Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

Rath and Gräf sat down off to the side where they could talk in peace. ‘Tough time to be in uniform,’ Rath said.

‘I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes right now,’ Gräf replied. ‘Duty in a Communist area is enough to make you fear for your life.’

‘If anything, the Nazis are worse.’

‘All I’ll say is they were considerably more respectful towards us at the funeral last week.’

‘If you were a Jew, they’d call you Isidore. You think that’s respectful?’

‘But I’m not a Jew!’ Gräf was outraged.

Rath had no desire to argue, and certainly not over politics. It was bad enough that such altercations were becoming more and more of an issue for police – and all because these self-styled politicians were going at each other with sticks, knives and pistols. ‘How’s life without me then?’ he asked.

‘What can I say, Gereon. I’m at the end of my tether. Without you, I just don’t know how to get through the days.’ He looked as if he was about to cry. Then he grinned at Rath. ‘Seriously: do you think Böhm will let us work together again soon?’

‘No idea.’ Rath shrugged. ‘Probably not until Gennat’s back in charge. Böhm’s even separated Plisch and Plum.’

‘I heard a moment ago that Trudchen Steiner will be boosting the turnover of local bakeries from Monday.’

‘Gennat’s coming back?’

‘Looks that way.’ Gräf stirred his coffee. ‘They’re not making any progress in Düsseldorf, despite our help. Even the famous Gennat has had to admit defeat.’

‘We need him here, old Fatso. If it’s true, I’ll go to him first thing on Monday and request that we be reunited.’

‘That trouble you’re in with Brenner, even Gennat can’t help you anymore. Next stop: stacking files in Köpenick.’

Rath took a cigarette from his case and lit it. ‘I’ve taken care of that.’

Gräf looked at him. ‘You haven’t done anything underhand, I hope.’

‘Underhand? Not from my end. It’s Brenner who’s playing dirty.’ He drew on his cigarette. ‘Let’s talk about something else. Tell me what came to light at briefing this morning.’

‘That it really was Krempin who jumped.’

‘I was still there at that point. Is it certain he jumped?’

‘How else is he supposed to have got down there? An accident?’

‘How about murder?’

‘You sound just like Böhm. He’s forbidden us from mentioning suicide.’

‘You of all people should know why. We’ve worked on enough together. Only when third-party involvement has been ruled out can we speak of suicide.’

‘Sure, but we always had a feeling beforehand. Whenever we thought it was suicide, that’s how it turned out.’

‘Then our feelings differ on this occasion.’ Rath stirred his coffee even though he hadn’t added sugar.

‘Could be,’ Gräf nodded. ‘All the same, I think Böhm’s taking things too far. He’s still looking for Krempin’s final hiding place. Well, perhaps we’ll find a suicide note or something. Then there’s Oppenberg. He must still be hoping to get something out of him.’

Rath stopped stirring. ‘But what? The motive for the alleged suicide?’

‘That’s clear enough: the killer could no longer bear his guilt. On top of that you have the manhunt, the ‘wanted’ posters.’

‘Krempin was no killer, and no suicide either. Someone pushed him, and it was probably someone he knew: the same person who killed Betty Winter.’

‘I had forgotten you thought Krempin was innocent. Then we need to look for this mysterious stranger.’

‘Who?’

‘A few witnesses have mentioned a man who was one of the first to appear beside the corpse, before vanishing without trace.’

‘Not all onlookers wait like model citizens for the police to arrive.’

‘True, it’s strange all the same. The man went back up the Funkturm before making himself scarce.’

‘Maybe he left something in the restaurant.’

Gräf shook his head. ‘When the lift attendant went with the others to look at the corpse, the man took the lift to the viewing platform. He came back down on foot. The attendant had to take the stairs all the way up to the top to retrieve his lift. The car was stuck on the platform because the door was still open. He wasn’t best pleased.’

‘And Böhm thinks that’s suspicious? Someone taking the lift?’

Gräf shrugged his shoulders. ‘No idea, but he’s summoned the sketch artist.’

Lange still wasn’t back when Rath returned to the office. Instead he was greeted by Erika Voss and a fresh-smelling dog that wagged its tail like crazy as soon as he opened the door.

‘He recognises you, Inspector,’ the secretary said with delight. ‘I think he likes you.’

‘I’m good with dogs,’ Rath said. ‘It’s one of my inestimable virtues.’ He bent over and let it lick his hands. ‘But he was happy to go with you too. What did they say at the canine unit?’

‘They weren’t too keen, but I was persistent.’

‘And?’

‘They’re sending someone to pick him up.’

‘Good. Lange still not back from Böhm?’ She shook her head. ‘Anything from Forensics?’ Another shake of the head. ‘Did you get the producer’s address from Missing Persons?’

Erika Voss nodded and passed him a piece of paper. ‘I’ve got the list here.’

He looked at a few names along with addresses and telephone numbers.

‘See if a woman resembling Jean Fastré has been admitted to any of the city’s hospitals in the last few days.’

The secretary reached for the receiver, and Rath went into the back room. The dog followed him to his desk, sat down on its hind legs and watched its new friend curiously.

‘Well now, sonny,’ Rath said. ‘If you think I’m going to play with you or take you walkies, then I must disappoint. There’s an expert coming to do all that.’

The dog stuck its tongue out in response and started panting. It looked as if it was smiling. Rath reached for the telephone.

‘Berolina Film Production. How can I help?’ a woman’s voice said.

‘Rath, CID. You can fetch your boss to the telephone.’

‘I can put you through.’

‘Or that.’

‘It’s lucky you caught him. Herr Grunwald is very busy.’

There was a clicking noise, and shortly thereafter a man who sounded like he didn’t have much time. ‘You reported the actress Jean Fastré as missing this morning?’ Rath said.

‘That’s right,’ Grunwald said. ‘Have you found something?’

‘Only that she hasn’t been in her flat for days, and that she wasn’t intending on being away so long.’

‘Has something happened to her?’

‘Difficult to say. We’re currently checking the hospitals.’

The dog seemed bored. It saw the waste-paper basket, sniffed, and made to put one of its paws on it.

‘Off!’ Rath cried, and the dog gave a start.

‘Pardon me?’ Grunwald said.

‘Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you,’ Rath said. ‘I’ve got a dog here. We found it in the flat. Did Frau Fastré have a dog?’

‘Yes, a Bouvier called Kirie.’

‘Strange name.’

‘French. Stands for: la petite qui rit , the little girl who laughs. It was sent over from Belgium. We had to forbid her from bringing the damn thing to the shoot as it spent the whole time yapping. You can’t have that with a talkie. Once upon a time we might have turned a blind eye.’ He gave a brief laugh. ‘There are few noisier things on earth than making a silent film.’

‘So, what? She just left the dog at home when she had to go to a shoot?’

‘No idea. All I know is she came to the shoot, and the dog didn’t.’

‘But leaving the dog alone for a few days would be unusual?’