Фолькер Кучер - Goldstein

He didn’t seem to have noticed her yet, but Kirie wagged her tail and pulled on the lead, as her master looked right and left before crossing the carriageway behind a flashy American sedan. Finally, he saw her and smiled, and immediately she felt better. No longer alone, she stubbed out her cigarette, rage expunged.

Kirie was the first to reach her, jumping up to lick her face. She defended herself as best she could, and stroked the dog’s black fur. ‘Kirie, settle down,’ she said.

‘I should have taken a taxi,’ he said.

She attempted to smile in return, but made a complete hash of it.

Gereon’s smile vanished as he drew a step nearer and took her in his arms. Gratefully she allowed her head to sink onto his shoulders, felt his warm hands stroking the nape of her neck. She had to be careful she didn’t start bawling her eyes out, like a child expelled from school.

‘What is it, my love?’ he asked, and she forgave him for every minute he had been late. She felt a lump in her throat, and it was a moment before she could speak.

‘Oh Gereon,’ she said. ‘I’ve made such a mess of things. You have to help me.’

‘You’re shaking, what on earth’s the matter?’

She hadn’t realised, but he was right, she was shaking all over. She started to cry, which had never happened before in his presence, then turned her face away, but he only held her tighter. She could picture his face filled with consternation, but couldn’t make it out through her tears.

Ten minutes later they were in Aschinger. Charly had wanted to go straight to the Castle, to Records; not to waste a second, but Gereon had insisted that she tell him what happened first, and give her tears a chance to dry. When she saw her face in the mirror of the ladies toilet, she realised it was a good idea. She needed a few minutes to redo her make-up, and when she returned their drinks were on the table: tea with lemon for her, coffee, black as always, for him. Gereon drank coffee at all times of day, even in the evening. For Kirie there were two Bouletten. No sooner had her master set the plate down than she pounced, demolishing the meatballs in record time and devoting herself all the more intensely to licking the plate clean. At least the greedy dog succeeded in coaxing a smile out of her.

Charly took a sip of tea and told Gereon the whole story: the frightened girl in her office, Weber’s assignment, the boor of a sergeant, the commotion in the corridor on account of the dead policeman – and, finally, her catastrophic error.

His reaction wasn’t quite what she had expected. ‘You left a guttersnipe unattended in your office?’

‘I couldn’t know what would happen. I just went to the door…’

‘You didn’t even have her in sight. What if she’d taken a paper knife from the desk and attacked you…’

‘Weber doesn’t have a paper knife on his desk.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Gereon, don’t you start. I know I’ve messed up. But this girl… there was something about her. She was scared stiff. Of the cop, I thought, but maybe it was just the uniform.’

‘No wonder! Attacking a police officer is no petty offence. Even if it sometimes feels like it in this city.’

‘I don’t believe she really attacked him. The witness could have invented it. No cop’s come forward to report it.’

‘Charly, open your eyes! She’s dangerous. When I think about what the little brute could have done to you…’

‘She’s not a brute. Who knows what she’s been through? She’s got a gash on her hand herself. When I think of those kids in that old factory…’

‘Charly, Charly!’ Gereon sighed. ‘You can’t afford to have compassion in our job. Even less as a judge or public prosecutor.’

Instinctively she reached for her cigarettes. ‘Define compassion. I just want to know what happened. Now, are you going to help me look for her or not?’

Charly lit a Juno and took a deep drag, feeling her fury rise again. Gereon made a conciliatory gesture with his hands.

‘Of course I’ll help you.’ He took a notebook and pencil from his jacket. ‘So, her last name is Reinhold…’

‘Alexandra Reinhold. I don’t think they were having me on in the factory. The guy seemed to get a kick out of annoying this girl, Vicky, by snitching on Alex. He seems to really hate the pair of them.’

‘It must be possible to find out where she’s from.’

‘That’s why I asked you to help. Let’s go to Records and get the addresses of all Reinholds in Berlin.’

‘We don’t even know that she’s from Berlin…’

‘Gereon, I’m already at my wits’ end. I don’t know if I’m ever going to track this girl down. So, please, do me a favour and stop quibbling. Let’s just try. I might not get another chance.’

‘You’re right, but do you really think you can impress Weber by delivering this Alex?’

‘At least I’ll have made good on my mistake. Besides, the girl needs help.’

‘An arsehole like Weber is just waiting for you to mess up so he can write something negative in your file. He wants to destroy your career, that’s been his aim from the start.’

‘There are lawyers who hold me in higher regard.’

‘But they’re not the ones making decisions about your career.’

Perhaps they are, Charly thought. She stubbed out her cigarette.

‘Let’s see what happens,’ Gereon continued. ‘The way I see it, Weber won’t want to make too much of a scene. He should never have left you alone like that. You’re a judicial clerk. You can’t be playing magistrate in your preparatory year!’

‘I wasn’t. Weber just didn’t want his meeting with the public prosecutor to fall through. I was meant to get the girl’s personal particulars, that’s all.’

‘He must have a guilty conscience.’

‘He didn’t appear to just now.’

‘Maybe,’ Gereon said, ‘but have you thought about everything that’s happened? The dead policeman, the shoot-out on Frankfurter Allee. Who’s going to care about some tramp jumping out of the court window? I can’t imagine Weber’s going to be shouting his mouth off about this. He’s trying to scare you because he wants to hound you out of his court, and the profession too. Don’t let him intimidate you.’

‘Maybe you’re right.’ She took a sip of tea and attempted a smile.

‘Of course I’m right,’ Gereon said, looking at her encouragingly. ‘Now drink up, we’ve got work to do.’

The corridor lay empty ahead, with only the dim light of dusk reflecting from the polished floor. So far, no one. Most people had gone home long ago, and the patients were asleep. Goldstein had to wait for a moment outside, until two ambulances arrived one after the other, delivering the victims of a fight. At the same time a flood of relatives, friends, and others affected by the incident had rolled up and, within seconds, created an almighty stir in Accident and Emergency. Evidently, a wedding party had gone wrong.

He slipped onto the premises as the quarrelling started again, then through a door into a dim corridor, locating the stairwell and taking his bearings. This afternoon had been worthwhile after all.

The hospital wasn’t especially big, not in comparison with the Jewish Hospital on Prospect Place where they had removed his appendix, but there were many wards, doors and long corridors. It was better to know your way around.

He stood before the brass-numbered door again, and though aware that all he would encounter was an old man wandering through dreams, he hesitated as before. This time he hadn’t brought flowers, only the Remington in his inside pocket.

His hand pressed down on the handle and the door moved without a sound. He gazed once more across the corridor – the door to the nurses’ office was still closed – and crept into the unlit room. The curtains were drawn, but a glimmer of light outlined its contours. The bed stood against the end wall, and in it lay an old man with a wrinkled face. The sign at the foot of the bed confirmed what Goldstein knew already. The only sound was the rattling in his chest, but his eyes sparkled. He was awake. He sat up as Goldstein drew closer.