Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

The director rolled his eyes. ‘You as well,’ he said. ‘I hope that’s it for today. Your people have been in and out all afternoon. How are we supposed to get any work done?’

‘You must have experience of working in difficult conditions by now,’ said Rath.

Dressler gave a forced smile. ‘Who are you after then?’

‘Victor Meisner.’

‘In his dressing room; he’s finished filming for the day.’

Rath nodded. ‘Don’t mind me, I know the way.’

‘You can’t just go bursting in there,’ Dressler called, but Rath continued backstage as if he hadn’t heard, towards the door with Meisner’s name on.

He knocked and entered.

Victor Meisner sat in front of a large mirror, wiping make-up from his brow. He was scarcely recognisable. The pale face that gazed at Rath from the mirror, still partly smeared with greasepaint, had nothing to do with the heroes Victor Meisner embodied on-screen. There was something else that fitted even less with the image of the glorious hero, however, a discovery that instantly put Rath on high alert. The electric bulbs above the dressing table were reflected by a receding hairline.

The actor was clearly embarrassed at being seen like this. He made a grab for his hairpiece and hastily arranged it on his head. Only then did he sport the hairstyle Rath was familiar with. He still didn’t look like a hero though, nor did he sound like one.

‘Can’t you wait until you are invited to enter?’ he asked.

‘You wear a wig,’ Rath said, trying to sound casual. ‘I never knew that.’

‘Not a wig, just a hairpiece,’ Meisner said. ‘Nobody knows. I’m warning you, if I should read about it in the press I’ll hold you responsible.’

‘Don’t worry, I can keep quiet.’

‘But that’s not why you’re here.’

‘No.’ Rath moved a chair so that he could see Meisner’s face in the mirror, and tied Kirie’s lead round one of the legs. ‘You don’t have anything against me sitting down,’ he said, fetching a notebook and pencil from his coat. ‘I have a few more questions for you.’

‘Shouldn’t you have asked them last week? Then we’d be through with all this.’

‘The police are always asking new questions, Herr Meisner, as well as repeating old ones. We know that we annoy people like you in the process, but it’s our job.’

‘Some job.’

‘You’re shooting a new film,’ Rath said. ‘With Eva Kröger, I see. You seem to have coped rather well with the death of your wife.’

‘The world keeps turning, Inspector. The show must go on , as the English would say. Eventually you have to get back on an even keel. Betty’s funeral is on Thursday and, believe you me, that will be hard enough.’ He tapped his index finger against his breast. ‘Do you have any idea what things look like in here ?’

‘No, but I’d like to.’

Meisner looked at him suspiciously. ‘What do you want? Ask your questions and leave me in peace!’

‘Did your wife leave you much?’

Meisner let out a brief, jerky laugh. ‘Why don’t you just say you’re after a motive. Well, the inheritance isn’t one! Betty left me very little. Feel free to speak to the notary. If you thought that was a motive for murder, then Bellmann would have more reason. He had Betty insured for a lot of money; her death really pays off for him.’

Rath sketched a stick man in his notebook.

‘Another question,’ he said, still drawing, ‘how was your wife familiar with yangtao?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Yangtao.’ Rath left the stick man unfinished for the time being and looked up. ‘Chinese gooseberry. An exotic fruit.’

‘No idea. What makes you think Betty was familiar with it?’

‘We found it in her stomach,’ he said, and continued with his drawing.

Meisner made a disgusted face. ‘Don’t you think you’re being excessively tactless? You could show a little more consideration. Just because I have myself under control doesn’t mean I’m not mourning the loss of my wife. We were married almost five years.’

‘You weren’t quite so close in recent times, were you?’

‘How dare you…?’

‘You quarrelled with her. On the morning of the twenty-eighth of February, the day of her death.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘That’s beside the point. Did you or did you not?’

‘Who doesn’t quarrel in their marriage? It’s no reason to kill someone.’

‘She wanted to leave La Belle and stop making films with you.’

‘And that’s why I killed her, so that she might make films with me again? Where’s the logic in that?’

‘I never said you killed your wife.’

‘You know that I killed my wife, and I know it too, but it was a mistake. You ought to find the one who’s responsible for the spotlight.’

Rath drew the stick man a little dog, dark and woolly, with a smiling face.

‘That’s why I’m here,’ he said, adding a lead, ‘and it’s why I need to ask you something else. Where were you…?’

‘You know that! I was standing next to her when she died. I had to witness the whole thing with my own eyes.’

‘I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the morning of the twenty-eighth of February. Can you tell me what you did that day?’

‘I was filming, you know that.’

‘When did you set off from home, arrive at the studio, film your first scene. Which scenes? Can you give me times?’

‘Not off the top of my head. I’d need to think about that. Betty’s death overshadowed everything else that day.’

Rath took his pencil and waited eagerly.

‘We set off from home about half past eight as usual,’ he said. ‘We must have arrived at the studio just before nine.’

‘You went together?’

‘Yes. I have a car, and usually gave her a ride.’

‘What did you do when you arrived at the studio?’

‘The usual. Said hello to everyone first, chatted a little. We had a look at the schedule and went through the scenes we’d be filming that day with Dressler.’

‘You started filming straight after?’

‘Yes. That is, first we had to go into make-up. The actors, I mean.’

This time Rath really had made notes. ‘Thank you, Herr Meisner.’ He snapped the book shut. ‘That’s it for today from my end.’ He stood up and took Kirie’s lead. ‘I must ask you, however, to come to the station tomorrow at ten. Superintendent Gennat would like to speak to you.’

‘And the shoot?’

‘Most of your colleagues will also be at Alex. Dressler has almost certainly altered the schedule.’

Meisner sighed and continued wiping greasepaint from his face.

‘Just one more thing,’ Rath said when he was standing in the door. ‘Your hairpiece – is it a spare or did you have to get a new one?’

He didn’t wait for a response but followed Kirie, who was already pulling on the lead, and closed the door behind him.

On the drive home, he made a detour via Oranienstrasse and picked up supper for himself and Kirie from the local Aschinger. This time he played it safe and bought half a dozen Buletten and a little potato salad. At least Kirie wouldn’t be competing for that.

Tonight, their evening walk only took them as far as Oranienplatz. He fetched their supper from the car and took the matted hairpiece along with the little blue package out of the glove compartment. The present from the Funkturm. Charly and her crazy idea!

Charly!

The thought of her cut him to the quick.

The grinning man at her door.

Shit.

‘You dogs have it good,’ he said, holding the Aschinger bag safely away from Kirie. ‘All you think about is eating.’

Kirie looked at him and smiled expectantly.