Philip Kerr - If the Dead Rise Not

“You know you didn’t.”

I shrugged. “I suppose I didn’t want to put a dent in your optimism, angel. That something can be done. Maybe I was hoping that some of your lefty idealism would rub off on me along with your pants and stockings.”

“And did it?”

“Not this particular morning.”

IN THE EARLY EVENING I accompanied Noreen back to the hotel. She went up to her room for a bath and an early night. The discovery of Joey Deutsch’s body had left Noreen emotionally and physically exhausted. I had a good idea how she felt.

I was on my way to my office when Franz Joseph called me over and, after some polite inquiries about the marks on my face, told me he had a package for me, from Otto Trettin at the Alex. I knew it was the Chinese box belonging to Max Reles. Just the same, when I got to my desk, I opened it up to see what all the fuss had been about.

It looked like a paper-clip box for a Chinese emperor. I suppose it was quite attractive, if you like that kind of thing. I prefer something in sterling silver, with a matching table lighter. On a black lacquer lid, outlined in gold, was a brightly painted Arcadian scene featuring a lake, some mountains, a handsome weeping willow, a cherry tree, a fisherman, a couple of mounted archers, a coolie carrying a large bag of hotel laundry, and a group of Fu Manchu types in the local noodle house who seemed to be discussing the yellow peril and the finer points of white slavery. I expect you never got tired of looking at it if you lived in seventeenth-century China, unless there was some paint you could watch getting dry. It had the feel of a cheap souvenir from a day trip to Luna Park.

I opened it, and inside were a number of contract-tender letters from companies as far afield as Würzburg and Bremerhaven. I glanced over them without much interest. I put these in my pocket, to irritate Reles with their apparent loss in case they were important to him, and went up to his suite.

I knocked on the door. It was answered by Dora Bauer. She was wearing a light brown gingham pleated dress with a matching cape collar and a large pussycat bow on the shoulder. Her hair had a wave as big as a tsunami that swept all the way across her forehead and down to an eyebrow as thin as a spider’s leg. A bow mouth that was more Clara than Cupid parted in a smile as wide as a welcome mat. The smile turned painful as she noticed the weal on my face.

“Oooh, what happened to you?”

Otherwise she seemed pleased to see me, unlike Reles, who ambled over behind her wearing his usual expression of contempt. I had the Chinese box at my back and was looking forward to handing it over after the usual litany of insults. I had the vain hope I might embarrass him or make him eat his words.

“If it isn’t the Continental Op,” he said.

“I don’t have much time for detective stories,” I said.

“I suppose you’re too busy reading the Leader’s book?”

“I don’t have much time for his stories, either.”

“You want to be careful saying disrespectful things like that. You could get hurt.” He frowned and searched my face. “Maybe you already did. Or did you just pick a fight with another hotel guest? That’s more your level, I’d say. Somehow I don’t see you as the heroic type.”

“Max, please.” Dora sounded scolding, but that was as far as it went.

“You’d be surprised what I’m called to do in the line of duty, Herr Reles,” I said. “Squeeze the eggs of a fellow who doesn’t pay his bill. Flick the ear of some barfly. Slap a garter handler in the mouth. Hell, I’ve even been known to recover stolen property.”

I brought my arm around and handed him the box, as if it had been a bunch of flowers. A bunch of five was what I felt like giving him.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You found it. You really were a cop, weren’t you?” He took the box and, backing away from the door, waved me in. “Come on in, Gunther. Dora, get Herr Gunther a drink, will you? What’ll you have, Detective? Schnapps? Scotch? Vodka?” He pointed out a series of bottles on the sideboard.

“Thank you. Schnapps would be good.”

I closed the door behind me, watching him carefully for the moment he opened the box. And when he did, I had the satisfaction of noticing a small wince of disappointment.

“That’s a pity,” he said.

“What is, sir?”

“Only that there was some money and correspondence in this box. And now it’s not there.”

“You didn’t mention the contents before, sir.” I shook my head. “Would you like me to inform the police, sir?” That was two “sirs” in a row: maybe it was still possible I could hold down a career in hotel keeping, after all.

He smiled irritably. “It really doesn’t matter, I suppose.”

“Ice?” Dora was standing over a bucket containing a piece of ice with a pick in her hand, looking more than a little like Lady Macbeth.

“Ice? In schnapps?” I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Dora stabbed the ice a couple of times and placed a few shards in a large tumbler glass, which she handed to Reles.

“American habit,” said Reles. “We put ice in everything. But I kind of like it in schnapps. You should try it sometime.”

Dora handed me a smaller glass of schnapps. I was watching her now for some sign that she might be up to her old whore’s tricks, but there didn’t seem to be anything between them that I could see. She even shied away a little when he came too close. The typewriter looked like it was still as busy as always. The wastepaper basket was overflowing.

I toasted Reles.

“Down the hatch,” he said, and took a large mouthful of ice-cold schnapps.

I sipped mine like a dowager, and we faced each other in awkward silence. I waited a moment, then tossed back the rest.

“Well, if that’s all, Detective,” he said. “We have work to do, don’t we, Fräulein Bauer?”

I handed Dora the glass and headed for the door. Reles was there ahead of me, to open it and speed me on my way.

“And thanks again,” he said, “for recovering my property. I appreciate it. For what it’s worth, you’ve restored my faith in the German people.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them that, sir.”

He chuckled, thought of a retaliatory remark, appeared to think better of it, and then waited patiently for me to make my exit from his suite.

“Thanks for the drink, sir.”

He nodded and closed the door behind me.

I hurried along the landing and down the stairs. Crossing the entrance hall, I went into the switchboard room, where, under a high window, four girls were sitting on high chairs in front of what looked like a double-sized upright piano. Behind them was a desk where Hermine, the switchboard supervisor, sat watching the hotel’s “hello girls” as they went about the voluble business of connecting telephone calls. She was a prim woman, with short red hair and a complexion as pale as milk. Seeing me, Hermine stood up and then frowned.

“That mark on your face,” she said. “It looks very much like a whip mark.”

Several of her girls looked around and laughed.

“I went riding with Hedda Adlon,” I said. “Listen, Hermine, the party in 114. Herr Reles. I want a list of everyone he calls this evening.”

“Does Herr Behlert know you’re asking?”

I shook my head. I went a little closer to the switchboard, and Hermine followed attentively.

“He wouldn’t like you spying on the guests, Herr Gunther. I think you’ll need to get his written permission.”

“It’s not spying, it’s snooping. I’m paid to snoop, remember? To keep you and me and the guests safe, although not necessarily in that order.”

“Maybe. But if he found you listening in on Herr Reles’s calls, he’d have our hides.”