Фолькер Кучер - Goldstein

At least they hadn’t bound her.

Tornow sat on the left, with the older man – Charly put him in his early fifties – in the middle. The pistol lay before him on the table. To the right was the driver, whose face she saw for the first time. Draped behind the three of them was a kind of flag or wall-hanging, a black cloth, which bore the silhouette of a great white hand, reminding her of the lapel badge and sew-on patch they had found in Kuschke’s box.

So, there it was, the first link between Arsehole-Cadet Tornow and the deceased Kuschke. If she had any lingering doubts that Tornow was responsible for the sergeant major’s death, they were now well and truly swept aside.

‘Do you know why you’re here, Fräulein Ritter?’ the older man asked. Evidently he was the highest ranking of the three. Charly debated where she knew him from; she was almost willing to bet he was a cop too. The driver likewise.

Police officers who abducted a woman. Unbelievable!

‘Why I’m here? Probably because you wanted to play a hand of Doppelkopf and you were missing a fourth man. Well, I’m afraid I must disappoint you. First, I’m a woman, and second, I only play skat. Seeing as you don’t actually need me, can I go?’

‘I have to admire your sense of humour in a situation like this.’

‘Exactly what kind of situation are we talking about? So far, all I’ve seen are criminal offences: trespass, intimidation, false imprisonment. What the whole thing means, I’m still not sure. Are you trying to extort money? Again, I have to disappoint you there, my parents really aren’t that rich.’

‘That’s a shame, but I would have thought our operation spoke for itself. We’re trying to prevent you from making a serious mistake. It seems you sighted Police Lieutenant Tornow at a given time and in a given place, despite the many witnesses who would attest otherwise.’

‘What an elegant sentence. You must be either a cop or a lawyer.’

The man smiled. ‘Well, you’re a bit of both, aren’t you. With the emphasis on bit .’

Now Charly remembered where she had seen the man, although she still wasn’t quite sure. ‘Do you really think you’re going to get away with this? You abducted me! I might not know where you’ve taken me, but I do know who I have to thank for it.’

‘We’re aware that you’ve already made Lieutenant Tornow’s acquaintance, but he isn’t here. Nor did you see him in the Hansaviertel.’

‘I know who you are too, Chief Inspector Scheer. I hope you’ve seen to your own alibi.’

The man in the middle appeared genuinely thrown. So, it was him. Rudi Scheer. It had been a shot in the dark. Scheer had run the armoury at Alex, before being transferred out for weapons smuggling.

‘You have good powers of observation,’ Scheer said, ‘but I’m not here either. Just like Sergeant Klinger next to me.’

He meant the driver. No doubt he had given the man’s name and rank to demonstrate their certainty that no one would be brought to account.

‘Since you’re just imagining all this, Fräulein Ritter,’ Tornow said, ‘why don’t you tell us what you know, and what Gereon Rath knows? And whether you have any proof? What did you find in Kuschke’s flat?’

‘One thing I do know: there’s no way you’ll get away with this.’

‘There are certain influential people who move in our circles. Underestimate us at your peril!’ Tornow smiled. How could he be so friendly in a situation like this?

‘That’s why you imagine you’re above the law?’ Charly was talking herself into a rage. ‘Do you know what you are, Herr Scheer? You’re nothing but a crummy arms dealer. They should have finished you off when they had the chance, instead of transferring you out to Charlottenburg.’

Scheer looked at her in amusement.

‘You abducted me,’ Charly continued, ‘do you really think you’re going to get away with it, or are you planning to kill me, to keep all this hushed up? Don’t you think Gereon Rath already knows what happened and who’s behind it?’

She certainly hoped he did.

‘What Gereon Rath knows is what you’re supposed to be telling us,’ Scheer said. ‘You needn’t fear for your life. We aren’t going to harm a hair on your head. We won’t have to. Of course, we won’t shy away from it if need be, but we’re counting on your good sense. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to make a fool of yourself, and risk your career.’ He tried to smile, but didn’t manage quite so well as Tornow. ‘You won’t be getting much sleep in the next few hours. That can make people rather talkative, you know.’

It didn’t sound like they were going to release her any time soon.

Rath parked the Buick in Ritterstrasse, pulled his hat down and turned up the collar of his coat despite the warm weather. Only now did he approach Luisenufer. There were no suspicious vehicles near the courtyard entrance and the coast seemed clear. The yard was deserted, as always on a Sunday. What if they’ve laid a trap? he thought, stepping into the dim stairwell. What if they’re waiting for you in your flat? He took the Walther out of its holster, released the safety catch and hoped he didn’t run into Frau Liebig or her husband from upstairs.

He turned the key slowly, quietly, and stormed into the flat, weapon drawn, pointing the Walther into every room. Nothing. Whoever had been here was gone.

Rath had guessed what awaited him, but was still surprised at the havoc. It was worse than Spenerstrasse. Half his tableware lay shattered on the kitchen floor, books and papers fluttered on the floor. Flowerpots were tipped over and in pieces, the wardrobe was completely empty, and his mattress had been sliced open, along with his favourite chair. But they had saved the worst for the living room.

They had cleared out his record cabinet.

A great many of his records were broken, including some that were irreplaceable, having been sent over from the States by his brother Severin. The bastards would pay for this; Tornow and whoever else was in cahoots with him!

He tidied as best he could, found a cup that was still intact and put water on for coffee. He had to collect Kirie from the Lennartzes in half an hour, and could use a shot of caffeine to help him think things through.

Two hours later, Rath was parked in Spenerstrasse again. Dusk was falling as he rang on Irmgard Brettschneider’s door for the second time that day. Beforehand he had taken another look inside Charly’s flat, but nothing had changed.

The neighbour who had so often regarded him suspiciously, but never exchanged a word with him, now stared as though he were an apparition.

‘What can I do for you?’ she asked.

‘Good evening, Frau Brettschneider. Would you mind doing me a favour?’

She gazed at him as if he were asking for a cup of flour and two eggs, and Rath realised now would be a good time to reach for his police identification. He took the document out of his jacket and held it under her nose.

‘Rath, CID,’ he said. ‘It concerns Fräulein Ritter. She was seen leaving her flat this afternoon in the company of several men.’

‘Has she… Is she…’ Irmgard Brettschneider struggled to find the right words. ‘Is it prostitution?’ she asked finally. Rath didn’t know whether to laugh or vent his rage on this careworn woman with the overactive imagination.

‘Please! Fräulein Ritter is a judicial clerk.’

Frau Brettschneider gave a confused nod. ‘Of course, of course. I just thought… with the police in the building. So…’

‘It is possible that Fräulein Ritter was the victim of a kidnapping,’ he said.

Brettschneider looked horrified. ‘Those nice men? You must be mistaken.’