Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

They hadn’t seen each other for over a year and had a lot to talk about. Only that’s not what they did. They chatted, of course, but only about trivial matters, about the band onstage, about the new records Rath had received from New York, all the new talkies he hadn’t seen – even if he did know a few actresses who wouldn’t be signing any more autographs. Paul had talked about his work too, the wine dealership he was proposing to expand into the imperial capital. He had a meeting on Monday with buyers from Kempinski.

‘You should look in on the Kaiserhof as well, they could use a few good wines.’

‘I’ve reserved two days to go door-to-door canvassing,’ Paul had said. ‘Who knows, perhaps Wittkamp will open a branch in Berlin.’

Apart from chatting about work they hadn’t talked about themselves. Everything was exactly as it always was whenever he saw Paul. Perhaps because of that, Rath felt as bound to this blond, unassuming and frivolous man as he did to anyone on earth. Excepting Charly perhaps, but that was different. They were the only two who allowed him to forget his loneliness. They made the knowledge that life was a journey you travelled alone seem, however briefly, like a lie.

By the end of the night he was, more or less, incapable of standing. Paul – perhaps not entirely jokingly – had offered him a share of his double bed back at the hotel, but Rath had asked the barman to call for a taxi. He remembered that he had almost left Kirie behind, but the dog had come barking after him and jumped in alongside. How had he managed the stairs at home? Now, that he couldn’t say; the dog had probably led him up.

Blast, his car was still at Anhalter Bahnhof!

They stopped, and Kirie took the opportunity to use of one of the many shrubs to perform her business. Time was getting on; if he had to pick up the car then he ought to get home now, feed the dog and make himself presentable.

An hour later, emerging from the elevated railway on Möckern Bridge, he was already feeling better. His headache had evaporated along with his fatigue, and the sun was shining. Kirie seemed to be enjoying her second walk just as much as the first. Somehow it was a nice feeling strolling through the morning with a smiling dog on its lead. Yes, it was going to be a beautiful day.

Charly was enthusiastic. ‘Isn’t he sweet?’ she said.

Kirie crouched on the rear shelf behind the seats where Rath had tied her, panting curiously at the new passenger. ‘He’s a she,’ he said.

Charly got in facing backwards and, instead of sitting, knelt on the passenger seat and stroked the dog. ‘What’s your name then, little man?’

‘Kirie,’ Rath replied. ‘ Her name is Kirie. A lady dog. I’m looking after her temporarily. Until her mistress is back.’

‘Her mistress?’

‘A missing actress, but let’s not talk about work. It’s Sunday.’

At last Charly turned and sat down. She meant to give Rath just a quick hello kiss, but he held her to prolong it, only to be interrupted by Kirie’s barking. ‘Cut it out,’ he scolded.

Charly couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I see you’ve brought a chaperone.’

‘She probably thinks we’ve got something to eat.’

‘Well, I hope there will be something to eat today.’

‘Of course, and the lady can choose the location. Where to?’

‘Which one? Kirie’s a lady too.’

‘The two-legged one, if it was up to four-legs here, we’d spend the day digging up bones and chasing cats.’

‘How does a long walk by the Wannsee sound? Then Kirie gets something out of it too. We could go across to the Pfaueninsel and have a little something to eat in Nikolskoe.’

‘Good choice. We’ll treat ourselves to a trip on the AVUS in honour of the occasion.’

They weren’t the only ones with that idea. Though they made good progress through Moabit, it was chaos on Charlottenburger Chaussee. The thermometer showed twelve degrees and the first decent Sunday of the year was drawing half of Berlin to the country. The year before, March had tormented citizens with minus temperatures.

‘I didn’t know that so many people had cars,’ Charly said.

As they passed Vivian Franck’s apartment on Kaiserdamm, Rath couldn’t help but think of the dead actress. What devil had done that to her, and how would he feel if something like that happened to Charly? He shook off the thought.

‘Are you cold?’ she asked.

They made a left before Reichskanzlerplatz. Behind the exhibition grounds the road joined the AVUS, and Rath was looking forward to driving the car at full speed when, before they reached the toll gate, Charly asked: ‘Why don’t we go up the Funkturm?’

‘Pardon me?’

‘Up the Funkturm.’

Rath pulled over. ‘Because of the dead man I told you about?’

‘Of course not! What do you take me for?’

‘A detective through and through, even if you’re studying law and employed by the Castle as a stenographer.’

‘Perhaps I wouldn’t have thought of it if you hadn’t told me about Krempin. Do you really think I want to secure evidence and question witnesses up there?’ She sounded outraged. ‘It’s such a nice day, and I’ve never been before. Come on! Just a cup of coffee, a little look and then onwards. Lady’s choice, you said so yourself.’

‘Fine,’ he sighed and turned the car. ‘A cup of coffee. We can’t leave the dog any longer than that, she doesn’t like it, and I’m pretty sure we won’t be allowed to take her up.’

Though, as expected, Kirie made a fuss when she was left in the car, Charly managed to coax her into acquiescence. The crowd by the Funkturm was considerably greater than two days before. They were made to queue at the ticket office and again outside the lift. As they joined the back of the queue, Rath noticed how the man in the booth picked up the telephone as soon as he had sold them their tickets, ignoring the two Americans behind them, even though the pair were making their presence felt – the woman more so than the man. He felt ill at ease, imagining himself watched by the cashier as he telephoned. When he realised that Rath was looking back, he quickly turned away, making the Yanks see red once and for all.

‘There must be free beer up there,’ Charly said. ‘The queue just keeps getting longer.’

‘Whatever it is, it’s making those American tourists impatient.’

They entered the lift and, luckily, he didn’t recognise the lift attendant. It was tight in the car, smelling of too many different people, and he was glad when they disembarked.

A man in a slightly rumpled dark suit took Rath by the sleeve. ‘May I see your ticket please?’

Before he could say anything the man grabbed his ticket. ‘It is you!’ he said.

Rath didn’t know what he was after, but it couldn’t have been anything bad since the next thing he heard was: ‘Congratulations!’

‘Pardon me?’

‘May I congratulate you on behalf of the Berlin Exhibition, Trade Fair and Tourist Office. You are the millionth visitor to the Funkturm!’

Charly burst out laughing, and Rath gave a sour grin. ‘Just a cup of coffee,’ he hissed.

‘Perhaps there’ll be a glass of champagne in it,’ she whispered back, and smiled. Meanwhile a photographer had taken up position in front of them. That was all he needed!

‘A photo for the papers, please,’ the man in the suit said.

‘Do we have to?’

Instead of answering, the man in the suit shook his hand and turned with a grin towards the photographer. Then came the flash. Luckily it wasn’t a crime correspondent. Rath didn’t recognise the young man who now produced pen and paper. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen.