Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

Gennat nodded thoughtfully.

‘We must ask you again to recall what happened on the twenty-eighth of February. Above all, where you were yourself.’

‘Your colleague has already asked me that, so I sat down yesterday evening…’ Meisner took a sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. ‘…I lived through the terrible day for a second time in my mind, and noted everything down: when and where I was, and where Betty was too, so far as I can speak for her.’ He passed Gennat the piece of paper. ‘I have taken the liberty of writing out a fair copy.’

Gennat looked at the paper as if he had just received an Easter egg for Christmas.

‘I must say this is rather unusual,’ he began, before Meisner interrupted him.

‘It’s for you. Take it. I have a copy. You can compare it with the other statements.’

Buddha accepted the paper gingerly and began to read.

Rath was furious. It was time to knock the slippery, pretentious little shit off his perch.

‘You wear a toupee, don’t you, Herr Meisner?’ he asked suddenly.

There was profound silence. Gennat looked on with irritation, while Christel Temme briefly ceased writing.

‘You know I do!’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘Because I didn’t think it was relevant. To my knowledge, Bellmann wears dentures. Did he tell you that ?’

‘Where were you on the seventh of March around lunchtime? Do you have that in writing too?’

‘What day was that, Friday?’

‘You know perfectly well it was Friday!’

Meisner shrugged. ‘I’m not so good with dates, hopeless without my diary.’

‘Did you follow Felix Krempin up the Funkturm or did you wait for him there?’

Meisner looked at Gennat helplessly. ‘Sorry, Superintendent. I don’t know what your colleague wants from me, I really don’t. Perhaps you can explain?’

‘We just want to know where you were on Friday lunchtime,’ Gennat said. Rath was about to say something else, but Buddha silenced him with a gesture as forceful as it was discreet.

‘Friday? I was home between twelve and two. If the schedule allows, then I have a little afternoon nap.’

‘Were you alone?’

‘I’m a widower. What do you think? No doubt the concierge can confirm I was there. All the same, I don’t quite understand why…’

‘All right, Herr Meisner, that’s it,’ Gennat said. ‘I don’t think we have any more questions for the time being. Thank you for coming. Now, you may leave. Please continue to place yourself at our disposal.’

‘Of course.’

Victor Meisner departed with a shake of the head and a sidelong glance at Rath.

Gennat waited until he was outside and for a time said nothing, simply played with his file. Then he exploded.

‘Am I talking to a brick wall here, Rath?’ He shouted so loud that Christel Temme dropped her pad. ‘What did I say to you only yesterday?’

‘That I should only intervene in interrogations if we have arranged it beforehand, Sir.’

‘Correct. Something did stick after all. What in God’s name was that nonsense about a toupee?’

‘I wanted to confuse the suspect, Sir. Shake him out of his arrogant self-assurance.’

‘Well, you did a splendid job, I must say! All you did was confuse me ! As well as poor Fräulein Temme. You derailed the entire interview.’

‘Listen, that stuff about the written alibi is a joke, it can…’

‘Do you really think I wouldn’t have grilled him on that if you hadn’t got in the way?’

‘He did it, Sir, I know it. Meisner deliberately killed his wife. He knew exactly what he was doing with the water. He meant to finish her off when he saw the spotlight hadn’t killed her. He looked so horrified because she was still alive.’

‘Why would he want to kill her?’

‘Because he hated her. Because she was better than him and the vain little twerp couldn’t stand it. He used the opportunity… the spotlight…’

‘If everything you’ve just told me is true,’ Gennat said, ‘then you’ve made an even bigger mess of things than I thought!’

It didn’t seem like today was Rath’s lucky day. Not wanting to go through Homicide, past Böhm, he took his leave through the door that led directly into the corridor. When he emerged, Manfred Oppenberg was already sitting on the wooden bench. Rath didn’t deign to look at him, and the producer likewise refrained from expressing any joy at their reunion.

He was annoyed at Meisner and his performance, but he was even more annoyed at himself and his own stupidity. He had underestimated Victor Meisner. The man wasn’t so easy to rattle after all. Those turns as a sobbing bundle of nerves – what a farce. The real Meisner was an ice-cold, calculating, unscrupulous son of a bitch, a series of masks that could be removed in turn, the way you peeled and peeled an onion until nothing of it remained.

He went into his office to fetch his hat and coat. ‘Can I leave Kirie with you for a while, Erika?’ he asked. ‘I have to head back out to question a witness, and can’t take the dog with me everywhere.’

Erika Voss sighed, but said yes.

He was in luck; the concierge was sitting in his lodge.

‘No dog today, Inspector?’

‘Still at obedience school.’

‘I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Herr Meisner isn’t here today either. Didn’t you find him yesterday?’

‘I have a few questions for you. My colleagues might not have been interested, but I am.’ Rath took out his notebook to highlight the importance of the conversation. ‘Yesterday you were recalling a fight between Herr Meisner and his wife. I’d like you to tell me what it was about, as far as possible.’

The concierge scratched his head under his bonnet.

‘She wanted to make films with another producer. He could forget about coming with her. I’m not prepared to carry you anymore, she said. You’re the millstone around my neck .’

Rath wrote down everything he said. ‘You also mentioned something about her good name, and the fact that Betty Winter wouldn’t lend it. Can you remember anything more about that?’

‘It was about a theatre, if I understood correctly. He wanted her to perform, but she said no. When he asked her what she thought of the name she said: Forget about it, I certainly won’t be lending my good name to that! ’

‘Did you catch which theatre they were talking about?’

‘I didn’t hear a name, but it must be somewhere in Wei…’

The concierge interrupted himself mid-sentence and turned bright red. ‘Good morning, Herr Meisner,’ he said.

Rath turned around. Victor Meisner looked about as friendly as a jar of pickled gherkins. ‘No getting rid of you, is there?’

‘It’s one of my most salient qualities,’ he replied. ‘For my part, I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you were filming in Marienfelde.’

‘The shoot’s been cancelled today, thanks to your hard-working institution. There isn’t a soul there.’ Meisner fumbled the door key out of his pocket and pressed the button for the lift. ‘Did your boss give you a good dressing-down just now? Remind you how to comport yourself?’

The lift door opened and Meisner entered.

He made to take his leave with a smile but just before the door closed Rath jumped in beside him. The smile froze.

‘What kind of methods are these?’ Meisner asked as the lift started. ‘Are you going to beat a confession out of me? No point, I’ve already confessed.’ He adopted a familiar whining tone. ‘I killed her, I killed her!’ Meisner grinned. ‘I was good, wasn’t I, Inspector? You believed me, didn’t you?’

Rath said nothing. He pushed a button and the lift came to a juddering halt.