Фолькер Кучер - The Fatherland Files

‘I think you’ll find it’s pretty comprehensive.’ Rath was unsure whether or not he should report Kowalski’s call.

Böhm looked up from skimming the file. ‘Was there something else, Inspector?’

‘Yes and no.’

Böhm furrowed his brow.

‘Polakowski,’ Rath said. ‘I think he’s in Treuburg, waiting for Gustav Wengler.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Just a feeling.’

‘Why not check if this feeling has any substance, and get in touch with the local police? A man like Polakowski should stick out like a sore thumb.’

‘With respect, Sir, I don’t trust the police in Treuburg.’ Rath gestured towards his report. ‘As far as I’m concerned, Chief Constable Grigat’s perfectly capable of killing Polakowski himself.’

‘A police officer who kills?’

‘No doubt he’d dress it up as self-defence, or say Polakowski was trying to escape. Grigat and Wengler are in cahoots, and it’s not in Wengler’s interests that Polakowski should fall into police hands, the sole witness in an age-old homicide case.’

‘A mass murderer, besides.’

‘That doesn’t mean vigilante justice should prevail.’

‘Hmm.’ Böhm rubbed his chin.

‘What sort of impression does it make if Berlin asks for assistance on the basis of a feeling ?

‘Yet you expect me to green-light an expensive operation on precisely the same grounds?’

‘It’s the weekend,’ Rath said. ‘It could always be an unofficial trip.’

‘Don’t you want to cast your vote tomorrow?’

‘There are more important things.’ Rath started downstairs. On this occasion ‘hmm’ would have to suffice. If he let Böhm say anything else, he’d only end up back in his office.

The Buick had a full tank, and he had over a hundred marks in his wallet. More than enough. He steered onto Kaiserstrasse, then Frankfurter Allee. There was a build-up as far as Lichtenberg, but once he was past the S-Bahn bridge he could step on the gas.

He’d have liked to take Charly with him, but she was with her friend on Tauentzienstrasse, spending her hard-earned cash. Screw it, there was no way of reaching her, but perhaps it was better if she didn’t come, thinking of Hella Rickert, and the prospect of their crossing paths.

He knew what he had to do, and he had to be quick about it. If he made good time, the journey would take around fifteen hours. Gustav Wengler would be back in Treuburg tomorrow at the latest to cast his vote, and he wanted to be there too. He drove as fast as he could, but still took almost five hours to reach the border. In Schneidemühl, the last German town before the Corridor, he found a gas station with a coin telephone. He made his way over while the attendant looked after the Buick. It was almost eight, she’d be long home by now.

The connection wasn’t good; Charly’s voice scratched in the receiver. ‘Gereon, where are you? Overtime again?’

‘No.’ He decided to make it short and sweet, to tell the truth for once, instead of talking all around it. ‘I’m at a gas station,’ he said. ‘In Schneidemühl.’

‘Sorry?’

‘In Schneidemühl, on the Polish border.’

Charly stressed each individual word. ‘What. Are. You. Doing. In. Schneidemühl?’ By the time she finished, she was shouting.

‘Settle down. It’s Polakowski. I know where he is.’

‘Going it alone again. Gereon, didn’t you want to…?’

‘I’m not going it alone. Böhm knows.’ She was speechless. Great. ‘Don’t worry, Charly. I have to say goodbye, I’m out of coins. I love you.’ He hung up.

It wasn’t far to the border, but he wasn’t the only one heading to East Prussia for the weekend. A long queue had formed in front of the checkpoint. Gennat hadn’t been exaggerating. First of all he required a transit visa, which cost him sixty marks and no little patience, before it was finally stamped and signed. It took just as long for the serious-minded Polish border officials to search his car, in the process of which they discovered one of Kirie’s rubber balls, which Rath had misplaced long ago.

Next, his Walther was confiscated. In its place he was issued with a receipt, which entitled him to reclaim the pistol on his return journey. On top of everything else, he then had to pay a toll of five Zloty. The officials refused to take Reichsmark, meaning he had to use the bureau de change, where the commission bordered on daylight robbery. He was beginning to regret taking the car. The train ride had been more pleasant; even the plane had been preferable, despite his fear of flying, but there was no going back now that the paperwork was complete. His transit visa granted him twenty-four hours to clear the Corridor; he did so in two and a half. Bromberg and Thorn were both pretty towns but, fearing the hostility of Polish border officials might be matched inland, he carried on, refusing to stop until he’d reached German Eylau, and with it Prussian territory once more.

Entering East Prussia proved far easier than entering Poland; the border officials requested his visa, his passport and his driving licence. No more than half an hour, and he was back on German soil.

In the meantime it was just after midnight.

A pleasant day greeted Charly as she stepped outside with Kirie. She felt the sun on her skin, and a gentle breeze made her forget her fatigue. She was so angry she had barely slept. Gereon bloody Rath, but she wasn’t so much angry at him, as at her own stupidity, at having to stay put while he was gallivanting round the country. This time he hadn’t even left her the car. Couldn’t he have flown again? It seemed highly unlikely that he was hot-footing it back to Masuria with Böhm’s blessing.

To think, she had been looking forward to getting out of town together, and to casting their vote. She couldn’t help thinking back to the last week, during which she had rehearsed eagerly for married life. Was this part of it too? Spending her weekends alone? Not if Charlotte Ritter had anything to do with it! She’d catch up on that Wannsee trip she still owed Greta. Her polling station was in Moabit anyway; she could call by Spenerstrasse at the same time, perhaps even spend the night. Her role in life wasn’t restricted to keeping Gereon’s bed warm!

She pulled hard on the lead as she crossed the street. Kirie, who had been slow to react, looked at her in astonishment, and she immediately regretted venting her anger on the poor beast. Kirie was least of all to blame for her master’s antics.

At Steinplatz she came to a halt in front of an advertising pillar bearing election posters. Down with the system , demanded the Communists. The Workers have awakened , the Nazis proclaimed. Here in Charlottenburg, these slogans would most likely fall on deaf ears, though the German National People’s Party might gain traction with their Power to the Reich President , with Hindenburg at its core. None of the three parties were interested in democracy. As far as these elections went, they were interested in power, and power alone.

She was about to cross to the park when a man emerged from a bright, imposing-looking house on the corner. Donning his hat he looked through thick spectacles as he made his way towards her.

Charly couldn’t contain her surprise. ‘Deputy Commissioner, Sir,’ she cried. ‘ Good morning.’

Bernhard Weiss lifted his hat. ‘Good morning, Fräulein Ritter.’ He hadn’t needed a moment to remember her name, which flattered her more than she cared to admit. ‘I fear you’re one of the few who still recognise that title.’

‘You’re still in charge as far as I’m concerned, Sir.’

‘Strictly speaking, I’m only on leave of absence. I signed a declaration in custody which prevents me from exercising any official powers.’