Филип Керр - Metropolis

‘Thanks. Well, then, to business, as you say. The man who is killing these war veterans is a copper, like you. I know that because I saw him shoot a man.’

It was my turn to smile patiently. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because it’s true. I recognized him. It was a policeman who killed those men. I saw him do it. And if you ask me, it was an act of mercy.’

‘Was he wearing a uniform?’

‘No.’

‘Then how did you know he was a policeman?’

‘How? I mean, I knew. All right? I’d seen him before. Somewhere. I don’t remember where, exactly. But I’m sure that at the time he identified himself as a policeman. This was the same man who shot one of those schnorrers .’

Rühle spoke in an abrupt, runaway manner, with almost no eye contact, which immediately made me think he was a little unhinged. Most of the time he was staring at the carpet as if there was something in the pattern he found fascinating.

‘Yes, but why would a policeman do such a thing?’ asked Trettin.

‘Oh, simple. Because he probably believes that these men are vagabonds. That they’re part of an infectious epidemic that’s afflicting this city. Because they are indecent and beneath contempt. That’s why he’s doing it, for sure. Because beggars force their poverty upon people in the most repulsive way for their own selfish purposes. People will only feel that things are improving in Germany when someone launches a successful action against beggars of all descriptions. That’s why he’s doing it. I should have thought that was obvious. He’s doing it for reasons of urban hygiene. And frankly I agree with him. It’s a necessary defensive measure against uneconomic behaviour.’

‘What my colleague was saying,’ I said, ‘is that he doesn’t believe that a policeman is capable of cold-blooded murder like this.’

‘Well, that doesn’t surprise me. Everyone believes that policemen are a necessary evil. But they are evil . They — you — do the devil’s work. When a policeman shoots someone because he’s committed a crime it’s the most cold-blooded murder there is because it’s his job, see? He gets paid to do it. There’s no emotion or feeling involved. A policeman does that work because we need evil men to do evil work to keep us safe from other evil men. Or so he imagines. But really he does it because the devil told him to. And when he goes home at night he can sleep because he can tell himself that he was only obeying the devil’s orders.’

‘The devil.’ Trettin sighed and shook his head. It was clear he’d already given up hope of getting any sensible information from Stefan Rühle.

‘What did this policeman look like?’ I asked.

‘He looked like a demon, that’s what he looked like. I’m not sure which one. But his face was covered in hair. His eyes were red. And he wore the very finest clothes available to man. As if money was no object. His shoes were like snow. The sceptre he carried was the symbol of his power on earth. And his smile was as white as a wolf’s. I don’t doubt he would have torn out my throat with his teeth if I’d stayed to speak with him. If you have a police artist I will be glad to help him draw the man’s portrait.’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ I said, looking at my watch. The man had had his six minutes. And when finally we managed to get rid of him, Dr Ostwald looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.

‘I told you so.’

The roundup and temporary detention of Berlin’s wild boys went ahead as planned but revealed very little that was of interest to us in the Murder Commission. Petty crime and general delinquency. Ernst Gennat shrugged off the disappointment. Just because the sweep hadn’t found anything didn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do; that was the way he looked at it. Meanwhile, the Berliner Tageblatt published the article by Bernhard Weiss and, as predicted, the department was quickly overwhelmed with men — and one lesbian transvestite — who claimed to be Dr Gnadenschuss. And it was perhaps fortunate for us that almost immediately afterwards a fourth war veteran turned up dead and we were able to shoo them all out the door with a warning about wasting police time.

Age thirty-seven, Walther Frölich had been born in Dresden and served with the Third Army’s Ninth Landwehr Division as a corporal, winning a second-class Iron Cross. Shot through the spine at Verdun in October 1918 and paralyzed from the waist down; his body was found under the Oberbaum Bridge, near Schlesisches Tor, which was a stone’s throw from the Wolfmium factory, its blackened ruins still overlooking the Spree like a modern gate of hell. He’d been shot just once through the head.

If Bernhard Weiss still didn’t realize that his newspaper article was a mistake, it wasn’t very long before he had to.

At Uncle Pelle’s Circus in Wedding, there was a famous freak show. Some of its members were actually war veterans, including a man without arms and legs who was billed on the posters as ‘the human centipede’. A couple of days after Weiss’s article appeared in the Berliner Tageblatt , he received a telephone call at the Alex from this man alleging that Surehand Hank, the celebrated circus marksman, had confessed to being Dr Gnadenschuss and was now threatening to shoot Weiss. Since Surehand Hank was a known Nazi who often gave shooting lessons to SA members and had been linked to a violently right-wing anti-Semitic organization previously involved in several political assassinations, it was a persuasive-enough profile. Quite how the human centipede made the telephone call was anyone’s guess, but Weiss felt obliged to go and check it out himself when his informant insisted that they meet in person. Since the human centipede could hardly come to him, Weiss asked me to drive him to the circus.

The chief’s own private car had been chosen for safety: a blue Audi Type K that was easily distinguishable from most other Berlin motorcars by virtue of the fact that it was a left-hand drive. I liked driving it although changing gear with my right hand took some getting used to. The car provided a better view of oncoming traffic and seemed a lot safer than the majority of right-hand-drive cars, an impression enhanced by the fact that beside the driver’s seat was a door pocket containing a broom-handle Mauser. That was a good gun, but if I had as many enemies as Bernhard Weiss I think I’d have kept a sawn-off in the car.

Turning out of the Alex courtyard I steered the Audi north and west towards Wedding, and it wasn’t long before I realized that the chief was paying attention to every one of the decisions I was making behind the wheel. His eyes were all over my gear changes.

‘Does the human centipede have a name?’ I asked, missing a gear change.

‘Kurzidim, Albert Kurzidim. He says that he’s suspected Togotzes from the beginning, but that my article persuaded him he had to call. That’s Surehand Hank’s real name. Hans Togotzes.’

‘Haven’t been to the circus since I was a boy,’ I said, missing another gear.

‘Are you up to this?’ he asked, as we drove up Oranienburger Strasse and then Chausseestrasse.

‘Up to what, sir?’

‘This. What you’re doing now. Driving.’

‘What are you getting at, sir?’

‘What I mean is, are you fit to be behind the wheel of this car?’

‘Is there something wrong with my driving, sir?’

‘Then let me put it another way: Have you had a drink today?’

‘Not since last night,’ I lied.

‘I believe you,’ he said in a way that made me think he didn’t believe me at all. ‘Gennat mentioned he thought you were drinking too much since we visited that damned disabled home. And I just wanted to say, I understand you, Bernie. Perhaps in a way that Ernst doesn’t. In fact I’m sure of it. Ernst didn’t see any army service during the war. Not like us. I was the officer in charge of a medical company before becoming a captain in a cavalry unit, and I saw things I never want to see again. As I’m sure you did. And I don’t mind telling you that I’ve had a few drinks myself since we went to the Oskar-Helene. I may even have had a bit of a problem myself a few years ago. There’s no shame in this, Bernie. There’s even a name for it, these days. Shell shock, or neurasthenia. Did you know there are as many as eighty thousand German veterans still being treated in hospitals for this condition? Men who are every bit as seriously injured as some of those we encountered the other day; but mentally.’