Филип Керр - Metropolis

Hers was the kind of voice that licks your ear slowly, inside and out, as if it contained the sweetest honey: dark and sexy and very assured, with just a hint of whisper on the edge of it, like the lace on a pillowcase. I liked her voice and I liked her, too. It’s hard not to like a woman who buys you a good dinner at the Adlon.

‘How does your husband feel about that? The present one, I mean.’

‘We have an understanding. He sees other women — a lot of women; actresses, mostly — and I try to be understanding. There’s a club he enjoys going to. The Heaven and Hell, on Kurfürstendamm. He’s probably there with some little minette right now.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. In many ways Fritz is a very selfish, narcissistic man. But he’s also enormously talented. And I admire him a lot. So most of the time we’re a pretty good team.’

‘I know. I saw your last picture. Metropolis .’

‘What did you think?’

‘What didn’t I think? I thought it was very thought-provoking. I especially enjoyed the part when the workers rise up against their masters. I’m only surprised they haven’t done it already. That’s what I think.’

‘Then we think the same way.’

‘Although not so as you’d notice from the people you know.’ I glanced sideways at Thyssen.

‘Thyssen? He’s not so bad. He puts money into a lot of our pictures. Even the losers. And that’s good enough for me.’

‘So how did Metropolis do?’

‘It’s had a mixed reception. Even from my darling husband. When he hears bad things about Metropolis he blames me; but when he hears good things about the film, he prefers to take full credit. But that’s directors for you. It’s not just our film cameras that need a tripod, it’s his ego, too. Writers are a lesser species. Lesser and cheaper. Especially when they’re women. Anyway we’re through making pictures about the future. Nobody in Germany gives a damn about the future. At least for the present. If they did, they wouldn’t keep voting for the communists and the Nazis. We’d have a proper government that could get things done. So right now we’re focusing on something very different, something with more popular appeal. In particular, the subject of mass murderers like Fritz Haarmann and this other man who’s been killing and scalping Berlin prostitutes: Winnetou. Fritz is fascinated with sex murders. These murders, in particular. You might even say he’s obsessed.’

‘Why’s that, do you think?’

‘Sometimes I wonder, you know?’

‘And what answers do you come up with?’

‘It might be the fact that the victims are prostitutes. Fritz has always had a thing about Berlin’s demi-monde . But it might also be the scalping. Yes, I think it must be that. It’s so very extreme. If Fritz wasn’t a film director and interested in all sorts of other extreme stories I might even be worried about him.’

‘I don’t think he’s the only one, Thea. Sex murder seems to be an obsession he shares with a lot of Berlin artists.’ I mentioned my meeting with George Grosz and what he’d told me about Otto Dix and Max Beckmann.

‘I guess that doesn’t surprise me. Fritz says Berlin has become the sex-murder capital of the Western world. And maybe it has, I don’t know. Certainly you’d think so from what’s in the newspapers. So we’ve decided we want to make a picture right here in Berlin about a sex killer like Winnetou. And a detective like Ernst Gennat.’

‘He’ll be delighted.’

‘What sort of man is he, anyway?’

‘Gennat? Buddha with a large cigar and a voice like a black bear with a heavy cold. Berlin’s best detective and probably Germany’s, too, but don’t say it to his face. Fat, a bit clownish to look at, grumpy and easily underestimated.’

‘Is he married?’

‘No.’

‘Girlfriend?’

‘You’d have to teach him how that kind of thing works these days. And I doubt he’s got the time or the inclination.’

She nodded and sipped some of the excellent Mosel she’d ordered with dinner. Then she smiled. Her smile was bright and full of warmth and meant, I realized too late, for the man seated behind me.

‘That’s what Kurt Reichenbach said.’

‘I’m not sure I can improve on anything he’s already told you.’

‘Perhaps. But Fritz says our investors are very keen on us having a source who actually works for the Murder Commission. It’s the sort of thing that impresses such people. Fritz says that having you to advise me will help persuade them our film is as true to life — as realistic — as possible. And that you’ll be able to help explain why the killer does what he does. How he gets away with it, for a while at any rate. And eventually how he’s caught.’

‘You make that part sound like a foregone conclusion.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘Not at all. You’d be surprised how many killers get away with it. If murderers were all that easy to catch I’d be directing traffic on Potsdamer Platz. Or looking for missing cats and dogs.’

‘That’s a comforting thought.’

‘There’s a lot of thumb-twiddling and navel-gazing in the detective business, Thea. And a good measure of luck. Not to mention incompetence and stupidity.’

I might have added dishonesty, too, but for the fact that I’d already gained the impression that she and Fritz Lang wanted to make a detective the hero of their movie.

‘Would it surprise you to learn that most detectives are dependent on professional criminals to help them solve crimes? Criminals who for one reason or another become informers. Fact is, most cops would be lost without them. Even in the Murder Commission we often have to rely on Berlin’s lowlife to get a handle on what’s what. Sometimes the best detective is just the guy with the most reliable informer. Or someone who’s better at squeezing a lemon, if you know what I mean. You want to know the reason that most murderers get away with it?’

‘Do tell.’

‘Because they’re people who look just like you and me. Well, me, anyway. There are not so many women killing prostitutes. Even in Berlin. You want realism? Then make your murderer nice. The guy next door. That’s my advice. The type of clean-shirt and bow-tie sort of guy who is kind to children and animals. A respectable fellow who takes a regular bath and wouldn’t hurt a fly. At least that’s what all the neighbours will say when he’s arrested afterwards. No hideous scars, no hunchback, no staring eyes, no long fingernails, no sinister rictus smile. So you can forget about Conrad Veidt or Max Schreck. Make your character insignificant. A little guy. Someone hardly like a villain at all. Someone whose life has run out of meaning. It might lack drama but that’s realistic.’

Thea was silent for a few minutes. ‘So tell me about Winnetou.’

‘I’ll tell you what I’m allowed to tell you. Another time, I’ll invite you back to the Commission offices, maybe introduce you to Gennat himself, show you the murder wagon, but tomorrow I have to work.’

‘Do you mind me taking notes? Only, my secretary will type them up and Fritz will read them, too.’

‘That’s okay.’

Thea lit a cigarette, spread her notebook expectantly on the table, and started writing down everything I told her as if I were dictating holy writ. Which was probably why, when I’d finished talking, I told her that a lot of people at the Alex — which is to say, a lot of men — didn’t think the Winnetou killings were important.

‘What I mean is this, Thea. Dead prostitutes in this city are ten for a penny. And while I’m very keen to catch this bastard, as are Weiss and Gennat, there are plenty of others at the Alex who really don’t give a damn. And not just at the Alex but across the whole city: there are Berliners who believe that many of these girls got what was coming to them. Who think that Winnetou is doing the Lord’s work, and cleaning out the Augean stables. They’re probably the same misguided people who think Germany needs a strongman to lead her out of our current situation. Someone like Hitler. Or the army perhaps. Hindenburg. Or maybe the Pied Piper of Hamelin, I don’t know.’