Фолькер Кучер - Babylon Berlin

He checked the mailboxes of the two neighbouring houses, but there were no Russians there either. Had he gone to ground to avoid paying his rent? Perhaps he simply hadn’t changed the nameplate on the door. Rath went back to the first house. Before he could get there, the front door opened to reveal a face that was as surprised as it was mistrustful.

‘Looking for someone?’ The man was small and slight, his hat too big for his gaunt face, likewise his enormous moustache. There was a little steel helmet on his lapel.

‘You could say that.’ Rath dug out the piece of paper and read aloud. ‘Alexej Ivanovitsch Kardakov.’

‘Never heard of him. Is he supposed to live here?’

‘He left this address.’

‘That doesn’t mean a thing with these Russians.’

‘But you live in this house?’

‘I don’t need to tell you anything.’

‘Perhaps you do.’ Rath waved his badge, although he was not on duty.

The man raised a conciliatory hand. ‘What would you like to know?’

‘Have you noticed anything suspicious in the last few weeks? Has anyone new moved in?’

‘Not that I’m aware of.’

‘Perhaps under a different name.’

‘I’d like to help you, mate, but no. What’s this guy supposed to have done?’

‘Just routine questioning,’ Rath said. He was regretting having shown his badge, strictly speaking it was illegal. He needed to get rid of this pesky witness before he became any more curious. It was obvious he couldn’t assist any further. ‘Thank you for your help.’

‘Always at your service.’

Rath had already turned round when the stranger shouted after him. ‘Hang on, officer! Are you here because of the row by any chance?’

‘The row?’

‘There was someone here in the middle of the night banging on the door so loudly that no-one could sleep. Crazy, he was. Afterwards, there were two of them fighting. The noise, well I’ll tell you it was quite something. I thought they were going to kill each other.’

‘And?’

‘They were Russian. Hundred percent. Maybe it was the man you’re looking for, but he doesn’t live here. Definitely not. Only decent people live here.’

Rath tipped his hat.

‘Many thanks.’

Strange, he thought, as he made his way via Skalitzer Strasse back in the direction of Kottbusser Tor. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who’d had his sleep disturbed by a Russian.

The new month had got off to a good start. Rath was sitting at his desk, cup of coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other. In front of him were the photos. The print of Wilhelm II was the only one still with a question mark; a little secret he shared with Wolter. They had managed to identify all those who had been snapped, even the ones who had given them the slip during the raid. Yesterday, after he had softened up Old Fritz in the interview room, Rath had presented Uncle with a list of names.

For the first time since his arrival in Berlin, Rath felt halfway decent about himself and at one with the world. His gaze wandered out through the window, past the railway platform to the dark wall of the courthouse.

The day off had done him good, even if he had squandered it in fruitless inquiries. At least he had been able to avoid Elisabeth Behnke. She had cooked for him that evening, and he had told her about his futile search over a bottle of wine. This time he hadn’t drunk too much, but had simply planted on her cheek a goodnight kiss that left everything open while promising nothing. The next morning, yesterday morning, he had arrived at work feeling fresh and well rested for the first time in weeks.

Wolter had pressed for results because time was short. ‘We need to get a move on with our questioning. 1A will need plenty of space in the cells tomorrow. On the first of May our friends will be transferred to Moabit. We need to have something we can use by then.’

Well, now they did.

Section 1A, the political arm of the police, was in charge of the May actions, and obviously reckoned on making a lot of arrests. The communist press had been agitating for days. Commissioner Zörgiebel, meanwhile, had responded with an appeal that almost all the city’s papers had carried: If the communists have their way the streets of Berlin will be paved with blood . I am determined to assert the powers vested in me by the state and use all available means at my disposal. It was clear what he meant.

In police barracks there was talk of civil war. Everyone knew the RFB – the alliance of Red Front fighters – had weapons, and many feared they would use them.

Accordingly, E Division’s investigation was now less important. If the cells in Alex were to be filled with communists, then the pornographers would have to make way. Wolter had even been asked to postpone any further arrests until after the weekend, which had dulled Rath’s sense of achievement a little. Despite the breakthrough they were forced to twiddle their thumbs.

He had managed to show his colleagues what he was about though; Detective Inspector Gereon Rath, the cop from the provinces. Bruno had been amazed. The rookie Jänicke likewise.

There was always a weakness, a wall of silence invariably contained a loose stone and, once you found it, the rest would crumble. In this case the loose stone was Old Fritz, who had squealed as soon as Rath threatened to subpoena his wife. Pure bluff, Rath hadn’t known the old man was married. He didn’t even know his name. The only person they’d been able to identify beyond any doubt in the last few days was Johann König and, like the rest of them, he hadn’t said a word. They must have made a deal in the Black Maria while Jänicke had been half-asleep.

Rath had tried a few things before he had finally broken Frederick the Great, aka Old Fritz. The old man wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but he had the air of a respectable family man. Pressed in that sensitive spot, he had broken down and the names came gushing out. The stenographer had a job keeping up.

There was a knock at the door. Rath yanked his top drawer open and swept the prints from his desk. No-one else needed to see them, and he found them embarrassing. At the same time, some of his colleagues in E Division got a kick out of displaying their photo collections whenever a female CID officer entered. It didn’t matter if the women blushed or came out with some saucy riposte, the men’s laughter was always the same.

‘Come in,’ he cried. The door opened. It was Wolter. ‘Why so formal?’ Rath asked. ‘Since when do you knock?’

Uncle grinned. ‘Were you expecting visitors? I can see you’ve cleared your desk!’

‘Not everyone has to see our evidence.’

‘Especially not stenographers from A Division, am I right?’ Wolter laughed. ‘Come on, don’t be such a sourpuss. You’ve got every reason to celebrate.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because the calendar says Monday the first of May, and you’re not in uniform. They’re the ones out fighting the communists. While we get to stay warm inside.’

‘Thanks, but I already know why I never wanted to join uniform.’

‘Don’t get your hopes up too soon. CID might still be needed on the streets.’

The entire Berlin police force had been on high alert since seven that morning, including both uniform and CID, sixteen thousand officers in total. They had called in those training at the police academy and mounted police had closed off all the parks. There was a strong police presence in the public transport depots, and uniformed officers had assembled in force in the city’s working class areas.

‘The Reds mean business,’ said Wolter. ‘Things are really kicking off at Alex. At least that’s what Schultes said in the canteen just now. Both of his windows look out onto the square. Should we go and take a look?’