Фолькер Кучер - Goldstein

There was another ring. Away, she thought, go away! Can’t you see there’s no one home?

A key turned in the lock, and her heart almost stopped. She fumbled for the pistol, looked for the safety catch and aimed, just as the man appeared in the doorframe. His hands were already in the air.

Rath had been prepared for anything, but not a girl standing in the hallway with a little pocket pistol trained on his chest. The inside of the flat looked as if a bomb had been dropped. ‘What’s all this then?’ he asked.

The girl looked at him suspiciously. She was like a cornered beast of prey. Rath had recognised her immediately. The fake hair dye couldn’t fool him, nor the smart summer dress.

‘It’s Alex, isn’t it?’

Her answer was a tentative nod.

‘Charly told me about you.’

‘Charly?’

At last she spoke to him, but her pistol was still raised. He debated whether he could get to his Walther, but it was hopeless. He had to talk. ‘Charlotte Ritter. The woman who lives here.’

‘I see.’

He pointed his chin at the pistol. ‘Does it have to be like this?’

She let the weapon drop. ‘No, I just thought that…’

That was all she had time for. Rath made a full-length dive, reaching with both hands for her firing arm. He felt the little minx kick and punch, but absorbed the blows until he had control of the weapon, letting it slide across the hall floor into the kitchen and under the table. He held her arms tight and used his body weight to press her flailing legs to the floor. It was an unfair match, and the struggle was soon over.

‘Now, how about telling me what you’re doing in this flat, threatening me with a pistol.’

She spat at him and he dodged just in time.

‘I’ve had enough wrestling matches for one day,’ he said. ‘Shall we bring this to a peaceful end, or do I have to spend the next three hours on top of you?’

Her eyes looked daggers. ‘The first one,’ she said.

He stood up and kept a close eye on her, but she made no move to punch, kick or spit again. He picked up her handbag.

Alex stood up and held her hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but it’s what you have to expect when you threaten someone with a gun. It’s no laughing matter.’

‘I know that but, shit, life is no laughing matter.’

Rath couldn’t help but smile. ‘What are you doing here, and where’s Charly?’

‘I could ask you the same thing.’

‘I’m her… fiancé.’

‘What are you going to do? Are you going to call the cops?’

‘I am the cops.’

He had said it casually enough, but noticed how she gave a start, squinting towards the exit as if she might hightail it at any moment.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m one of the good guys. You don’t have anything to fear from me. Charly told me all about you, and about the business in KaDeWe with the cop. I’m sorry about your friend.’

Rummaging in her bag he pulled out a set of picklocks, and his compassion came to a sudden end.

‘Did you break in here?’

‘Did you think I crawled in through the keyhole?’

‘Are you responsible for this chaos?’

‘I didn’t take anything.’

‘What’s this?’ He pointed to her envelope and fished out a dozen ten mark notes.

‘I was returning it. I borrowed money from your fiancée.’

He shook his head in disbelief.

‘Take a look if you don’t believe me. There’s a letter inside.’

He skimmed what she had written. Thank you for everything , it said. I’m sorry about the money. I found it by chance and borrowed it because I needed it. I hope this will make up for it. Sorry.

‘You borrowed it, did you?’

‘I pay my debts. The money doesn’t belong to you, anyway. Put it back in the envelope and give me back my bag.’

She had a big mouth, no doubt about it, but she was right too. He replaced the envelope and returned the bag.

‘Take your time, and tell me what happened.’

‘I’ve only been here a few minutes. This is how it looked when I got here. Maybe those men have something to do with it.’

Rath felt an alarm bell sound in his head. ‘What men?’

‘Your girlfriend went off with a couple of men. That’s all I know.’ Alex shrugged. ‘Ask the woman, your neighbour. She saw them.’

‘Frau Brettschneider?’

‘Whatever her name is. The one opposite.’

‘Frau Brettschneider.’ Rath sighed. ‘What exactly did she see?’

‘She said that Fräulein Ritter left a few minutes ago: In the company of several gentlemen . That’s all.’

The alarm bells were sounding even louder now but, knowing that he was to blame for the trouble Charly was in, he said nothing. Instead, he dashed across the landing, positioned himself on the doormat, and pressed the bell above the name Irmgard Brettschneider . Never in a million years had he imagined this. He rang a few times, but there was no one inside.

‘You can ring as much as you like, she isn’t home.’ Alex was standing behind him, bag on her shoulders. ‘I reckon she’s taking her Sunday stroll or something.’

He was beginning to calm down again. Perhaps there was a logical explanation for all this. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

‘Do you have a problem with me leaving?’

She was already on the stairs when he called after her. ‘The fact that I’m turning a blind eye doesn’t mean I approve of robbing department stores.’

Alex turned when she was halfway down. ‘I couldn’t care less. Keep your opinions to yourself.’

‘They aren’t my opinions; they’re the law. Breaking and entering is illegal. Think about that.’ Shit, he thought, you sound just like your own father.

Alex reacted like an obstreperous daughter. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you should have a think about it too. I mean, what does a department store like that actually do? They buy jewellery and watches for I don’t know how many tens of thousands of marks and put it in their display window and charge double the price. Ten thousand marks for putting something in the window? I do a lot more for my money, I can tell you.’

She was gone. Probably she isn’t too far wrong, he thought. Figuratively speaking, any number of so-called pillars of the German economy did little more than window dressing to make their exorbitant gains.

He went back inside Charly’s flat. They had made a real mess: books and papers were scattered all over the floor; only her address book was in its rightful place, next to the telephone on the chest of drawers, and open at the letter R. On the second line, under Raabe, Karin , written in her fine, elegant hand stood Rath, Gereon, Luisenufer 47, 1. Rear Building. Tel. Moritzplatz 2955. Complete with address and telephone number. All that was missing was his shoe size.

It looked as if someone was about to pay him a visit. Perhaps he could still catch the bastards. Before leaving he looked under the kitchen table. The pistol was no longer there. Alex had outmanoeuvred him after all.

She didn’t have the faintest idea where she was. The men had dropped a hood over her head as soon as they left Moabit, and hadn’t removed it until they set her down on this stool.

It felt like she was in a bad film. What was happening? Tornow and his helpers had taken an ordinary civilian captive from her flat in broad daylight. She still couldn’t believe it.

In addition to Tornow and the man with the pistol was a third man who had driven the car. She had identified it as a Horch, but hadn’t been able to read the number plate.

The room was windowless, a cellar perhaps, but she couldn’t be sure. Unlikely though, on reflection, since she could feel the heat of day. All three men sat behind a table. It felt like a tribunal, a Holy Inquisition, and she was the witch standing trial.