Фолькер Кучер - Goldstein

‘If Kallweit should prove to be the first victim in a gangland war,’ Böhm said, ‘things will soon escalate.’

‘Lock ‘em up,’ someone cried. ‘That’s how you avoid your escalation right there.’ The heckler received a murmur of approval. ‘That’s right,’ said another. ‘We know almost all the members of these Ringvereine. Why can’t we just put them all behind bars?’

‘Why not do the same with the Communists,’ a third cried. ‘Wouldn’t be able to gun our men down from inside.’

‘Quiet, gentlemen!’ Gennat, who had been silent until now, stood and made a conciliatory gesture with his hands. ‘Quiet, please!’ The superintendent could be astonishingly loud.

The murmuring subsided.

‘You are well aware why we can’t do that. Locking people up just because we think they might commit a crime. In Prussia only those found guilty and convicted can be put in jail. There is no preventative custody, and rightly so. Otherwise the way is paved for misuse and despotism. Gentlemen, we live in a constitutional state…’ He paused, seeming to look every single officer in the eye. ‘…and you are a part of its executive power, no more, but equally – and I stress this – no less.’

He had the room back under control. ‘If it is as Böhm here suspects and we are dealing with the first casualty of a gangland war, then we will do everything in our power to prevent further loss of life. Using the means afforded to us by our constitutional state.’

‘As far as I’m concerned, a single casualty isn’t enough,’ the officer next to Rath hissed. He didn’t dare say it out loud; that much at least Gennat’s sermon had achieved. ‘Let the bastards take care of each other.’

There was a knock on the door and Assistant Detective Grabowski poked his head inside.

‘Superintendent,’ he said. ‘Please excuse the interruption, but we’ve found a corpse, in Humboldthain.’

The murder wagon pulled up on Brunnenstrasse, outside the Himmelfahrtkirche, whose pointed spire towered in the sky, drawing a crowd of rubberneckers. Wilhelm Böhm shouted at the first cop he saw to clear the path in front of the church. ‘Kindly ask people to use the other side of the road!’

‘But… the corpse is behind the church…’

An angry glance was enough. The officer did as bidden, rounding up a few other cops and cordoning off the path. Böhm emitted a satisfied growl and waved Christel Temme, the stenographer, over. Together they proceeded around the back of the church. ED, the police identification service, was already in action, looking like a group of grown men hunting for Easter eggs, the biggest of which was apparently lying hidden behind a bush, with two ED officers and a cop standing by.

The cop gave a smart salute. ‘First Sergeant Rometsch, 50th precinct, at your service, Sir.’

Böhm nodded and looked at the shrubs that had been planted in front of the chancel to denote the beginning of the park. Behind a thick gorse bush lay the dead man, wearing a uniform with a swastika brassard. Another victim of what too many people confused with politics.

‘Who found the corpse?’ he asked, and Christel Temme, who had already pulled out her notepad, started scribbling. The stenographer wrote down absolutely everything, even when someone asked the time.

The cop shrugged his heavy shoulders. ‘Someone called in anonymously.’

‘What precinct are you again?’

‘I beg to report, Sir: the 50th precinct, Detective Chief Inspector, Sir.’

Böhm looked at the corpse. ‘So. What do you think?’

Sergeant Rometsch was visibly thrown by the question. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I would say the Red Front’s a possibility.’

Böhm nodded. ‘Even though it’s banned.’

‘Yes, Sir, even though it’s banned. We know that hasn’t stopped them.’

‘Cut out the constant standing to attention. You’re not on the parade ground here.’

‘Yes, Sir!’ First Sergeant Rometsch from the 50th precinct stood with his back even straighter.

Böhm shook his head.

Assistant Detective Grabowski came around the corner, carrying the camera from the murder wagon. He unfolded the tripod. ‘Tricky perspective,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t the killer have left him by the church?’

Only now did Böhm see the pool of blood by the church wall, in the dark corner where the nave met the transept. The assistant detective was observant, he thought, and gave a grunt of appreciation. It didn’t pay to praise these young men too much, or they took on airs and graces. He gestured towards the dead man’s right foot. The shoe was split open by a gunshot, and out of the bullet hole swelled an unseemly, red-brown mass. The blood had spread to his gaiters. ‘Don’t forget to take a few close-ups of the foot.’

Grabowski got down to work.

‘Ah, Böhm, there you are!’ Kronberg approached, waving identification with a swastika on the front. An SA membership card, whose passport photo displayed the face of the deceased. ‘The man’s name was Gerhard Kubicki.’

‘And he was a brownshirt?’

The Forensics chief nodded. ‘To be exact: an SA-Rottenführer.’

‘I can never get my head around these Nazi ranks – does that make him a big fish?’

‘Relatively.’

‘So, a mid-ranking Nazi.’ Böhm gestured towards the pool of blood in the shadow of the church. ‘Seems to have been dragged here, wouldn’t you say?’

Kronberg nodded. ‘Possibly to hide the body, but that’s not the only stretch the man covered. Come with me!’

Böhm followed Kronberg to a footprint that a forensics technician was filling in with freshly mixed plaster.

‘Footprints,’ Kronberg said superfluously, ‘one of which we have matched to the victim. He dragged his leg behind him.’

‘No wonder, with an injury like that.’

‘It looks like he made it to the church by himself. We found a trail which we were able to trace back to a meadow in the park.’ Kronberg pulled a tin from his overalls and opened it. ‘And this…’ he said, ‘is what we discovered there.’

In the police evidence tin was a bullet smeared with blood and dirt.

Böhm gave a nod of acknowledgement. ‘Before you give it to Ballistics, you should take it to Pathology and have the blood group checked. We have to be sure it’s from the murder weapon.’

Kronberg shook his head. ‘The murder weapon wasn’t a pistol,’ he said, enjoying keeping Homicide on tenterhooks. He paused again, for slightly longer this time, and Böhm almost lost patience. He must have shot him an angry glance; Kronberg at any rate gave an apologetic shrug. ‘I don’t want to anticipate your pathologist, but if I’ve assessed his injuries correctly, we’re looking for a knife or a dagger. A stabbing weapon at least.’

‘Did you find one?’

‘We’re still looking. Most likely the perpetrator took it with them. Or threw it somewhere in the Panke or wherever else. But…’ Again he made his clever-clever face.

Böhm rolled his eyes. ‘What? Get to the point!’

‘I can tell you what kind of stabbing weapon it was,’ Kronberg said, looking triumphant. ‘In all probability it was a trench dagger from the War.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Come with me and I’ll show you.’

They returned to the bushes where the corpse lay. Böhm took a closer look at the blood-soaked shirtfront. It did indeed display stab and slash wounds. Kronberg gestured towards the dead man’s belt, and an empty knife sheath dangling from it. ‘More or less every front soldier had one,’ he said. ‘Normally a trench dagger goes inside. Lots of SA men still carry their weapons from the War.’

‘This man’s too young to have served.’