Фолькер Кучер - The Silent Death

‘Bad dog,’ Rath said and turned to Marquard. ‘I hope it can be repaired.’

‘These suits of armour can withstand a little punishment. That’s what they were built for after all. It’s just a bit of a slog putting them back together.’

‘I should just like to say that it wasn’t at all easy to get the dog away from the door. He smelled something there, I only hope we don’t have a rat in the cellar. What with Master’s film equipment…’

‘You did a good job, Albert. As for this rat, why don’t you see if the gardener can have a look.’

‘Very good, Master.’ The servant gingerly passed the dog lead to Rath and disappeared again. Kirie sniffed at Marquard’s trouser leg, who clearly didn’t like it.

Rath pulled the dog away. ‘You have film equipment here?’ he asked.

‘I live for film,’ Marquard said. ‘It goes without saying that there are times when I have to view a few reels at home. Indeed, my father had a projection room in the cellar…’

He was interrupted by Kirie’s barking. The dog had been sniffing at one of the chairs and started barking agitatedly, looking over at Rath again and again and running back and forth between him and the chair.

‘It’s OK, Kirie,’ Rath said, but the dog refused to settle. ‘I don’t know what the matter is,’ he said to Marquard. ‘I think it’s the unfamiliar surroundings. Since we entered the house she’s been as agitated as I’ve ever seen her.’

‘We have a few cats here, perhaps it can smell them.’ Marquard smiled a sour smile.

‘I won’t let her off her lead again, I promise.’

Marquard seemed to be weighing up a difficult decision. ‘Inspector, I think I need to show you something,’ he said. ‘It might answer some of your questions on the subject of yangtao.’

Rath raised his eyebrows. ‘What is it?’

‘Just follow me and take a look, then we’ll see if it’s any help.’

He had to pay attention that Marquard’s warm, charming voice didn’t throw him off guard. He shouldn’t have had that Armagnac either. It had already gone to his head. As he followed Marquard up a narrow spiral staircase, the exact opposite of the enormous, protruding staircase in the vestibule, he felt for the Mauser in his holster and immediately felt more secure.

There was something about the friendly, refined Wolfgang Marquard that made him uneasy, a feeling only exacerbated by this strange building. He couldn’t help thinking about the extent to which the man was clinging to the past. This forbidding fortress-villa in which he had doubtless spent his entire life was part of it too. There could scarcely be anything more out of fashion than imitation medieval architecture.

Kirie was still nervous. He had hardly been able to tear her away from the chair in the drawing room, and now she was sniffing agitatedly at Marquard’s feet. The producer bounded up the stone steps so quickly that they could barely keep up.

Having arrived upstairs, they stood in a semicircular room with doors leading off it.

‘These are my private quarters. Hardly anyone gets to see them apart from Albert,’ Marquard said. ‘I hope you appreciate it.’

‘Of course,’ Rath said. ‘I’m curious about what it is you mean to show me.’

In place of an answer, Marquard opened a door and made an inviting gesture. ‘What do you think? Did I promise too much?’

Rath looked through the door and was genuinely astonished, startled even. He hadn’t been expecting to see that face here. Kirie started barking, and in the same instant he felt something strike the back of his head. There was a flash brighter than a thousand suns, before everything fell into darkness and swept him along with it.

He had rung the doorbell. Nothing doing. Then gone to the Nasse Dreieck, whose taciturn landlord had given an emphatic shrug of the shoulders. Berthold Weinert now made his way back to Luisenufer. He would give the man one final chance, seeing as he was in the area, but that was it.

This couldn’t be happening.

Gereon Rath couldn’t, in all seriousness, be standing him up for a second time. He couldn’t believe it, but it looked as if it was true. On today of all days when he needed the car.

As he crossed the courtyard a man and a woman emerged from the rear building. The woman looked familiar. He must have seen a photo of her in the office recently, someone semi-famous whose name he couldn’t remember. Or… the penny dropped.

‘Excuse me,’ he said, before the couple could escape through the archway. ‘Do I know you from somewhere?’

She turned and looked at him inquisitively.

‘You’re an actress, aren’t you?’

The blond man grinned. The woman seemed less amused.

‘What makes you say that?’ she asked.

‘Weren’t you at the Funkturm recently with Gereon Rath?’

‘Are you from the press?’

‘Is it that obvious? How embarrassing.’

She laughed. ‘You have to be from the press, otherwise you wouldn’t think I was an actress. So, you’re familiar with the photo from the Funkturm. Is that why you want to see Gereon?’

‘Not exactly.’ Weinert drew closer and shook her hand. ‘Perhaps we should put an end to these guessing games. My name is Weinert. I’m an old friend of Gereon’s.’

‘Charlotte Ritter. I used to work with him at Alex. This is another old friend of Gereon’s. Paul Wittkamp from Cologne.’

‘A pleasure.’ The blond man had a firm handshake. What was intended as a smile somehow turned into a broad grin.

‘We hadn’t arranged to meet, yet still he dares not to be home,’ Wittkamp said, feigning outrage. ‘I’m leaving early tomorrow and wanted to say goodbye. I can’t even tempt him with the most beautiful woman in Berlin.’

The most beautiful woman in Berlin went a little red in the cheeks. ‘I’ve been trying to reach him for days,’ she said. ‘But all I’ve got is his secretary on the line. Paul likewise. Do you have any idea where he might be?’

‘Right now? He ought to be here,’ Weinert said, ‘because I have arranged to meet him. But nothing doing. He’s not in his local either.’ He shook his head. ‘Do you know I was sure he wouldn’t stand me up again this time. He even made a bet.’

Wittkamp laughed. ‘Well, then you can stop worrying. Gereon really doesn’t like to lose a bet.’

‘I can only think he was called to an operation at short notice.’

‘We can find that out easily enough,’ Charlotte Ritter said. ‘A telephone call to the station will suffice.’

‘There’s a telephone at Wassertorplatz.’

They made their way there together and, as they did so, Weinert learned that she had once worked in Homicide as a stenographer, but that her legal studies currently took precedence.

‘I know Gereon from his old flat in Nürnberger Strasse,’ he revealed. ‘I still live there.’

‘At Behnke’s?’

‘You know Frau Behnke?’

‘Indirectly.’

Weinert drew his own conclusions and fell silent.

They reached the telephone booth where he searched in his pocket for two ten-pfennig pieces. She took the coins and inserted them into the machine.

‘Berolina zero-zero-two-three,’ she said. ‘Homicide please.’ She had to wait a moment to be put through. ‘Evening, Reinhold. Have you been relegated to the late shift? Charly here. …Yeah, yeah, lots on my plate ’cause of the exam. Reinhold, the reason I’m calling. Do you have a major operation on?… No?… OK… Just an old friend who wanted to say goodbye to Gereon Rath. You don’t happen to know where he is?’

She shrugged when she hung up. ‘Work-wise there’s nothing unusual going on, and he doesn’t appear to be at the station either.’