acknowledge that his beloved silent film is dead, and that we will die with it if we don’t change. Perhaps he can afford that, but I can’t!’

Marquard was waiting for them outside the house. Once more, Rath marvelled at the man’s warm, pleasant voice. ‘It’s you, Inspector,’ he said, proffering a hand, ‘I thought I recognised the name when Albert gave me your card.’

‘Please excuse the interruption,’ Rath said, ‘but you may now continue your meeting.’

‘Clearly you haven’t brought good news. What has happened?’

‘Let’s go inside,’ Oppenberg said, ‘I’d rather not tell you out here.’

The two men disappeared inside the house, Marquard taking Oppenberg by the arm. Rath gazed after them, until Albert, the servant, closed the door, casting him a final, contemptuous glance. Although it might have looked like friendship that bound them, in reality the two men were nothing more than business partners. If Marquard hadn’t been willing to focus on talkies when Vivian Franck was alive, what chance did Oppenberg have of persuading him now?

Rath took the AVUS for the return journey too, more on a whim than because of any time pressure. It was fun to drive the Buick at full speed, even if he had to rein himself in upon rejoining the city traffic. There was a telephone booth level with the Städtische Oper on Bismarckstrasse, where Rath tried the taxi office again. At last he got Friedhelm Ziehlke on the line. He told him whose body they had found, and summoned him to the Castle.