Фолькер Кучер - The Fatherland Files

‘Good. Then give me the abridged version. Did ED find anything?’

‘Nothing’s confirmed at this stage,’ Gräf said. ‘There’s no sign of a struggle, or of any violence; in fact there’s no sign whatsoever of foul play. Though there’s nothing to point to a natural death either.’

‘We’ll just have to wait for the autopsy then.’ Rath took another sip of coffee. ‘What do you make of Karthaus’s suspicion? That the man drowned, I mean.’

‘I think he could be right, even if it sounds a little strange. His hair was wet.’

‘I didn’t notice.’

‘Because you were so late. Take a look at Lange’s photos and… see for yourself.’

‘Wet hair.’ Rath shrugged. ‘So what? It was raining last night.’

‘He’d have looked different. His shoulders were wet too, but the rest of him was dry.’

‘So, what’s your theory?’

‘On how you can drown in a lift? I don’t have one. The red cloth’s a puzzle too.’

‘Red cloth?’

Gräf gave him a look of mild reproach, and Rath made a conciliatory gesture with his hands.

‘All right, all right! I’ll look at the photos.’

‘The cloth was hanging from the wire mesh cart with the crates of schnapps. It’s with ED now.’

‘A Communist flag?’

‘More like a handkerchief. We’ll see.’

Before Gräf could say anything, Schorsch had placed the next round of beers on the counter.

‘You really think it’s possible to drown in a lift?’ Rath asked.

‘I don’t think anything. The cause of death is a total mystery. If he really did drown, it’ll only deepen.’

‘Perhaps someone just dumped him there.’

‘Using Lamkau’s van?’ Gräf shook his head. ‘No, everything points against it. Besides, the perpetrator could hardly have made it past the guard with a corpse.’ Schorsch placed a third round on the counter and cleared away the empties. ‘That’s enough now,’ Gräf said.

‘One more,’ said Rath. ‘Rinse your mouth out with a little Odol and the smell will be gone.’

‘Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.’

Rath raised his glass. ‘You have to set an example for young Lange, you know.’

Gräf did likewise. ‘The way you set an example for me?’

‘Has Lange informed the next of kin?’

‘The man left behind a widow,’ said Gräf. ‘The Lamkaus live next to their offices, out in Tempelhof.’

‘How many employees?’

‘A dozen, I’d say.’

‘So, why did the boss make the delivery himself?’

‘That isn’t the only question. I’ve summoned the most important witnesses to the Castle for Monday morning.’ Gräf drained his glass and set it to one side. ‘It wasn’t much good having that director milling about – his men weren’t exactly forthcoming in his presence. I think we’ll get more from an interrogation.’ He slid off his bar stool. ‘Perhaps we’ll know then why Lamkau was carrying an envelope containing a thousand marks.’

‘A thousand marks?’

‘In his overalls.’

Rath was about to say something, but, seeing Gräf’s face, decided against it.

‘ED have it,’ the detective continued. ‘They’re testing for fingerprints.’

‘What’s he doing with a tidy sum like that?’

Gräf shrugged.

‘Well,’ Rath said. ‘At least we know one thing…’

‘Which is…’

‘We can rule out robbery homicide.’

The brass plate on the brick wall bore the inscription Berlin University Institute of Forensic Medicine , while a stationary mortuary car prepared visitors for what lay inside. At the external staircase the queasy feeling in Rath’s stomach returned; hardly the ideal basis on which to enter the morgue, whose chilly catacombs concealed a range of unappetising surprises.

It had been Dr Karthaus who roused him. He had stupidly kept drinking yesterday evening after Gräf left for his night shift, staying on for a few beers in the Dreieck , before taking a taxi home. Arriving there, he was forced to admit that he was still too sober to bear a deserted apartment, especially now that Charly had been and gone. He had dutifully telephoned headquarters at Alex to inform them where he could be reached for the next few hours, before leaving Kirie in the care of the night porter. In the Ku’damm he had abandoned himself to the swing of the Kakadu bar and its well-stocked shelves, resisted the advances of an adventuresome blonde, and tried hard not to think of Charly, which, of course, was easier said than done. The cocktails, at any rate, had served their purpose, rendering him insensible enough to return home well after midnight and find sleep at last.

Until he was awoken by the telephone.

‘There’s something I’d like to show you,’ Karthaus had said, summoning him to Hannoversche Strasse for two o’clock.

Rath fed the dog, but neglected to feed himself, drinking a coffee and showering before setting off with Kirie. Only when he stepped outside did he realise that his car was still parked in Kreuzberg, and started down Hardenbergstrasse towards Bahnhof Zoo.

It wasn’t quite two when they reached the morgue. Recognising them, the porter took Kirie’s lead, using a bite of his salami sandwich to bring her to heel. ‘Doctor’s waiting downstairs,’ he said, waving Rath through to the cellar, where the pathologists processed their corpses.

Rath kept his eyes on the floor; the black-and-white checked pattern had a soothing effect on his stomach. Stepping through the large swing doors into the autopsy room, he spied Dr Karthaus at his table in the corner, a steaming cup of coffee placed alongside a file.

Karthaus looked up from his notes and furrowed his brow. ‘Inspector! You’re unusually punctual today.’

‘Dead on time.’

The doctor folded his glasses and lit a cigarette. Rath fumbled for an Overstolz, but realised he had left them at home. He stole a glance at the Manoli cigarettes on the desk, but the doctor stood up and led him to a trolley where the contours of a human body could be discerned through a cotton sheet. ‘Take a look,’ Karthaus said, yanking the sheet to the side almost violently. ‘There’s something you have to see.’

The corpse still wore the same horrified expression as yesterday morning, but it was paler now, the area around the mouth a deeper shade of blue. The doctor gripped the ashen face and turned it to one side. Using his index finger, he gestured towards a point on the neck around which a small, bluish dot had formed.

‘See?’ Karthaus asked. Rath nodded, tempted for an instant to lean over the man’s neck to get a better view, only to listen to his stomach’s advice and trust in the doctor’s words. ‘A puncture site,’ Karthaus continued. ‘The injection was administered intravenously.’

‘What kind of injection?’

‘He didn’t get it from a doctor, anyway. I’ve already checked. Perhaps he was a morphine addict.’ The doctor drew on his cigarette. ‘Though it’s hardly common for morphine addicts to inject through the jugular vein. You’d need a mirror, for starters. Besides… if our man here was a morphine addict there’d have to be additional puncture sites. But this is the only one.’

‘Are you saying that someone administered the injection for him?’

‘Everything points that way. Which means we have evidence of external violence after all.’

‘A lethal injection?’

‘Hopefully a blood analysis will reveal all.’

‘So the man didn’t drown!’ Rath didn’t always need to be right, but he savoured it here.

‘It’s difficult to know for sure.’

‘I thought you had completed the autopsy?’

Karthaus nodded. ‘The man had water in his lungs. So much, in fact, that it’s inconceivable it entered post-mortem. So far, so typical for a victim of drowning. Nevertheless, the level of water aspiration wasn’t nearly extreme enough to lead to fatal hypoxia.’