Фолькер Кучер - Goldstein

He snapped the file shut, pushed it away and gazed at Gereon Rath’s abandoned desk. Was this really more exciting than surveillance work at the Excelsior ? At least over there he breathed fresh air once in a while. It appeared Wilhelm Böhm didn’t want him to leave the office. New files kept arriving as the DCI was driven around town. It seemed to Gräf that he was suffering Böhm’s mood swings on Gereon’s behalf. To think, they had been a good team when he was still an assistant detective, but that was a distant memory now.

There was a knock. Erika Voss entered and placed another file on Gräf’s desk. ‘Just in on the Kubicki case,’ she said. ‘From E Division this time.’

He looked at it curiously. ‘An SA man who’s attracted the attention of Vice? Was he a pimp?’

‘No idea. I didn’t look inside.’

Gräf opened the file and whistled through his teeth. ‘A 175er. He was caught in a fairly notorious establishment.’

‘A gay Nazi? I thought they were against that sort of thing.’

‘They are in theory. In practice, things are a little different. Haven’t you heard? Apparently, the new SA chief of staff is a homosexual.’

‘If only the Führer knew,’ Erika Voss said, and disappeared back inside the outer office.

Gräf gazed after her. Was she being ironic? He worked his way through the file in astonishment. The kind of places Kubicki frequented were exactly the sort the Nazis would close down, given half the chance. When he had finished reading the file he asked to be put through to the political police. ‘Detective Gräf, Homicide. Could you send me everything connected with the Berlin SA and homosexuality?’

Half an hour later there was a mountain of files on his desk. He opened the first just as the telephone rang.

‘Gräf, Homicide.’

‘I read your appeal in the BZ . You’re seeking witnesses?’

The lunchtime papers had run the article. ‘That’s right. Did you see something?’

‘I know exactly what happened in Humboldthain.’

Gräf took out a pencil. ‘Go on.’

‘A brown arsehole got what was coming to him. That’s what happened!’

‘Who am I speaking to, please?’

‘My name has fuck all to do with you. You pigs are in cahoots with the Nazis. Social fascists!’

Gräf was speechless. He tried to think of an appropriate response, but nothing came.

The caller hung up.

Charly knew Arthur Nebe from her time in A Division. The head of Robbery was in Narcotics then, but had been brought in by Gennat to help Homicide on a number of occasions. Recently, he had solved the sensational murder of a chauffeur and been showered with praise by the press. He was an experienced, if slightly aloof, criminal investigator with a distinctive nose, whose eyes sparkled with thwarted ambition.

Although he was pushing forty, he hadn’t progressed beyond the rank of inspector, despite being seen as one of Bernhard Weiss’s favourites. In this he was in good company. The Castle’s moratorium on promotions applied to everyone, whether top brass liked you or not. Gereon, whose special relationship with Zörgiebel had brought him little more than envy, had learned that the hard way.

Nebe seemed surprised when he saw Charly. ‘It’s you ?’ he said.

‘You know me?’

‘Charlotte Ritter, Gennat’s stenographer.’

He had a good memory for people, she thought. ‘I haven’t worked for Gennat in a long time. State examination. Nine months ago now. I’m currently completing my legal preparatory service…’

‘…and evidently at Lichtenberg District Court.’

Charly nodded. ‘Of course, you know already. It’s me you have to thank for all this.’

‘Let’s not go blaming ourselves. This sort of thing can happen to anyone.’

‘If I’d known what she’d done… I just thought she was some jumped-up fare-dodger who’d bust out of reform.’

‘You couldn’t have guessed who you were dealing with. We only made the connection ourselves this morning.’ He was trying to comfort her, and doing a better job than Gereon yesterday.

‘Well, at least I’ve been able to discover her name,’ Charly said.

‘You have?’ Nebe raised his eyebrows in surprise.

‘Alexandra Reinhold: no fixed abode, from Friedrichshain.’

‘Reinhold with a ‘d’ or ‘dt’’?

‘With a ‘d’’.

Nebe’s pencil scratched across the page as he noted the name. Charly felt like a traitor, but it was the least she could do to atone.

‘That’s more than I dared hope for, Fräulein Ritter. It’s something your superior at Lichtenberg was unable to provide.’ Nebe snapped his notebook shut. ‘But that’s not why I summoned you here. We need a personal description.’

‘Wasn’t Special Counsel Weber able to do that?’

‘If I understood him correctly, he has absolutely nothing to do with the case.’

Weber, you coward, Charly thought, trying to wash your hands of this, are you? Perhaps Gereon was right, perhaps she shouldn’t conceal Weber’s complicity. That the man was trying to sweep the matter under the carpet was testament to his guilty conscience.

‘Be that as it may,’ Nebe continued. ‘You, at least, saw the girl… Alexandra Reinhold… yesterday, and can provide a description. I’ve called for a sketch artist.’

A short time later Charly sat in front of a man with a sketch pad, describing Alexandra Reinhold. When the sketch was finished the face that stared out from the pad was exactly as she remembered it. Only the gaze was different; not quite as anxious. On paper Alex looked defiant and provocative, almost intimidating.

She didn’t want to nitpick, perhaps that’s how wanted posters had to look. The sketch artist tore off the page and passed it to Nebe.

‘Many thanks, Fräulein Ritter,’ he said. ‘You’ve been a great help. At last, something we can give to Warrants.’ He handed the sheet to a colleague. ‘Have duplicates made right away and pass it onto J Division along with our appeal. And here…’ He tore a page from his notebook. ‘…is the girl’s name. That ought to make things easier.’

Warrants. Once the department’s machinery was set in motion, it would be tricky for Alexandra Reinhold to go underground. For some reason the thought of Alex falling into the hands of Warrant Officers made Charly uncomfortable. She couldn’t help thinking of the distraught girl sitting in her office with fear in her eyes, and then of the merciless apparatus of the Prussian Police’s Warrants Department.

As she paced the corridors of Homicide shortly afterwards, breathing in that strange but familiar smell of sweat and dusty files, ink and paper, she briefly considered paying Gennat a visit or, at least, Wilhelm Böhm. In the end she simply knocked on the door she had been assigned, not far from Gereon’s little office at the end of the corridor. Today wasn’t a day for chatting with ex-colleagues.

She had never worked directly with Andreas Lange, although she had met him before. Most of what she knew came from Gereon. A conscientious type, he had moved to Berlin from Hannover.

Charly knocked on the door and entered to a reedy ‘Come in’, to find Lange on his own, seated behind his desk, making notes in a file. He wore a serious expression. When he looked up he recognised her straightaway.

‘Fräulein Ritter!’ he said, and promptly turned red. That didn’t seem to have changed.

‘You asked to speak to me?’ Charly gave him a helping hand. ‘Lichtenberg District Court.’

‘You’re working for the District Court?’

‘Legal preparatory service.’

His colour slowly returned to normal. ‘Special Counsel Weber told me he could send someone over who had seen the KaDeWe fugitive.’