Фолькер Кучер - Goldstein

‘Like I say, I don’t know this man.’ The porter reached for the paper again.

There were electric lines showing through the wallpaper; it didn’t look like the work of experts. It wasn’t the cleanest hotel Rath had seen either. As for the accounts, well who could say?

‘Listen here,’ he said, still friendly, ‘what do you think it would take to get this fleapit closed down? A call to the public order office? Or the board of public health? I’m pretty sure the financial office would do the job. A little tax audit. Yes, best to be sure.’

The porter put the paper down again. ‘Let’s talk. What do you want to know?’

Rath pushed the Goldstein sketch under his nose. ‘Is he staying here?’

‘No,’ he said. Rath was just about to make for the telephone booth on Oranienburger Tor, when he added: ‘He checked out a few days ago.’

‘When?’ The porter shrugged his shoulders. ‘I hope you’re not expecting a bribe. Either you talk, or I make the call.’

‘Yesterday afternoon.’

‘Where did he go?’

‘I don’t know. He just didn’t come back. I’ve no idea where he’s staying now.’

‘What about his luggage? Is that still here?’

‘No, otherwise he wouldn’t be checked out. Someone came to pick it up.’

‘Male or female?’ A blank look. ‘His companion. Did she pick up his luggage?’

‘It certainly wasn’t a woman! He had a beard this long.’ The porter made a gesture with his hands. ‘All in black. A strange type. With a caftan, you know.’

‘ What do I know?’

‘You know. He was a Jew. Anyway, it was him who came to pick the stuff up. Just the one suitcase, settled the bill too. So, all’s well that ends well.’

Rath nodded. He wasn’t listening anymore.

Forensics didn’t find anything. The cupboards were empty, and Goldstein had left nothing behind. The only item was a bible in the drawer of the bedside table. The room was much larger than Rath expected, probably the best a flophouse like this had to offer, but, compared with the Excelsior , it was a hole. The room hadn’t been cleaned following Goldstein’s hasty departure, and so, at the very least, the ED men were able to lift a number of fingerprints, enough to prove the Yank had been here, even if, by now, Rath needed no confirmation.

The most pressing question was no longer where Goldstein had spent the last few days, but where he was now.

Around four o’clock all three men were back at the Castle. In the absence of a third desk, Rath fetched a table into the office from next door and placed a visitor’s chair in front of it. He couldn’t offer Tornow his own extension, but had been only too glad to place his typewriter at his disposal. What was a cadet good for, if not the paperwork his boss despised?

While Tornow typed his report, to be checked by Rath before Erika Voss made a fair copy, he and Gräf went through Gräf’s interrogation records hoping that, among the waffle, they would find a few serious statements. Which, of course, they didn’t. They highlighted the odd account pointing to sightings around the Poetenviertel or the area by Stettiner Bahnhof. It might help to pay these witnesses another visit but it was probably just coincidence. Someone claimed to have seen Abraham Goldstein in pretty much every neighbourhood in Greater Berlin.

Later, when Rath was sitting in the outer office going through Tornow’s report, the telephone rang. He ignored it, having no desire to be yelled at by Böhm, the only one who ever dialled him directly. Everyone else went via Erika Voss.

Gräf and Tornow exchanged glances. Gräf likewise made no move to answer, so Tornow got to his feet, went over to Rath’s desk and picked up.

‘Tornow, Inspector Rath’s office.’ He listened for a while before handing Rath the receiver. ‘For you. A Herr Liang.’

With everyone listening… Rath took the call.

‘Yes,’ he said innocently.

‘I take it this isn’t a good time,’ he heard Marlow’s Chinaman say.

‘That’s right.’

‘Come to Borchardt’s tonight at eight. Französischer Strasse. The Doctor would like to speak to you.’

‘About what?’

‘No doubt you already knew, and were just about to notify the Doctor.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘You didn’t? Your colleagues have found Hugo Lenz. He’s dead.’

‘I understand.’

This time Rath wasn’t sure he’d managed to sound casual and non-committal, but neither Gräf nor Tornow had noticed anything. He hung up.

‘Who was that?’ Tornow asked. ‘Someone Chinese?’

‘My hairdresser. I had to cancel our appointment.’

‘Then find a German hairdresser,’ Tornow said and grinned. ‘You could use a chop.’

If Rath had known what awaited in the Flegenheimer home, he might have postponed for another few days. The door to the flat stood open when he arrived but, for a moment, he lingered in the fabulously ornate stairwell. When he heard voices and no one responded to his tentative ‘Hello’, he entered.

Lea Flegenheimer and her husband were in the living room, just as before, but this time they were crouched on the floor, on small uncomfortable-looking stools. Four visitors, evidently friends of the family, were speaking with the Flegenheimers, in reverent, hushed tones. Rath entered with Kirie on her lead, and was met by six horrified faces.

Ariel Flegenheimer said nothing, he didn’t even stand up. An elderly guest, like his host clad entirely in black, approached in his stead.

‘What you are doing here?’ he whispered, pulling Rath into the hallway. ‘This is a house of mourning.’

‘CID,’ Rath said. ‘The Flegenheimers know me. I have a few more questions.’

‘When someone is sitting Shiva you visit to offer your condolences, not to ask questions!’

‘Offering condolences isn’t in my job description.’

‘What questions do you have then? Perhaps I can relay them to Ariel.’

Rath shook his head. ‘I’d like to speak to him myself, and his wife. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.’

A hallway door opened and Joseph Flegenheimer emerged, starting back when he saw Rath. He closed the door behind him and entered the living room in silence.

‘You can see what’s happening here,’ the elderly man said. ‘Can’t you come back in a few days?’

‘I’m sorry, but the matter is urgent. I’m afraid police work often is.’

The man gave up. ‘Fine, then,’ he sighed. ‘But leave the dog outside.’

Rath pressed the lead into the man’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and went back into the living room.

The looks that Ariel and Lea Flegenheimer gave him were no more friendly than before. Rath waited until a guest had finished speaking before crouching alongside the two mourners on the floor. ‘Please excuse the interruption,’ he said. ‘Might I start by expressing my sympathies once again.’

‘But that isn’t why you’re here,’ Ariel Flegenheimer said.

‘Just a quick question and I’ll be on my way.’

‘Then ask away. You’ve disrupted our mourning enough.’

‘I wanted to ask about your nephew again. Has Abraham Goldstein been in touch with you in the last few days after all? Has he made contact with you or any other members of your family?’

‘Neither with me, nor my wife. Was that all?’

Rath turned towards Joseph Flegenheimer, who stood next to his parents. ‘What about you?’ He could still scarcely believe he was speaking with Abraham Goldstein’s first cousin. ‘Has he been in touch?’

Joseph Flegenheimer shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. Rath sensed that young Flegenheimer knew more than he was willing to reveal.