Фолькер Кучер - Goldstein

‘I didn’t think it was relevant to our case.’

‘A person was seriously injured, evidently by Alexandra Reinhold, and you conceal it from me! How much further are you prepared to go to protect her?’

‘She didn’t injure anyone!’ Charly shouted back. ‘I wanted to gain her trust, that’s why I didn’t call the police. I made sure that the injured party received medical attention.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me anything?’

‘Because it would have been a breach of trust!’

‘What about my trust? Superintendent Gennat’s trust?’

‘She was raped, for God’s sake! Do you have any idea how hard it is for a girl to talk about that? In front of a police officer into the bargain?’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’ Lange lowered his voice again.

‘That bastard, who is, clearly, now trying to do the dirty on her, raped her; him and his whole crew. Someone else slashed his stomach. Defending her.’

‘Did you see it?’

‘No.’

‘What’s his name then, this knight in shining armour?’

‘I’m not going to tell you.’ She was furious. ‘Sometimes I wonder who it is we’re protecting in this country. Criminals, or those who show civic courage.’

‘You call cutting someone’s stomach civic courage?’

‘The way you’re behaving confirms that I was right not to tell you anything.’

‘You made a mistake and don’t want to admit it. You should have let us arrest the little brat.’

‘So Alex would be at the mercy of Kuschke and his accomplices?’

‘Right now it looks like Kuschke was the one at the mercy of Alex and her accomplices!’

‘You don’t really believe that?’

‘I know she injured him pretty badly, perhaps even slashed a boy’s abdominal wall.’

‘She didn’t do that.’

‘You didn’t see anything, remember.’ Lange gazed at her with a look she couldn’t bear. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘perhaps Alex enjoyed cutting the boy up so much that she wanted to do the same to Kuschke, only her knife slipped.’

‘That’s speculation.’

‘There’s a lot more evidence for it than for your mysterious police lieutenant, of whom there isn’t a trace in the files.’

‘Have you considered that it might not even have been a police officer, but Kuschke’s killer? Someone dressed in uniform to get closer to Kuschke without drawing suspicion. To make it easier to flee the crime scene. Now that I remember, the man stowed a handkerchief in his pocket, with red spots on it. If he’d been a civilian I might have thought it was strange, but not a uniform cop.’

Lange waved her away. ‘I don’t want to hear any more of your theories. Bring this Alex in now, whether it suits you or not. The girl’s a murder suspect. It’s time you thought about that.’

Charly already had, which was why, after she notified Lange and he finally appeared at the scene, she had returned on foot to her flat, which was no more than fifteen minutes away. In theory it was to change her blood-smeared blouse, but it also allowed her to see whether Alex and Vicky were still there.

They weren’t.

She had been expecting as much, and didn’t know whether it spoke in the girls’ favour or not. More than anything, she’d have liked to ask them directly whether they had anything to do with Kuschke’s death, but that was no longer possible.

After changing her blouse she headed to Lange’s office at the Castle where, inevitably, she ran into Gereon. She still didn’t know how much she could tell him. He had seen Alex at her flat and most likely drawn his own conclusions. Hopefully he had kept his mouth shut. She had so much on her mind… but couldn’t tell him a thing.

‘I think we’re done,’ Lange said, packing away the personal files. ‘Have you anything to add?’

Charly shrugged. ‘Such as?’

‘Such as where we might find Alexandra Reinhold.’

‘I wouldn’t be sitting here if I knew. You can count on that.’

They were coming out again, casket-bearers at the front. Jakob Goldstein lay in a simple, unadorned coffin carefully shouldered by the men. Next came the family, and Abe instinctively withdrew a little when he saw his black-bearded cousin, lowering his head and turning slightly away. He hadn’t gone into the chapel, which in any case was full. His grandfather must have been a popular figure in the community.

They stood on a large burial ground, next to the chapel. Waiting among the crowd for the formalities to end, Abe looked at a simple, stone monument, and read the inscription carved into the white stone. To our fallen sons. The Jewish Community of Berlin. The war had left its mark everywhere. He remembered how badly his parents had been treated, above all by the Irish and the Yankees, before the United States entered the conflict. All because they spoke Yiddish and the Paddys couldn’t differentiate between the two languages, so had lumped them together with the Germans.

The trees at the Weissensee Cemetery stood close together, but Abe had resisted the impulse to seek refuge there. Lurking behind tree stems or bushes, sooner or later he’d have been spotted by someone; the crowd was a better hiding place, even now as the cortège resumed its procession. He remained at a distance, far away from the family, among men of his own age. There weren’t many long-bearded caftan wearers here. Aunt Lea’s family were in the minority.

Again and again, the procession came to a halt. Abe didn’t like this Jewish custom, which was supposed to symbolise the mourners’ reluctance to approach the grave. A specialist in quick goodbyes, he hated anything that dragged out the mourning process.

After what felt like an age the procession reached the grave dug for Jakob Goldstein. His grandfather would have approved, Abe thought. The plot was a little off the beaten track, away from the main road and in the shade of a wall. The eulogy was brief, which would have pleased his grandfather too. The cantor began a psalm as the coffin was lowered into the ground.

The family was the first by the graveside, each member throwing three handfuls of earth over the coffin. Abe recognised his aunts and their families from the hospital, all with a tear in their collar as a symbol of mourning. Abe hated this custom too. He had refused to wear one at his mother’s funeral, likewise his father’s, which he had disrupted more than attended. Around a dozen men approached the open grave, among them his black-hat cousin. Abe knew what was coming and prepared himself. While the men were still grouping around the grave, he stepped to one side, behind one of the big family plots in the shade of the trees. He didn’t want any onlookers to see him. He positioned himself so that he kept the men standing by his grandfather’s grave directly in view, and when they began their age old prayer, passed down the centuries, he prayed quietly along too.

The Hebrew and Aramaic words came so easily to his lips it was as if he had learned them yesterday, rather than twenty years before. Abe mouthed the words quietly so as not to attract attention, but loud enough for God, if he existed, to hear. His grandfather too, should his soul be journeying from one world to the next.

He had fulfilled both of the old man’s dying wishes.

While the family accepted condolences, Abe noticed two men who didn’t seem to belong. The mourners, perhaps recognising them as Goyim, gazed curiously in their direction, but Abe knew they were cops. They hadn’t sent Detective Rath, probably so that Abe didn’t notice them straightaway, but it had backfired. It was the cops who hadn’t spotted him . His black mourning suit meant he was indistinguishable from the group and, since the majority of those present kept their heads bowed, they hadn’t seen his face under the brim of his hat either. Thus far, the pair hadn’t attracted too much attention, but as the funeral drew to a close they sprung awake, and set off in front of the mourners. Abe knew not to underestimate them.