Фолькер Кучер - Babylon Berlin

Dr Schwartz pulled on a pair of gloves, approached the marble table and pulled back the cover. ‘We can safely say that our friend from last night wasn’t killed by accident. He was roughed up quite deliberately. There’s almost no part of his wrists and ankles that hasn’t been damaged: broken bones, torn ligaments, lacerations, a real mess. It looks as if someone fixed his hands and feet to a firm support and then struck with a heavy, blunt object. I’d guess with a hammer.’

‘Dear God,’ Böhm whistled through his teeth. ‘These here?’ The dead man’s entire body was covered in bruises.

‘Harmless in comparison. Haematomas that probably stem from physical blows. The mark on his chest could be from a cudgel. This one was probably from a kick. The man has been given a good beating by people who knew what they were doing.’

‘You’re saying there were several perpetrators?’

Schwartz nodded. ‘Probably. It looks as though they spared his face. Professionals.’

‘Career criminals?’

‘They’re not the only ones who know how to administer a beating. Could be boxers. Or policemen,’ Dr Schwartz said. It was the kind of joke he always made.

‘So what do you recommend?’ Böhm asked. ‘An internal investigation or a warrant for Max Schmeling?’

‘All jokes aside, the people who did this were sadists. They have no…’ Schwartz broke off as the big swing door suddenly opened and two covered corpses were rolled in.

‘More May corpses?’ Dr Schwartz asked.

One of the two men in white coats pushing the stretcher nodded. ‘From Neukölln. Seems life expectancy is back on the rise in Wedding. They’ve had their big day already.’

‘These are dead people you are talking about, gentlemen!’ The reproachful voice came from one of two men who entered the room behind the white coats, a gaunt, strict-looking man in a creased grey suit. ‘You ought to show more respect for the dead.’

‘Especially when they’re proles, isn’t that right Dr Völcker?’ said Schwartz. ‘Long time no see. To what do we owe the pleasure?’

‘Police bullets,’ the gaunt man said tersely.

Völcker? The infamous communist doctor? Böhm rolled his eyes.

Völcker’s tall companion intervened. ‘These two women died as a result of gunshot wounds in Hermannstrasse,’ he said. ‘They were most likely caught by a stray bullet.’

Even before the tall man displayed his badge, Böhm knew that he was a colleague, even if he was rather too elegantly dressed for a police officer. Only cops talked like that, and tax officials.

‘Rath, Detective Inspector Gereon Rath, E Division,’ the policeman said. ‘We spoke on the phone just now.’

Dr Schwartz gave him a nod and scratched his chin.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘But now is not a good time. I’m in the middle of a meeting with DCI Böhm.’

Böhm thought he recognised the tall detective from the Castle, the newbie Lanke was talking about in the canteen. A careerist who was crawling up the arse of the commissioner.

‘E Division?’ Böhm grunted. ‘What brings Vice to the morgue? Dead bodies aren’t part of your remit, or are you responsible for the corpses yourselves?’ The vice detective said nothing. ‘I asked you a question, man,’ Böhm roared, ‘are you deaf?’ Inspector Rath gave a brief start and stood to attention. Obviously a soldier with good old Prussian training.

‘From the house-to-house searches in Neukölln,’ he said. ‘Happened to be on-site when the two women were hit.’

‘Very good,’ Böhm said, pleased. He would teach this conceited arsehole some manners. Now kindly take your load and be on your way. As you’ve just heard, this is not a good time.’

The tall detective seemed not to have heard. Instead he moved closer to the marble table and stared at the corpse, wide-eyed, as if he had never seen a dead body.

‘What are you still doing here?’ Böhm yelled. ‘Did I ask you to identify the body?’

‘Of course not, Detective Chief Inspector!’ Rath stood erect once more.

‘Then scram! You’re holding things up.’

‘That’s right,’ Dr Schwartz waded in, shifting his weight impatiently from one foot to the other. ‘I must ask you to leave the autopsy table so that we can continue.’ He pointed towards the clock on the front wall. ‘I still have a lot to do today.’ He gave the men in white coats a sign. ‘Take these two women down to the cellar. I’ll deal with them tomor…’

‘Stop!’ Völcker interrupted. The two men, who had already started to wheel the stretchers out, stood where they were. Schwartz looked at his colleague indignantly. ‘Please excuse me, Dr Schwartz,’ Völcker continued, calmer now, ‘it wasn’t my intention to interrupt you but, as it happens, I’m not here as anybody’s gofer. I came to attend the examination of the two female corpses.’

Schwartz raised an eyebrow. ‘As you can see, Dr Völcker, I still have a corpse to examine. The public prosecutor has ordered the autopsy. This takes priority.’

Völcker wouldn’t let go. ‘I have strong reason to suspect that these two women were purposefully killed by police. If you postpone the examination, it might look as if the police and the public prosecutor’s office have something to hide.’

‘I’ll leave that to others to decide. I’m a doctor.’ Schwartz could barely conceal the anger in his voice. ‘As are you, Dr Völcker, need I remind you? It would be better if you refrained from expressing your suspicions.’

‘The public prosecutor will order an autopsy anyway,’ Völcker said.

‘For the time being, the police have only requested that the body be examined. You know yourself that I do not have the authority to open up a corpse of my own accord.’ He gazed at Völcker almost sympathetically over the rim of his glasses. ‘An examination only, Dr Völcker, and if I do manage to get it done today, then it’ll be for your sake. For old time’s sake, let’s say. If you would like to attend, then you’re going to have to exercise a little more patience.’

Völcker didn’t appear to notice the irony in Schwartz’s voice. At any rate, he sat on the wooden bench that ran along the tiled wall. The two white coats disappeared without the bodies.

Böhm had had to be very careful not to give the communist doctor a piece of his mind. The man was disrupting things. Just like the cop from Vice who had dragged him here. When Dr Schwartz peeled back the sheet, the pain in the arse just stared at the dead man’s mangled hands. The tall detective hadn’t moved a millimetre from the marble table.

‘Looks almost as if he was tortured.’

Böhm exploded. Enough was enough! Why did this man always have to have his two pennies’ worth?

‘You work in Vice,’ he barked at the Clever Dick. ‘Do you think that because this man is naked, that makes it your case? If you don’t want to see someone actually being tortured, then I suggest you let us get on with our work. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, Detective Chief Inspector!’ The tall detective stood to attention and performed an about turn.

Böhm’s anger subsided as he turned back to Dr Schwartz. The vice detective took a seat on the bench next to the communist doctor, but the pair didn’t speak.

‘So, Doctor,’ Böhm said, clearing his throat. ‘Shall we continue? Where were we?’

‘The injuries,’ Schwartz said. ‘They were most likely inflicted by professionals, and definitely before he died, as the haemorrhaging shows.’

‘When did he die, and how?’

‘The precise time of death is impossible to determine. I’d say the man has been dead for two or three days at the most. I’m afraid I can’t say anything more for the time being.’