Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

‘What do you want?’ asked Meisner.

‘The truth.’

‘Why don’t you just tell me what you think the truth is?’

‘You killed your wife.’

‘The whole world knows that.’

‘Intentionally.’

‘Who can see into another person’s mind?’

‘You made use of Krempin’s sabotaging construction.’

Meisner gave an amused smile. ‘Go on.’

‘Perhaps he told you about it himself. After all, when he left the studio he considered you a friend.’

‘Yes, we made friends quickly, anyone will confirm that. I couldn’t have been expected to know what kind of person he was.’

‘You even helped him escape. That was how you maintained contact with him, and kept him under control.’

‘One doesn’t speak about favours granted to friends.’

‘When he told you he had arranged to meet me, you panicked. You didn’t even have to follow him, no doubt he told you when and where we were meeting. Maybe, even, the meeting point was your suggestion, since you live right next to the Funkturm. Maybe you helped Krempin adopt the perfect disguise, that’s something you’re good at, I hear. Then, while he was still checking the lie of the land before our meeting, you pushed him. Too bad he defended himself and swept the hairpiece from your head in the process.’

‘Interesting story. Is that what your superintendent thinks? I find that hard to believe. You can’t do anything without evidence, you know that. Otherwise you get into a lot of trouble with the public prosecutor.’

‘Maybe I have evidence: a toupee that got stuck somewhere in the course of your exertions. It won’t be too hard to find out who it was made for.’

‘The toupee you are talking about comes from the La Belle fund. Krempin could just as easily have stolen it. That’s not evidence.’

‘Do you realise that was a confession? I didn’t even have to beat you for it!’

Meisner pressed a button on the control panel and the lift started moving again.

‘Who heard it apart from you? You suspect me anyway. It doesn’t change a thing.’

‘It’s always good to hear a confession. In our line of work, it amounts to a round of applause.’

‘I confessed to the murder a long time ago, as you know. It was you who said that no judge in the world would convict me for having poured a bucket of water over my poor wife in panic.’

‘Why did you do it?’

‘How do you think it feels to be permanently held up as a failure? She couldn’t stop herself saying it over and over again, like a goddamn broken record!’ He smiled. ‘Well. Perhaps I’m not such a failure after all.’

The lift stopped and Meisner opened the door.

‘It was nice talking to you, Inspector,’ he said and disembarked. ‘You must excuse me now, I need to get changed. I have a dinner date.’

‘Say hello to Fräulein Bellmann,’ Rath said, ‘and don’t forget I can be stubborn.’

Frau Lennartz looked surprised when he opened the front door. Rath had forgotten it was cleaning day.

‘Inspector!’ She wrung out the cleaning rag. ‘I’ll be finished in a moment. I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘I just wanted to eat lunch at home for a change,’ he said.

‘Should I bring you something? We’re eating in a moment too, Peter and I.’

‘Thank you, no.’ He lifted the Aschinger bag. ‘I’m already catered for.’

‘You can’t go into the kitchen yet. Could you wait in the living room for a moment?’

He put on a record while he waited, leaving the cognac in the cupboard. It was still too early in the day. Besides, the caretaker’s wife mustn’t see him drinking.

Five minutes later she poked her head around the door.

‘I’m finished now.’

He waited until she was out of the door to turn off the music, went into the kitchen and put on water for coffee. He unpacked the Buletten but didn’t have much of an appetite. He could always take the rest in for Kirie, she’d be happy about that. He examined the toupee, but couldn’t make out a La Belle logo, inventory number or anything like that, just a barely decipherable company name.

It was difficult to say whether Meisner had been bluffing. It was conceivable, at any rate, that he’d been wearing a theatre wig at the Funkturm, rather than his own. He hadn’t just disguised Krempin beyond all recognition, but himself as well. A man as famous as Victor Meisner would have been recognised all too quickly. And his alibi? He lived so close to the Funkturm that it wouldn’t have been any problem to sneak out of some cellar or rear door and leave the concierge to believe he had been at home the whole time. The lift, at any rate, also went down to the basement.

Rath took his time brewing the coffee as he thought things through. No matter which way he turned it, there was no getting at Meisner. Maybe if he gave the toupee to the forensic experts in ED… but that would mean acknow-ledging his secret meeting with Krempin.

He examined the tousled hairpiece. Perhaps Weinert would have more luck with it. The man was a good journalist. Why not wait and see what he’d find?

The telephone rang but he didn’t answer. He drank two cups of coffee, smoked a few cigarettes and thought some more. He still hadn’t reached a decision when he returned to the Castle shortly before two.

Erika Voss wasn’t as cross as he’d feared. She had clearly enjoyed spending her lunch hour with Kirie.

‘That lady called again,’ she said, ‘and Superintendent Gennat would like to speak to you. At three.’

‘Again? Why?’

‘Fräulein Steiner didn’t say.’

‘If that’s the case, I’ll take the dog out in the meantime.’

He needed some fresh air, a clear head. No doubt Buddha would read him the riot act after the botched interrogation that morning. He had been hoping to make good on his error. No chance. Today really wasn’t his day. As for the lady who had called again, he didn’t want to think of her. He debated whether he should try Paul at the hotel, but wasn’t in the mood to talk to his friend, or indeed anyone.

Kirie’s presence was the only one he could bear. The dog sniffed curiously at every corner as they walked along the railway arches to the Spree. Although it started raining halfway there he continued to the Märkisches Museum, and let Kirie off the lead in the little park. Before they started back, he took out a Bulette and fed it to the dog. Kirie devoured it in one bite and thanked him with a smile.

Gennat sat, motionless as a statue, behind his desk. He wasn’t flicking through any files. He wasn’t moving his eyelids. Indeed, he barely seemed to be breathing. Rath was reminded of his visit a week before. There was trouble brewing.

‘Nice that you could spare a little time for me,’ Buddha said at last.

‘Of course, Sir.’

‘I hope it won’t be too expensive. How much do you take an hour?’

‘Pardon me?’

‘Or do you have day rates?’

‘I don’t understand…’

‘How much do you earn as a private detective?’

Shit.

‘I don’t work as a private detective, Sir.’

‘Then you aren’t the Gereon Rath who investigated the whereabouts of the missing actress Vivian Franck on behalf of film producer Manfred Oppenberg?’

‘Oh, that? I just made a few enquiries. Nothing illegal.’

‘You are aware that any ancillary activities are subject to approval?’

‘Come off it.’ Rath tried to sound relaxed, but was making an increasingly poor fist of it. ‘That was a favour, not an ancillary activity.’

‘A favour? That’s what undocumented workers say.’

‘But I didn’t take any money for it!’

Rath hoped Oppenberg had said the same thing.

‘You think that makes it any better? If you maintain friendly relations to a man connected to two ongoing investigations then you have to tell us, even if it is only a favour. Especially when the man’s a potential murder suspect. It’s called bias !’