Фолькер Кучер - Goldstein

Fräulein Stock only needed a moment to understand. She didn’t like to go, but went all the same.

A few minutes later she could be heard beating carpets in the courtyard. Either it was pure coincidence, or the landlady’s Royal-Prussian spirit was so dominant that she interpreted Lange’s suggestion as a command. Charly opened the top drawer of the desk and looked across at Lange, who returned her gaze with a grin.

She had accompanied him at her own request. It was agreed that, afterwards, she should stay away from the Castle. ‘If there’s anything you can do for us, Charly,’ Gennat had said, ‘we’ll be in touch.’ Buddha had tried to make her feel as though she were needed, but Charly sensed that they had pushed things too far, and he was keeping her at a distance. If she appeared too often in Homicide, people might ask questions.

One person above all, Charly thought.

She still hadn’t told Gereon anything. Although he had seen Alex in Spenerstrasse, and most likely drawn his own conclusions, he had said nothing, leaving it to her to come clean. She hadn’t, and the secrecy Gennat and Lange had sworn her to was beginning to cause problems. On the one hand, she was happy Gereon hadn’t probed, and thus spared them an awkward situation. On the other, her silence had begun to feel sordid. He didn’t approve of her taking the girl in, but if only he knew the full story…

How much longer would she be able to remain silent? She was doing exactly what she always reproached him for, being cagey about work while serving her own ends. Admittedly, it was with Superintendent Gennat’s backing, but did that really make a difference?

She leafed through the papers she found in the drawers. Nothing. She couldn’t help thinking someone had already been through them. The mess here wasn’t natural, an existing order had been destroyed.

A few books were turned upside down. If you looked closely there were signs that a search had been conducted. The flat’s spotless appearance couldn’t change that. Lange seemed to think likewise. He opened the window, called the landlady’s name and, two minutes later, she was back in her tenant’s flat with a look that said: You see! I knew you couldn’t manage!

‘Please excuse me for interrupting your work, Frau… Fräulein Stock.’ Elfriede Stock’s expression softened. ‘We have another question for you: was anyone in the flat after Herr Kuschke left on Wednesday afternoon?’

‘I was. To clean, this morning.’

‘I mean anyone else.’

‘Your colleague, but I’m sure you already know about him…’

‘What colleague?’

‘It was one of Herr Kuschke’s colleagues, to be exact. A man in uniform.’

Charly could see that Lange was excited, but managing to keep himself under control. ‘When was this?’ he asked.

‘Yesterday, late afternoon.’

‘What did he want?’

‘Just to pick up a few things. Herr Kuschke was about to go away, he said, and had asked him to collect his suitcase.’

‘Did he really just collect his suitcase? He didn’t take a look around the flat?’

‘I don’t know. I was making coffee next door.’

‘You were making coffee?’

‘The officer was so kind. I thought maybe he’d like a cup, but he didn’t have time.’

‘You just let him into the flat like that?’

‘He was a police officer, not just anyone. I don’t let in all comers, you know!’ She sounded indignant.

‘Of course not.’ Lange remained amicable. ‘The fact remains that you don’t know exactly what this officer did in the flat.’

‘He collected Kuschke’s suitcase, at any rate. I saw it. He had it under his arm when he knocked on the kitchen door to say goodbye. Said thank you too.’

‘Do you know what was inside the case?’

‘Whatever you take on a trip, I suppose. A few shirts, trousers, underwear, socks, toothbrush and so on.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘I didn’t say I was sure. It’s just what I imagine.’

‘You said you cleaned here, didn’t you?’

She nodded. ‘And changed the sheets. Since I thought he was on holiday.’ She seemed to remember that the man was dead and fell silent.

‘Did you notice anything suspicious? What about Kuschke’s toothbrush?’

The landlady hesitated. ‘It’s still in the glass.’

‘Could it be that this police officer wasn’t here to collect a suitcase, but to look for something?’

‘Like what?’

‘Perhaps Herr Kuschke mentioned something.’

Elfriede Stock pressed her lips together. She was holding something back.

‘Fräulein Stock,’ Charly said. ‘Is there anywhere he might have hidden something?’

The landlady shook her head vigorously. ‘No, no. He didn’t hide anything here.’ She smiled mischievously and gazed across at Lange. ‘He did ask me to look after something though. Shortly after he moved in.’ Lange and Charly looked at each other. ‘I really don’t know if I can give it to you,’ she continued. ‘He expressly said that I shouldn’t give it to anyone, above all the police.’

‘Taking a promise like that seriously does you credit,’ Lange said, ‘but I think the change in circumstances frees you from your obligation. Sergeant Major Kuschke is dead, and we’re investigating a murder. He’d have wanted us to have anything that helped find his killer.’

Charly was astonished by how patiently Lange spoke with the old lady.

‘It’s a box,’ she said. ‘He would ask for it every few weeks, then give it back. “It’s safe with you, Fräulein Stock,” he always said.’ The short, dry sob that followed was no doubt an expression of her grief. She pulled out a pristine white handkerchief and began dabbing her face.

‘What’s in this box?’

‘Should I go and get it?’ she replied, and Charly could tell from her curiosity that she didn’t know.

‘If you would be so kind,’ Lange said, with a note of mild irritation. Elfriede Stock disappeared. Lange said nothing, but Charly could guess what he was thinking. The landlady returned, a little out of breath, with a wooden casket that looked almost like a treasure chest, and placed it on the dining table.

‘Here it is,’ she said.

The box was locked.

‘You don’t happen to know where the key is?’

‘Herr Kuschke always kept it on him, I think.’

‘This item is hereby seized. I’ll happily provide you with a receipt before we take it away.’

‘Don’t you want to open it here?’ she asked, her disappointment plain.

‘I’d have to force it open,’ Lange said, in a tone of deep regret. ‘Surely you can’t expect that of a Prussian officer.’

The porter shook his head, more bored than trenchant. ‘Never seen him before.’ He turned back to his crossword.

Rath had heard the sentence at least half a dozen times, but this was the first time he didn’t believe it. It wasn’t because of any uncertainty in the porter’s voice; or that he spoke too quickly, usually the sign of a pat answer. Rather, standing behind his rickety table, or reception counter as it was supposed to be, the man wasn’t merely disagreeable but utterly loathsome. Rath had thought the lead would be a waste of time, but the man was visibly thrown by the picture of Abraham Goldstein, much as he tried to hide it.

‘Underworld river in ancient Greece. Four letters, ending in “x”?’ he asked.

‘Styx,’ Rath said.

‘How d’you spell it?’

Rath tore the paper from the man’s hand and put it gently, delicately almost, on the table. He placed Goldstein’s picture over the crossword.

‘Take a closer look,’ he suggested in a friendly tone, which evidently confused the porter.