Фолькер Кучер - Goldstein

‘I’ve spoken with Nebe already. No doubt I’m being passed around the whole Castle.’

‘Inspector Nebe and I are working closely on this. I’m investigating the death in connection with the KaDeWe break-in.’ He sounded almost apologetic.

The boy who had plunged to his death while fleeing police. The headlines from a few days ago. Charly suddenly realised where the fear and horror in Alexandra’s eyes came from. ‘Could it be that the girl was a witness?’ she asked.

‘Just what I was about to ask you, Fräulein Ritter. You spoke to her after all. Before she escaped, I mean.’ There was a hint of red in his face again. He seemed embarrassed to mention her error.

‘That’s true, but she was totally distraught.’

‘Based on my findings, she did, indeed, see the boy fall. He had just turned fifteen.’

‘Dear God,’ Charly said.

‘The girl…’

‘Alexandra,’ Charly interrupted, and this time it didn’t feel like a betrayal. ‘Her name is Alexandra.’

‘…Alexandra is an important witness. She…’

There was a knock so loud it felt as if someone was trying to kick the door down. Wilhelm Böhm stepped into the room. He looked at her in surprise. ‘Charly, what are you doing here?’ He sounded a little offended. As if reproaching her for calling on the assistant detective rather than him.

‘Fräulein Ritter is here on duty, so to speak,’ Lange explained, turning red again. ‘The KaDeWe case. In her role at Lichtenberg District Court she questioned a wit…’

‘The KaDeWe case…’ Böhm blustered, incapable of speaking quietly, ‘…is the reason I’m here. I have an important…’

‘Could you please wait outside, Fräulein Ritter?’ Lange asked.

Wilhelm Böhm looked at him in irritation. He wasn’t used to being interrupted.

Charly stood up.

‘Stay where you are, Charly,’ Böhm said. ‘You’re involved in this case?’

‘If you say so, Sir.’

‘Lichtenberg District Court. Preparatory service, is it? You’ll have to tell me sometime over coffee.’

‘How about I buy you one afterwards in the canteen, and you tell me what you know about the Beckmann case. It was you who dealt with it at the time, wasn’t it?’

Böhm nodded. ‘It’s a cold case. We have a suspect, but he’s probably slipped off to Moscow – still a minor, but already a staunch Communist. Why are you interested?’

‘From a purely legal point of view.’

Böhm turned back to Lange. ‘I have a piece of news that will surprise you,’ he said. ‘As you know, I’m working on the murdered fence from Friedrichshain: Kallweit, Eberhard. The robbery homicide that wasn’t.’

Lange nodded. ‘I’m familiar with it, Sir. I was at briefing this morning.’

‘It looks as if we ought to coordinate our investigations – amalgamate them, even. It concerns the stolen goods found in the deceased’s stockroom.’ Böhm looked pleased with himself. ‘Among other things, our colleagues found a load of high-quality wristwatches. They’re from the KaDeWe break-in at the weekend.’

Gräf slammed the phone into the cradle. He’d had enough, sitting here with this crap! Böhm was gadding about with Grabowski, God knows where, while he, Reinhold Gräf, was left to do the dirty work. Fighting running battles with idiots who called the station at minute intervals. Since the abusive Communist almost an hour ago, he hadn’t had a moment’s peace.

The appeal in the lunchtime papers had yielded the same dubious results as ever. Until now, the only calls had been from busybodies: masochists who’d confess to any crime so long as it brought them attention; or whistleblowers pointing the finger at their own neighbours. Worst was the third group: the self-appointed world saviours who, in the absence of a world that would listen, had resolved to make their opinions known to the Prussian Police. On the one hand they were Communists who wished death on all Nazi bastards ; on the other, Party members, or at least Nazi sympathisers, who asked why police weren’t in a position to protect respectable citizens (evidently referring to the SA man with the knuckleduster) from these red hooligans.

The telephone kept ringing, almost without pause. Gräf looked at the black device, picked up, dialled 1 and placed the receiver next to the cradle.

Peace at last!

The important calls would land somewhere. The main thing was that he could devote himself to the files. He sensed that Kubicki’s homosexuality could be a lead.

Erika Voss poked her head around the door. ‘Sorry,’ she said, stealing a glance at the telephone. ‘But the porter just called. A woman downstairs says she wants to make a statement about the death in Humboldthain.’

‘A woman?’ At least it wouldn’t be one of the masochists, Gräf thought. They were all men. ‘Send her up.’

‘She’s on her way.’

The detective nodded. ‘Fine.’

Erika Voss remained at the door.

‘Was there something else?’

‘Well… it’s almost six, and Inspector Rath usually…’

‘Of course, finish there for the evening. As soon as you’ve shown the witness in.’

Moments later, a slim, prematurely grey woman in her mid-forties stood in her place. She was a little uncertain, but in no way shy, and introduced herself as Renate Schobeck. Gräf motioned for her to sit in the visitor’s chair in front of Rath’s desk.

‘This business in Humboldthain,’ she said. ‘I’m not here to report anyone. But… my lodger… Leo Fleming his name is.’

One of the whistleblowers, then. Gräf sighed inwardly, but noted down the name and looked at her. ‘Yes?’

Renate Schobeck seemed a little helpless. ‘I don’t know if it means anything, but he came home very early this morning. He’s unemployed, if you must know, but leaves the house at half past five every morning and stays out until the afternoon. Looking for work, he says, though he’s never missed a rental payment.’

Gräf gave a little cough, making a point of not writing anything down. Instead he looked at his wristwatch. ‘Please get to the point. It’s already late.’

She looked mildly peeved. ‘I know that he waits at the Himmelfahrtkirche every morning for his bride-to-be. I’ve seen them there together. A lovely couple if you ask me, and he’s never tried to bring her back to his room. He knows what’s right and proper.’

Gräf rolled his eyes. ‘What exactly are you trying to tell me?’

She looked around, as if afraid someone might be listening. ‘Yesterday I didn’t hear Herr Fleming leave the house, but I did hear him come back. Just after six. I asked if he was sick, if I should make him a cup of tea, but he said he just wanted to be left in peace. Well…’ there was a pregnant pause ‘…that was when I saw it.’

‘What, Frau Schobeck?’

She leaned in closer and lowered her voice.

‘Blood,’ she said. ‘His jacket was smeared with blood. Not much, but I saw it. He was so strange; wanted to go straight up to his room. I didn’t think anything of it, but then I read the appeal in the BZ …’

Gräf pricked up his ears. ‘You’re certain it was blood?’

‘Of course! I used to work in a butcher’s, and…’

He cut her off. ‘Many thanks, Frau Schobeck, this could be very helpful. Now, where can we find this Herr Fleming?’

‘At mine, of course,’ she said. ‘Putbusser Strasse 28, rear building, third floor.’

Lange had spoken more in the last few days to Superintendent Gennat than ever before. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but clearly Buddha was keeping an eye on him. He couldn’t afford any mistakes.