Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

‘I wasn’t to know the missing person case would turn into a homicide enquiry.’

‘But when it did, you remained silent.’

‘Yes.’

Gennat slammed his fist against the desk panel. ‘Just where do you think you are?’ He had never seen Gennat like this.

‘I realise it was a mistake, Sir. It was just… After the Winter business, I didn’t want to kiss goodbye to the Franck case too.’

‘Didn’t you consider the consequences, everything you’ll be kissing goodbye to now? You should have nailed your colours to the mast at the very latest when Böhm instructed you to find out which private detective Oppenberg had hired…’

‘That wasn’t so easy, Sir. DCI Böhm and I…’

‘Who says this kind of thing has to be easy? Did you seriously think you’d get away with it? Böhm served me the news this morning before Oppenberg’s interview. He wanted to announce it in front of the whole team tomorrow because he thinks it’s relevant to the investigation, but I forbade it.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘Don’t imagine I did it for you. A scandal like that would only distract officers from their work.’

‘And now, Sir?’

‘You can no longer take any part in ongoing investigations. You are relieved of your duties until further notice. What lies in store for you next will be a matter for the disciplinary hearing.’

‘Can’t we turn a blind eye this time and work it out another way?’

‘Where you’re concerned, there aren’t enough blind eyes to go around. In the matter with DI Brenner you escaped proceedings by a hair’s breadth, but this time your luck has run out.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Do you know what I find most irritating about all this?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘It’s so unnecessary. You are a capable criminal investigator, but you’re constantly creating difficulties for yourself with your antics.’ Gennat snapped shut the file that was lying on his desk, Rath’s personal file. ‘Well, you’ll have plenty of time to reflect on these matters in the coming days! Goodbye!’

The grey corridor of A Division seemed as alien as another world, although he had passed down it hundreds of times before. Even the name on the door of his office didn’t seem to belong to him anymore. He simply walked past, unable to enter.

On the outside things appeared the same, but that was no longer the case; some evil force had drained everything of its familiarity and replaced it with an undisguised alienness. He recognised this feeling and hated it. He had first felt it when Severin simply hadn’t returned home one day, and again several years later when a military policeman brought news of Anno’s death. Mother hadn’t been able to cry, only to mourn in silence like her son and husband. Then about a year ago, his familiar Cologne world had collapsed around him, and even his home city had become alien to him.

Now it was the end of the road after his promising fresh start in Berlin.

Why hadn’t he said anything to Böhm? He should have known things would turn out like this. He had stoked so many fires it was impossible to stamp them out. If they should find out that he had been at the Funkturm too, by Krempin’s corpse, then it was goodnight. He would no longer get off with a reprimand or a cut in his wages, and really would have to become a private detective.

As Charly had recommended a year ago.

Charly!

He came to a halt and slammed his fist against the wall. An office boy who was just turning the corner gave him a vexed look, but said nothing, simply crept by anxiously.

What am I supposed to do in this bullshit city? he thought. What am I supposed to do?

Get your things and scram! Go to Cologne or, better still, New York!

He turned and went back along the corridor to his office. He needed a moment to regain his composure, took a deep breath, put on his best smile and entered.

Erika Voss was typing, he didn’t have the slightest idea what.

‘You can finish a little earlier today, Erika. I don’t need you anymore.’

She looked surprised and ceased typing immediately. ‘That’s kind of you, Inspector. Then I can do a little shopping.’

‘Treat yourself to something nice.’

The telephone on her desk rang. She already had one arm in her coat, but she answered anyway.

‘For you, Inspector,’ she said, covering the mouthpiece. ‘Chinahaus, the man said. Do you want to buy a Ming vase?’

‘Probably because of this yangtao thing. Put him through.’

She performed her final duty of the day, before taking her leave and sweeping out of the room.

It was the friendly Chinese man from Kantstrasse.

‘You asked me to let you know, Inspector.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Rath realised he didn’t sound especially euphoric. ‘What is it?’

‘The man was here again.’

‘What man?’

‘The German man who buys yangtao.’

‘Ah yes, very good.’

‘Didn’t just buy yangtao, but other Chinese specialties as well. Mushrooms, bamboo shoots, glass noodles and more besides.’

‘Do you have an address?’

The Chinese man gave a crafty laugh. ‘For the delivery. Like you said.’

‘Wait a moment, I’ll get something to write with…’

He reached for paper and a pencil and wedged the receiver to free his hands. When he hung up he realised that he recognised the address.

His thoughts began to race, that feverish sensation that overcame him whenever he was on the verge of making new links, when he could feel, but still not quite grasp them. The fever seized him, and for a moment he forgot that Gennat had sent him packing. Perhaps the yangtao lead wasn’t as stupid as Böhm always made out.

‘Come on, Kirie,’ he said. ‘One last trip out to the Wannsee before home. After that we’ll take a holiday.’

Why is there still nothing in the papers?

He knows they have found Fastré, they were in the cinema on Sunday. Lehmann said the police were there. He didn’t know why, of course. Lehmann, the idiot, but that doesn’t matter. If they were there, for whatever reason, then they must have found Fastré!

So why can’t he read about it? It ought to be in all the city’s papers. They all wrote about Franck, after all, so why not about Fastré?

When will they write about it? The world must learn what has happened and why. Must understand what this is about. So that it can finally end. He can’t take care of them all, not every single one.

They have to understand, otherwise it will keep happening. To those who are depriving film of its beauty, its purity. Who are depriving themselves of their own beauty, their own purity.

Only he can ensure both are returned.

But he can’t take care of them all; they must see that!

Or perhaps it is his fault? Does he need to be quicker? Not take so much time? Or wait so long?

He has only invited her to dinner, hasn’t prepared anything otherwise, hasn’t given Albert the night off. But does he really have to speak to her first to know what he must do? He has heard her, has seen how she has destroyed the magic of her own image. What they have sent to him in the lab is ghastly!

When she is on-screen she is the perfect woman, made purely of light – and then she destroys everything because she opens her mouth and the loudspeakers begin to crackle and croak. It was so awful he had to cover his ears. Why is she doing this to him? Why is she doing it to herself?

His decision is made. It will happen today! No time to lose, he must continue, otherwise there will be too many. She is perfect, perhaps the best he has ever invited.

He goes downstairs, the preparations are quickly made, the syringes filled and his tools placed at the ready. He must only prepare the wine for the anaesthetic. And of course load the film.