Фолькер Кучер: Babylon Berlin

Rath looked at Wolter but he must have seen it in the same instant. They made their way towards the Sinalco poster to take a closer look. The paper was torn under the C and the O. A dirty abrasion left by a shoe.

Wolter gave Rath a leg-up to haul himself up the slippery wet timber and peer over the top. Wilhelm II was running towards Urbanstrasse and had almost reached the opposite end of the building site. A decent effort, as the department store façade occupied the entire length of Hermannplatz, around 300 metres in all.

‘He’s headed for Urbanstrasse! Go and intercept him there!’ he shouted to Uncle, before jumping over and taking up the chase once more. If Bruno could cut him off, he’d be theirs for the taking, but Wilhelm II had seen Rath, and was growing increasingly frantic. Now level with the north tower, he moved past the freight elevator that flanked it, directly towards the fence onto Urbanstrasse. Any moment now he’d be trapped, but then he stopped, turned on his heels and disappeared behind the steel framework of the elevator. The next minute he was climbing the struts, nimble as a rat. Rath barely gave the situation a second thought before following.

The porn Kaiser must have been a cat burglar or an acrobat. No match for a policeman lacking circus training. Rath swung himself onto the nearest ladder and ascended carefully, level by level, always mindful not to lose sight of the nimble, climbing rat. Today was Sunday and the vast building site was deserted. Only the two of them moved in the web of steel and timber until, suddenly, there were no more ladders. The scaffolding came to an end on the seventh floor, the main building didn’t extend any higher, but the freight elevator by the north tower, which resembled an aborted skyscraper, had scaffolding for several more floors. Wilhelm had kept climbing. Was he headed for the spire? It looked as if he might be.

Rath groaned. Just don’t look down, he told himself. Above, the Kaiser climbed onto the elevator struts sixty metres above ground. Rath fixed his gaze ahead, crossing a few metres of wobbly planks to reach the north tower. Then more scaffolding and another set of ladders. He could no longer see the Kaiser but it didn’t matter, he just had to keep going. They’d get him in the end. When he reached the summit Rath was so out of breath he leaned his head against a cool iron girder, panting. Where was this guy, and why didn’t the scumbag just give himself up?

There was no sign, but he must see that it was pointless. Rath felt his hands cramp around the iron girder as he fixed his gaze downwards. How was it the drop could be so alluring and yet so panic-inducing at the same time?

On Hermannplatz an endless stream of ants scuttled along heedlessly, while toy cars wheeled this way and that. His knees grew weak. Over the roofs, he could see as far as Kreuzberg, the great hall of Görlitzer station amidst a sea of houses and, in the distance, the chimneys of Klingenberg power station.

Was the fake Kaiser already on his way down? If so, Bruno would intercept him. If he was still scrambling around up here it would be his responsibility to nab him, Gereon Rath, vertigo or no. The whistling of the wind become unbearable as, carefully, he climbed down to a more sheltered level, and suddenly Wilhelm II was standing right in front of him, just as startled as the detective. He had lost half of his fake moustache during the pursuit.

‘Fuck off, pig,’ he said, his voice nervous and shrill and quite the opposite of majestic. Madness was in his eyes, an impression only intensified by the smear of greasepaint.

Cocaine, Rath thought, he’s on cocaine, he’s been snorting it in the toilet. Just what I need.

‘C’mon pal,’ he said, trying to sound as calm as possible, ‘you must see this is pointless. Why don’t you spare us any further trouble?’

‘I ain’t going to spare you nothing,’ the man said in a thick Berlin accent, and suddenly a glistening piece of metal was in his hand. Great, Rath thought, a junkie with a shooter.

‘Put that away,’ he said, ‘or give it to me, and I promise I won’t have seen it. That I never saw you threaten an officer with it.’

‘Story time over, arsehole?’

‘I’ll forget about you insulting a police official as well.’

‘And when I blow a hole in your brain, will you forget that too?’

‘I just want to have a rational conversation.’

The gun was trembling slightly. It was small calibre, but they weren’t standing that far away from each other and it would be enough to kill a police officer.

‘You’re trying to sweet talk me until your mate comes. Fucking cop!’

The junkie didn’t know how right he was. Wolter was clambering onto the planks behind him.

‘My mate’s waiting for you down below,’ Rath said. ‘Even if you shoot me, there’s no way you’ll get past him. He’s got a gun too, and it’s a damn sight bigger than that toy.’

‘Shall I show you what it can do?’

In the same moment Wolter grabbed him from behind and, with both hands, held his right arm fast.

A shot rang out and Rath heard the bullet whistle past his ear. Wood splintered. He ducked instinctively.

The fake Kaiser looked horrified and momentarily forgot to resist. Wolter took his chance and slammed the man’s right hand against a steel girder. A cry of pain, and the weapon crashed onto the wooden planks. Uncle swivelled the Kaiser round and rammed his right fist into his stomach. The man was already on his way down, but the brawny Wolter followed up with a left hook, sending the Kaiser sprawling onto the scaffolding boards. He aimed a final kick in the unconscious man’s side and gasped for breath.

‘Arsehole!’ he said.

He cuffed the man to the scaffolding and picked up his pistol.

‘That was close, Gereon,’ he said. ‘You should have used your gun.’

‘I needed both hands to climb.’

Rath knew that Uncle was right and that he was deluding himself if he thought he could survive in Vice without a firearm. Police work was police work. ‘Thanks, DCI Wolter,’ he said finally.

‘Thanks partner , we say around here,’ Wolter replied, patting him on the shoulder. The DCI pulled out a pocket knife and pared the bullet from the wooded crossbeam. He took it over to the junkie, who had now come round and was struggling with the handcuffs, and gave him such a clout that his nose started to bleed.

‘You should be grateful to me, you fucking arsehole,’ said Wolter. The fucking arsehole spat blood. ‘Do you know why?’ Eyes flickering furiously. ‘I just saved you from going to the scaffold as a cop killer.’ More blood. ‘But that still leaves you with attempted murder. Do you know what we do with people like you?’ A shake of the head. ‘You don’t? Well, listen carefully. You get sent to Plötzensee, and there we tell the real hard cases that you’re some godforsaken diaper sniper. Do you know what they do to kiddie-fuckers in Plötzensee? There won’t be any guards stupid enough to interfere. I know people who wish they’d gone to the scaffold. People who wish their aim had been better.’

A horrified expression.

Wolter looked at Rath. ‘What shall we do with this scumbag?’ he asked.

Rath shrugged his shoulders.

Uncle Bruno turned to the junkie. ‘Do you realise we’re the only friends you have left?’ He rolled the bullet between his fingers. ‘This here is evidence. This is the bullet you shot at my partner. The one that almost killed him.’ He stowed it in his jacket pocket. ‘But maybe this bullet was never fired.’

Wolter waited until the man had processed what he was saying. Then he took the pistol by the barrel and dangled it at arm’s length. The coked-up eyes tried to follow the weapon’s arc.