Фолькер Кучер - Babylon Berlin

‘I need to see Dr M.’

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know what doctor you’re referring to, sir. Can I get you something to drink?’

He seized the man by the collar. A few guests looked round.

‘Listen to me, my friend. If you’re getting cold feet because someone’s asked for the doctor, fetch Sebald to take the decision out of your hands. But do something. Believe me, Dr M. wants to see me; he doesn’t want me to have a drink here.’

‘Very well, sir.’ The waiter seemed unperturbed as he disappeared with his tray. Rath gazed after him and lit a cigarette. The man didn’t go to the counter, but instead opened a discreet little door beside the sparsely populated dance floor. Well, what do you know! How was it that every time he learned something new about this case, he understood less than before? Every insight gave way to disenchantment. The knowledge that Josef Wilczek was in cahoots with Bruno Wolter had once again thrown up more questions than it had answered.

His discovery just now in Nürnberger Strasse had sent the adrenaline pumping through his body. He had felt like a chemist who had chanced upon a new element, albeit one he was unable to classify. He must have stood in front of that picture as if in a trance, his gaze rigid while the thoughts raced through his mind.

Outside on Nürnberger Strasse a car horn had sounded almost right outside the window, and it was this noise that had taken him back to the present, and reminded him what he was actually there for. He had opened the drawer and removed her keyring, tried the keys one by one until he opened the door to his old room. It looked exactly the same as before, only the bed wasn’t made. With a tug, he pulled the telephone cable out of the wall.

Once he had put the keys back, he simply lifted the picture off the wall.

Before dropping the Opel off at the Castle, he had driven to Potsdamer station. He couldn’t think of anything better than to stow the picture and the telephone in his locker alongside the pistol and notebook. Its contents increasingly resembled a curiosity cabinet, and he wondered whether anything inside would be admissible as evidence.

He had taken the car back, but avoided Gennat’s office. Erika Voss had already finished work for the evening when Rath spread the contents of the Wilczek file across his desk. He almost had the impression he was avoiding his secretary, and perhaps he was. He leafed through the file that he himself had put together. Above all, he was interested in the older cases that had been transferred to the file in note form: Wilczek’s prior convictions. Rath noted the dates and got hold of the old case files. Had Bruno Wolter ever had any official dealings with Saint Josef? All his efforts were in vain. There was nothing. No arrests, nothing at all. Not even a premature release from custody, an instance of special treatment as with Selenskij or Fallin. Yet Rath was certain that Wilczek had worked as a police informant for his former comrade-in-arms Bruno Wolter, even if such details were kept off the record.

Fallin’s flat in Yorckstrasse was near the Excelsior and Rath had taken a little stroll there before freshening up for the evening in his hotel room. When no-one came to the door, he had picked the lock and taken a look inside. He didn’t have much time to scrutinise the flat, but at least the Russian wasn’t lying dead in his bath. Rath had left again before he ran the risk of being caught. He told himself not to immediately expect the worst. Perhaps Fallin had gone into hiding because he had got wind of his friend’s death.

‘Benno’s already informed me that you’re unarmed, Inspector. I hope you haven’t been snorting any cocaine this time.’

The voice brought him back to the Venuskeller. Sebald’s balding head gleamed over the shiny table-top like the moon over the Wannsee.

‘Take me to your boss, then you can get back to enjoying your dancers,’ Rath said. ‘Maybe you should have a think about your stage programme while you’re at it. This veil dance would be an impertinence even somewhere legal.’

‘I wouldn’t use that tone with Herr Marlow if I were you,’ Sebald said.

They didn’t even have to go over the road this time, as Marlow had made himself comfortable in one of the back rooms. He was sitting at Sebald’s desk with a few figures hanging around the darkest corners of the room, all of them in evening dress. Liang was standing behind Marlow’s chair.

‘Good evening, Inspector,’ the crime lord greeted him, just as friendly as during their first encounter. ‘Excuse me for making you wait. You mustn’t think that your presence had escaped our notice. I wanted to see if you were keeping to our agreement…’

‘What agreement?’

‘Not to visit Venuskeller on your own time.’ Marlow drew on his cigar. ‘Believe me, I know how difficult that is. And secondly…’

Right on cue a side door opened and a naked girl entered, lighting a cigarette with the table lighter on Sebald’s desk before disappearing as quickly as she had emerged. Rath recognised the well-built performer from the American Indian routine. The men in the room grinned suggestively, all of them, that is, apart from Marlow and the Chinese man.

‘…secondly I had things to do.’ Marlow was grinning now too, though it was almost charming when he did it.

‘Patience is one of my greatest virtues,’ Rath said. ‘You need it in my job. The same goes for staying power.’

‘Then Iet’s hope you have that too.’

‘I wouldn’t be sitting here getting on your nerves otherwise.’

‘Oh, is that what you’re doing?’

‘I hope so.’

‘And I hope you have more to offer than last time.’

‘Why don’t we see? But I’ll only speak to you in private.’

Marlow laughed. ‘I don’t think this is the place for you to be imposing conditions. Besides, you can never speak to me entirely in private, you should know that by now.’ He waved his left hand limply through the air as if swatting a fly. ‘Sebald, take your men for a little stroll. I’m sure Liang is more than capable of catering to our friend’s needs.’

He said it in a very friendly manner, but it sounded like a threat. Sebald left the room with four men. Three remained behind.

Marlow came straight to the point.

‘I’ve been reading about your exploits in the papers recently, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I see you’re investigating murders these days. So far without much success, or am I wrong?’

‘I’ve just told you I’m patient. You have to be able to wait for success too. For the moment, for example, when you are escorted into a Black Maria by two police officers.’

Marlow’s voice changed immediately and the temperature in the room grew icy. ‘You certainly are brave, Inspector. I recommend that you think carefully about how much bravery you can afford to show in this room.’

‘Is that supposed to be a threat? You wouldn’t dare kill me as well!’

‘ As well ? What’s that supposed to mean?’ Marlow raised his eyebrows. ‘Whatever ideas you might harbour about my business, I haven’t killed anyone.’

‘Then had killed. Let’s do some straight talking for once. What’s your role in all this? How many people do you have on your conscience?’

Marlow flicked the ash from his cigar.

‘Don’t get carried away now. If we’re going to do some straight talking, then why don’t we start with you . I’ve always been open and honest; you on the other hand would have me believe you were after the Sorokin gold. An outright lie. So, what game are you playing?’

‘I’m looking for a murderer.’

‘Then you should damn well look somewhere else!’