Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

The lights changed to green and the Buick’s wheels spun for a moment before the car shot forward.

‘What an arsehole!’

‘Bellmann is an arsehole, no doubt about it,’ Gräf said, reaching for security again, ‘but that isn’t a crime. Nor is being business-savvy. We can’t lock people up for attempting to make capital out of someone’s death.’

‘Unless they’ve helped cause it.’

‘ Deliberately helped cause it. The way I see it, there are two poor wretches who have that woman on their conscience: Glaser and Meisner. A regrettable chain of unhappy circumstances. One of them has broken down and the other has fled out of guilt. Even if it was the electric shock that killed her, the person really responsible for Betty Winter’s death is the lighting technician, and he must realise that too. You can’t help feeling sorry for the guy.’

‘He fled the scene. That makes him a suspect.’

‘He’s suddenly confronted with the fact that he’s got someone’s death on his conscience,’ Gräf said. ‘Not everyone can take that. Could you?’

Rath stared at the road ahead. A taxi pulled out in front of him, and he took his foot off the gas. The further north they went, the heavier the traffic. Time to slow down.

‘Fancy a beer in the Nasse Dreieck?’ Gräf asked as they turned onto Skalitzer Strasse at Hallesches Tor.

‘Not today. But I can drop you off if you like.’

‘I’m not about to start drinking on my own just yet,’ Gräf said. ‘Take me home.’

The detective lived in a furnished room at Schlesisches Tor. No great detour for Rath, who gave Gräf a brief tip of the hat before heading back to Luisenufer. As he crossed the rear courtyard, he realised there was a light on in his first-floor flat.

He had barely thought about Kathi in the last few hours, but now saw her red coat in the rear-view mirror again and recalled the wait in the café. He paused outside the door before opening it, and took a deep breath as if preparing for a lengthy dive.

There was a second coat on the stand next to Kathi’s, a dark gentleman’s coat. Music blared from the living room, muffled by the closed door. It was one of Kathi’s awful pop records. Normally he could prevent her from putting that sort of thing on. Except when she was alone, of course.

Only she wasn’t alone. Loud laughter came from the living room, Kathi’s silly giggling accompanied by a deep bass. Who the hell had she dragged back to the flat?

Rath kept his hat and coat on, mentally raised his fists and opened the door. She had achieved at least one thing: he was in the right mood to turf her out – but the sight of her guest took his anger in a completely different direction.

Kathi had her back to him, still laughing. Opposite her sat an older gentleman with a neat white moustache, raising a glass of cognac, a man whom he hadn’t seen for the best part of a year, and who now looked up in surprise and beamed at him expectantly.

‘Gereon,’ the white-haired man said, ‘there you are at last!’

Rath didn’t respond, but turned off the record player.

‘Gereon,’ Kathi said, nothing more. She would have a guilty conscience. Usually, he didn’t let her near the record player.

He still said nothing, first putting on a new record, Big Boy, with Beiderbecke on the cornet, a present from his brother, Severin. After the first few beats, he turned it up.

Right away Kathi sensed there was trouble brewing. ‘I’ll take care of the washing-up,’ she said, and disappeared into the kitchen like the perfect housewife.

Rath waited until the living room door had clicked shut before sitting in her still-warm chair. He gazed at the white-haired man.

‘Evening, Papa,’ he said. ‘Make yourself at home, why don’t you?’

Engelbert Rath cleared his throat before speaking. ‘Can we turn the music down a little?’ he said. ‘It’s impossible to hold a conversation with that racket!’

‘It’s how I relax after work.’

Engelbert Rath stood up. It took a moment for him to find the right button and turn the volume so low that the sound of running water could be heard from the kitchen. His gaze alighted on the record collection on the lower shelf and he shook his head. ‘Still listening to that Negro music?’ he asked.

‘Have you come all this way to ask me that?’

‘Records from America?’

‘Do you really want to talk about America?’

Engelbert Rath didn’t take the bait. ‘You have a new case, Fräulein Preußner said?’

The waiter in Uhlandeck must have told her. ‘A dead actress,’ Rath said, ‘in a film studio.’

‘Shame you can’t be there in Düsseldorf.’ Engelbert Rath rummaged in his brown briefcase. ‘Your mother sends her love. She gave me something for you. Here…’ He produced an item decorated with colourful ribbons and bound in wrapping paper. ‘Your birthday present.’

‘Thank you,’ Rath said, placing the package to one side. ‘It’s still a few days away.’

‘Your mother thought I might as well bring it. It’s safer than by post.’

‘So you’re not coming to visit me?’

Engelbert Rath shrugged. ‘Your mother would have liked to come, but you know how she is. She won’t take the train on her own.’ He cleared his throat. ‘And I… well, on Ash Wednesday of all days it’s impossible to get away from Cologne. There’s the reception in the town hall after early morning mass, and the fish meal in the casino that evening is something I really can’t…’

‘You don’t have to give me your entire schedule.’

Engelbert Rath gestured towards the package and reclaimed his place on the sofa. ‘At least you have our present.’

The men stared at each other in silence. From the kitchen came the gurgle of water and the clinking of china.

‘She’s nice, your fiancée,’ Engelbert Rath said.

‘She’s not my fiancée.’

Engelbert Rath only looked surprised for a moment. ‘I can never get used to these modern ways. She’s a proper lady at any rate. You might have said something! I thought I’d come to the wrong flat. But Fräulein Preußner knew who I was right away!’

‘Must be the photo I keep on my bedside table.’

Engelbert Rath pulled a sour face. ‘Here I am visiting my son, and this is how he treats me!’

‘What did you expect? I’ve been living in this city almost a year and neither of you has visited me even once… Now you turn up, completely unannounced, and expect me to roll out the red carpet?’

‘People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones,’ Engelbert Rath said. He didn’t need to speak any louder to lend his words weight. ‘Have you bothered to put in a single appearance at ours since you’ve been living in Berlin? You didn’t even spend Christmas in Cologne, and you know how pleased that would have made your mother. Instead you put your name down for holiday duty – even though Karl would have given you the time off.’

‘Have you been spying on me?’

‘I don’t need to spy on anyone. I’m a policeman.’

‘How is it I always seem to forget?’

Engelbert Rath looked tired as he gazed at his son. ‘We see each other so rarely, Gereon, we shouldn’t spend the time squabbling. You’re the only son I have left.’

Because you refuse to give Severin a chance, Gereon thought. ‘Why are you here?’

‘We have an appointment. A friend needs your help.’

‘I don’t recall any appointment.’

‘I’ve already spoken to Fräulein Preußner.’ Engelbert gestured with his head towards the kitchen. ‘She’s happy for me to borrow you for a while. It won’t take long. You’ll be back by nine, maybe half past. Keep your hat and coat on, we need to head to Kaiserhof.’