Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

‘Come on then,’ he said, and the dog trotted ahead across the yard, turning again and again to look at the bag of food. Once inside the flat he gave her a few Buletten, as well as a little food in her bowl. He fetched her some fresh water and opened a beer for himself.

While the dog ate, he looked at the toupee. It was matted and soiled, but perhaps still of some use. If only to snap that arrogant Meisner out of his complacent self-assurance.

The only problem: in theory he wasn’t allowed to be in possession of the hairpiece.

Then again perhaps he wasn’t; perhaps someone else had found it, someone who the police already knew had been at the Funkturm that day.

He took his beer and the Aschinger bag into the living room, made himself comfortable at the table with the tele-phone and, having given the operator the number, took a bite from his Bulette. At that moment Elisabeth Behnke came on the line, his former landlady, who had thrown him out because of Charly.

‘Merthold Meinert, bleathe,’ Rath said.

‘He’s eating,’ Behnke said, ‘as, clearly, are you!’ If there was one thing she couldn’t abide it was bad manners.

‘Jushth a momemt,’ Rath munched down the line. There was a click and he heard her shouting: ‘Herr Weinert, it’s one of your vulgar colleagues.’ It took a moment before someone lifted the receiver again.

‘My dear Binding,’ he heard Weinert curse. ‘Surely the matter isn’t so urgent that you need to interrupt my dinner.’

‘Very urgent,’ Rath said. ‘The Reich Chancellor has pissed on the government bench in the Reichstag, and we need an exclusive.’

‘Gereon, is that you?’

‘Careful with my first name! Behnke might smell a rat, and you’re the one who’ll have to put up with her bad mood.’

‘Thanks for the warning. Where were you on Sonnabend, damn it? Not in that Dreieck anyway. Or at home either.’

‘Something came up, sorry, I tried to ring you,’ Rath lied.

‘And I’ve been trying to ring you for three days!’

‘Best not to mention your name when you call Alex. The journalist Berthold Weinert is on file as part of the Krempin case. If they find out you know me, we could be in trouble.’

‘All right, but back to our abortive meeting. Is the wig no longer of interest to you?’

‘Of course it is. That’s why I’m calling.’ He glanced at the time. ‘Can I bring it round tonight?’

‘I have a reception with the Reich Chancellor.’

‘Tomorrow then.’

‘In the evening, I can’t manage before. I’m up to my eyes in work, and this time, there’s a price.’

‘Which would be?’

‘I need the car.’

‘For Wednesday night?’

‘Inclusive of Thursday morning.’

‘Come by and pick it up, together with the wig.’

‘I’ll come straight to yours from Kochstrasse. Around eight?’

‘OK.’

‘Woe betide you if you should stand me up again.’

‘Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. Cross my heart! Otherwise I’ll address you as Your Worshipfulness for a whole month.’

‘Well then, it must be serious,’ Weinert laughed. ‘By the way, there was something I wanted to warn you about. There’ll be an article on Krempin tomorrow. He’ll be mentioned by name for the first time. It couldn’t be withheld any longer.’

‘So long as my name doesn’t appear. No matter who asks: I wasn’t at the Funkturm.’

‘You were on Sunday.’ Weinert’s voice sounded as if he was grinning. ‘A few nice photos landed on my desk yesterday. The Funkturm’s millionth visitor. Looks pretty damn similar to you. And that little cutie next to you! A film actress apparently. Seems like it pays to investigate in those circles.’

‘Are you going to publish the picture?’

‘It’s not exactly the silly season, but I think it would be a good filler. Besides, the tourist office has almost certainly sent the press release and photo to the other papers. The millionth visitor is better than the hundredth suicide.’

‘Quit joking, Berthold. If the picture appears somewhere, and one of the Funkturm witnesses recognises me it’ll be goodnight.’

‘I wouldn’t be too worried there. The most likely thing is a nice little text report without the picture. Unless, that is, someone finds out who the actress in the photo is.’

‘They won’t.’

He hung up and ate the Buletten and potato salad. When he had finished he reached again for the telephone. He’d have liked to get drunk with Paul, but the Excelsior informed him that Herr Wittkamp had gone out again.

‘We’ll have to make do on our own,’ he said to Kirie as he attached her lead.

He made his way to the Dreieck with her. The pub was already full to bursting, which wasn’t saying much given the building’s narrow triangular structure. He positioned himself at the bar and ordered a beer with corn schnapps. He wasn’t the only patron with a dog. They clearly served as an alibi for others to get out of the house in the evening. Kirie got along just fine with the alibi-dogs. She sniffed curiously at an ugly Boxer who let the whole thing wash over him with an expressionless face. Schorsch set down a bowl for the dogs, which he filled with water before taking care of his two-legged guests.

With Kirie, Rath thought as he drained the corn schnapps and took his first sip of beer, at least he would find his way home.

Gennat kept the morning briefing short, in view of the round of interviews that was to follow. Rath was doing his best to keep up, but it was difficult. He had tried everything, even a cold shower, but he could still feel the hangover in his bones. Meisner was second in line, immediately behind Cora Bellmann, who was still being treated as a prime suspect since she was the only one police thought might have acted on her father’s behalf.

Before that, it had been Lange and Czerwinski. From the cleaning firm Lange had acquired a list of people who had access to both cinemas. Unfortunately, that was a lot of names – but Czerwinski had discovered something which made Rath sit up and take notice. The cinema in which Betty Winter had celebrated her film premiere in 1925, the Tivoli in Weissensee, had closed in December.

‘Betty Winter, therefore,’ Gennat took up the thread, ‘would have been a likely target for our cinema killer. Film actress, under thirty, first talkie just in cinemas – and the Tivoli would have been the ideal location for the final enactment our perpetrator grants his victims. I would ask you all to bear these possible connections in mind when we start interviewing but, above all, the information Detective Czerwinski is about to provide. Please continue, Detective.’

‘The Tivoli has already found an interesting new use,’ Czerwinski said. ‘It won’t be turned into a sound film cinema, but rather back into what it was over ten years ago: a theatre. And who will be in charge?’ Czerwinski looked round to check everyone was listening. ‘Victor Meisner!’

That really was news. Rath was annoyed that Meisner hadn’t told him, neither yesterday nor a week ago.

‘It will be called The Betty Winter Theatre,’ Czerwinski said. ‘Not exactly original, but certainly good for business.’

‘Thank you, Detective. We’ll explore that in more detail presently, during his interview,’ Gennat said. ‘Now, to work!’

Rath still had time before it was his turn and returned to his office. Better Erika Voss’s coffee than the sludge in Homicide. He sat at his desk, taking the occasional sip from the steaming mug, lit a cigarette and reflected on matters.

By now Gennat would have the transcript from his interview with Meisner. It was too late to insert anything about The Betty Winter Theatre. Another black mark against his name, no doubt, but there was nothing to be done. Perhaps he could make up for it during the interrogation. He had to force Meisner into such a corner that his only option was to confess. He stubbed out his cigarette and went on his way.