Фолькер Кучер - Goldstein

But wait, there was one. She hadn’t been there in over a year and it wouldn’t be easy to turn up and ask for help. There was no way of knowing how he’d react when he saw her. He wouldn’t call the cops, but he might chase her away. She had to be prepared for that but, if he didn’t help, everything would be over anyway. Exhausted by pain and stress, she flopped onto a seat.

The hopelessness of her situation, the fact of having no other choice, almost calmed her until, suddenly, she was overcome by a strange feeling of happiness. A smile crept onto her face. She was so tired, so at the end of her tether, that things could scarcely get any worse. Her mind was made up. She would throw herself on his mercy and hope he didn’t let her down. In spite of everything that had happened.

Glass crunched beneath her feet, each step echoing in the empty room. Charly stopped and listened. The rush of traffic noise from Landsberger Allee was interrupted only by the rhythmical clatter of the nearby Ringbahn station. Every little scrape sounded louder and harsher than the muffled noise from outside.

The old axle factory, the cop had said, but there was no sign of the youths. A deserted ruin, perhaps they only came here to sleep?

There was a loud crash, as if something in the hall had been knocked to the floor. A jerky, scuttling noise followed in the chamber of echoes and a rat paused in the middle of the room, gazing insolently at the human intruder. There were people living in this hovel? Children even? Sharing a roof with rats? She shook involuntarily.

At the end of the workshop she found a stairwell and climbed upwards.

The rooms on the first floor were in better condition. Some of the windowpanes were still intact and there wasn’t nearly as much broken glass on the floor. It was conceivable that the odd person slept here at night – even with rats present.

Did she really expect to find the girl and, if she didn’t, why was she here? It wasn’t as if Weber had asked her to spend the evening searching, quite the opposite. ‘That’s for the police,’ he had said. ‘Don’t make things any worse by getting involved.’

Any worse. As if that were possible! She couldn’t stop thinking about the empty chair, the cigarettes in the ashtray, then staring out of the window and onto the street; how she had sounded the alarm but no one was interested. No one paid much attention to a street urchin on a day when shots had been fired on Frankfurter Allee, and a police officer had lost his life. Even the woman from Welfare had shrugged, as if the girl’s escape gave her one thing less to worry about. Charly had dashed out onto Wagnerplatz herself, and continued down Magdalenenstrasse. In vain; the girl was long gone.

Now, Weber, he had been interested, at least enough to shout at her on his return from the public prosecutor. Must be out of your mind, flouted basic security precautions, completely unsuitable for this job were some of the milder accusations. Imagine giving an arsehole like Weber such an easy platform! He had sent her home and told her to take the rest of the week off.

‘This incident will be subject to an investigation,’ he said, ‘and the result will find its way into your personal file.’ Still, by far the most hurtful thing was his hypocritical attempt to comfort her after he had raged for a full quarter of an hour. ‘If I could give you one piece of advice,’ he had said, his voice dripping with paternal sympathy. ‘Don’t torture yourself. You’re a woman! Find a nice man and get married!’

Suddenly Charly found herself transported back to a Cologne cafe, listening to another sympathetic voice. Once you’re married you won’t have to work anymore. Now as then, she had been unable to speak.

She could still act though, and she wasn’t about to follow Weber’s instructions. She had climbed aboard the tram and made her way to Frankfurter Allee, travelling another two stops with the Ringbahn train. Reaching Roederstrasse she headed towards the old axle factory and climbed into the abandoned site through a gap in the rusty fence. She had to try, even if she could scarcely believe the girl would have fled here of all places.

She combed the first floor and the second, making a few discoveries along the way: wax residue, empty bottles, a battered old spoon, traces of trodden-out cigarettes. Search complete, she returned to the concrete stairs with the worn steel edges and descended them one by one. She felt a little uneasy alone in a place like this. The afternoon was simply the wrong time. Perhaps she should come back at dawn with Gereon.

Out of nowhere a boy appeared at the base of the steps, a broad-shouldered type with an angular skull and blackened fingernails, who couldn’t have been more than seventeen. At first he seemed as surprised as she was, gawping idiotically before bringing his expression under control. He did at least seem aware of how terrifying he looked. He puffed out his chest and crossed his arms to make them look even more muscular.

‘Can’t you read?’ he said. ‘Entry’s forbidden.’

‘I was just going.’

Charly tried to remain unfazed but was surprised at how wispy her voice sounded. C’mon now, she thought, can’t you think of anything better than that?

‘Shame. I prefer my women to come.’ His grin left her in no doubt that he was being deliberately suggestive.

Damn it, she thought, why did you have to go traipsing around here all by yourself?

‘I’m looking for someone,’ she said. ‘A girl. About five foot seven, dark-blonde, slim, bandage on her…’

‘What the hell is this, are you a dyke?’ The boy planted himself in front of her. ‘Or is it your daughter who’s run away? Give me a better description. Maybe I’ve fucked her.’

Charly wanted to punch his ugly face. You don’t scare me, she thought, you’re still just a kid, a cheeky brat with no manners. ‘Looks like someone forgot to bring you up properly.’

‘You can always start now. Shall I show you where I’d like to be brought up ?’

This potty-mouthed chatter was too much. Charly tried to push her way past, but the boy took her by the arm and flung her backwards. She stumbled but managed to grab hold of the rail before landing on the steel edge of the concrete steps, earning herself a few bruises.

She was wrong. This was no child she was dealing with, and no one knew she was here, not even Weber. She picked herself up and was about to say something when she heard a voice, sharp as a knife. ‘Leave the woman alone, Kralle!’

She looked around at a girl in a thin coat, her black hair covered by a beret. Although her snub nose and massive brown eyes made her look sweet, Kralle seemed to respect her – or maybe it was the large knife in her hand.

‘If it isn’t little Vicky,’ he said. ‘What’s this, have you founded a new club? Women helping women?’

‘I don’t want the cops breathing down our neck because you can’t keep it in your pants. So apologise and let her go.’ She pointed towards the exit with the tip of the blade.

‘Naughty little Vicky has a knife. I’m so scared.’

‘I would be too in your shoes, arsehole, or have you forgotten what girls with knives can do? I’m just as handy as Alex.’

‘Alex, the stupid dyke.’

Vicky had touched a nerve.

‘Alex,’ Charly asked, ‘is a girl?’

She could see Vicky thinking quickly. She had said more than she intended.

‘Is she the one you’re looking for?’ Kralle said, almost politely now. ‘Alexandra Reinhold? The description fits. Well, I’m afraid our Alex isn’t home at the moment, otherwise I’d be only too glad to introduce the little tramp…’ Stupid as he looked, he had an instinct for hurting people.