Фолькер Кучер - Goldstein

‘Stop,’ he said.

‘Pardon me?’

‘Stop, damn it!’

‘After three metres? I thought I was supposed to tail my colleague?’

‘You did. Now stop the car!’

It took half an eternity for the taxi driver to pull over and accept a mark as payment – ‘Now I have to start again from the back! You won’t be getting a receipt!’ – before Rath and Kirie could finally get out. There was no sign of Goldstein. He must have disappeared inside the station.

Rath cursed, and dragged Kirie into the great entrance hall of Anhalter Bahnhof. Countless heads, countless hats. He gazed around and, at last, caught sight of a light-coloured fedora in the throng. He breathed a sigh of relief; Goldstein was in the queue at the ticket counter. Before he could disappear again Rath fetched up beside him.

‘You really aren’t so easy to shake off,’ Goldstein said.

‘I did warn you.’ Rath was trying hard to hide the fact that he was gasping for breath.

‘Is that why you’ve got the dog? So that it picks up my scent if I manage to give you the slip?’

‘You didn’t give me the slip.’

‘Do you know something? You’re starting to get on my nerves.’

‘Then I’m doing my job.’

‘I can think of better things to do than traipse around this city with you in tow. I’d rather stay here.’

‘You do that.’

Goldstein exited the queue and made for the main entrance. A short time later, they were back on Askanischer Platz. Gräf, who was sitting on a bench under the trees, spotted them and adopted a quizzical expression. Rath gave a discreet hand signal to let him know the situation was under control.

‘Your colleague?’ Goldstein asked. ‘I noticed him yesterday.’

‘Then I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you.’

Goldstein strolled across the square, taking a look at the neighbourhood. Rath followed. The workers were busy again at Europahaus, having erected a giant scaffolding around the entrance to the multi-storey building. Over the next few days they would install one of the largest neon signs in the city. Curious passersby kept stopping to look upwards, where workers were scrambling about on the scaffolding and screwing in the neon strips. Goldstein gazed open-mouthed towards the sky.

‘I must say, the building sites in Manhattan are more imposing. You’d need a good head for heights to work on those.’

‘These will do me just fine,’ Rath said, annoyed at himself. Why was he so talkative around the Yank? Especially when no detail escaped the man. He registered his surroundings with razor-like precision, and paid heed to even the most trivial detail.

‘Vertigo?’ Goldstein asked, quick as a flash, and Rath said nothing more, didn’t even look up at the workers. When would Weiss take him off this damn assignment? When would he get to investigate a real murder again?

‘Fancy a cup of coffee?’ Goldstein asked. ‘It’s on me.’

‘No, thank you. I can’t possibly accept.’

Goldstein grinned. ‘But if I were to have a cup somewhere,’ he said, ‘then you’d sit with me. If you’re absolutely set on paying for your own, that’s fine.’

A short while later they sat in Café Europa , where Rath had spent his first evening with Charly. There was no dancing at this hour, but a great deal of commotion on the roof garden. Two pots of coffee stood on the table in front of them, and Rath was secretly pleased that the American had fallen foul of the infuriating German custom of serving watery coffee in leaky pots. You either scalded yourself on the first cup, or drank the second cold, usually both.

Goldstein left the pot unremarked. ‘I don’t have anything against you personally,’ he said, after serving himself, ‘but it would be better for us both if you left me in peace. Perhaps if you had, you wouldn’t have needed to take your car to the garage.’

‘What do you know about that?’

‘Only that I wouldn’t be leaving my car unattended in a neighbourhood like that, particularly not such a nice model.’

‘I’m forbidden to leave you in peace. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices.’

‘You know, I’m an American.’ Goldstein stirred his coffee, which was still far too hot. ‘Perhaps, as a German, you won’t understand this, but for me the most important thing is freedom. My freedom. If it’s taken away from me, I can get pretty nasty. Just so you know.’

‘Are you threatening me? We’re not in America now. You can’t just gun police officers down.’

‘I think you have the wrong idea about our country. You ought to go there.’

‘I know your country.’ Rath was annoyed. He kept allowing himself to be provoked into making comments that were none of the Yank’s business. He fumbled an Overstolz out of his case.

‘Interesting brand,’ Goldstein said. ‘May I?’ Rath hesitated. ‘Come on. Just because I take something from you doesn’t make it bribery. Besides, you cadged a Camel off me yesterday.’

‘Help yourself.’

The men smoked in silence for a moment and drank their coffee.

‘I still don’t understand what I’ve done to warrant this kind of treatment.’

‘Wrong tense. It isn’t about what you’ve done, but what you might do .’

‘Strange working methods, the German police. So, there’s nothing I can do to get rid of you?’

‘On the contrary. You can leave town.’

‘Do you know what? I have a better idea. I’ll wait until your bosses realise how ridiculous this operation is, and call you in.’

Alex stood in Büschingstrasse, checking the lie of the land. She had left her pocket watch in Flat B with the rest of her things, but the smell of onions and cabbage and bratwurst told her it must be about half past twelve. Time for lunch. A few scruffy figures gathered outside the entrance to the male Salvation Army hostel, but otherwise Büschingstrasse was deserted. Hopefully the same was true of the courtyard leading to Flat B.

She had used the last of her money to buy Vicky a coffee at the Grossmarkt, before treating herself to a six-pack of Juno and taking the number 66 out to Büschingplatz. In by night, out at lunch was the best way of avoiding the caretaker and that old snitch Karsunke, especially if you didn’t want to field any stupid questions. Like the time he had asked her where she was going. She had given the answer Benny had drummed into her: to the Grünbergs in the rear building. They had the name from the mailboxes.

That wouldn’t work now the caretaker was keeping a close eye on her. So: in for a final time to collect her things, and that would be it for Flat B. The caretaker could turn the place inside out for all she cared. He wouldn’t find her.

From the opposite side of the road she peered through the entrance to the courtyard. It wasn’t just her sleeping bag up there, but also the personal items she kept in a little tin, as well as Benny’s pictures, which he had guarded like treasure. The yard seemed deserted, even the children who had been playing under the carpet hanger had vanished. Time was getting on. The queue outside the Salvation Army hostel had dwindled to three, reminding her that lunchtime didn’t last forever. She took a deep breath, wished the caretaker and his informant Karsunke bon appétit and crossed the road. She had just reached the archway when the door from the neighbouring house opened and a cop stepped out.

The blue uniform, and the face, seemed like a bad dream. What was he doing in Friedrichshain, damn it? KaDeWe was in the west.

Flat B was too risky now, that much was clear, but she wasn’t sure if the cop had recognised her. Thinking quickly, she switched directions, to make it seem as if she had come from the yard, then veered sharply, turning her back on him and making her way down the road as inconspicuously as possible. This wasn’t anywhere near his precinct.