Val McDermid - The Last Temptation

The applause broke in waves over Daniel Barenboim’s head as he turned back to the orchestra, gesturing to them to rise. Nothing quite like Mozart to provoke goodwill to all men, Tadeusz mused, clapping soundlessly in his lonely box. Katerina had loved opera, almost as much as she loved dressing up for a night out in their box at the Staatsoper. Who cared where the money came from? It was how you spent it that counted. And Katerina had understood about spending with style, spending in ways that made life feel special for everyone around her. The prime seats at the opera had been her idea, though it had seemed entirely fitting to him. Coming tonight had felt like a rite of passage, but he hadn’t wanted to share his space, least of all with any of the several preening women who had made a point of offering their condolences in the foyer ahead of the performance.

He waited till most of the audience had filed out, gazing unseeing at the fire curtain that shut off the stage. Then he stood up, shaking the creases out of his conservatively tailored dinner jacket. He slipped into his sable coat, reaching inside a pocket to turn his phone back on. Finally, he walked out of the opera house into the starry spring night. He brushed past the chattering groups and turned on to Unter den Linden, walking towards the spotlit spectacle of the Brandenburg Gate, the new Reichstag gleaming over to the right. It was a couple of miles to his apartment in Charlottenburg, but tonight he preferred to be out on the Berlin streets rather than sealed off inside his car. Like a vampire, he needed a transfusion of life. He couldn’t stand to play the social game yet, but there was an energy abroad in the city at night that fed him.

He had just passed the Soviet War Memorial at the start of the Tiergarten when his phone vibrated against his hip. Impatiently, he pulled it out. ‘Hello?’

‘Boss?’

He recognized Krasic’s deep bass. ‘Yes?’ he replied. No names on a cellphone; there were too many nerds out there with nothing better to do than scan the airwaves for stray conversations. Not to mention the various agencies of the state, constantly monitoring their citizens as assiduously as they ever had when the Red Menace still surrounded them.

‘We have a problem,’ Krasic said. ‘We need to talk. Where will I find you?’

‘I’m walking home. I’ll be at Siegessäule in about five minutes.’

‘I’ll pick you up there.’ Krasic ended the call abruptly.

Tadeusz groaned. He stopped for a moment, staring up at the sky through the budding branches of the trees. ‘Katerina,’ he said softly, as if addressing a present lover. At moments like this, he wondered if the bleak emptiness that was her legacy would ever dissipate. Right now, it seemed to grow worse with every passing day.

He squared his shoulders and strode out for the towering monument to Prussia’s military successes that Hitler had moved from its original site to form a traffic island, emphasizing its domineering height. The gilded winged victory that crowned the Siegessäule gleamed like a beacon in the city lights, facing France in defiant denial of the past century’s defeats. Tadeusz paused at the corner. There was no sign of Krasic yet, and he didn’t want to loiter there looking obvious. Caution was, in his experience, its own reward. He crossed the road to the monument itself and strolled around the base, pretending to study the elaborate mosaics showing the reunification of the German people. My grandmother’s Polish heart would shrivel in her breast if she could see me here, he thought. I can hear her now. ‘I didn’t raise you to become the Prince of Charlottenburg,’ she’d be screaming at me. At the thought, his lips curled in a sardonic smile.

A dark Mercedes pulled up at the kerb and discreetly flashed its lights. Tadeusz crossed the roundabout and climbed in the open door. ‘Sorry to spoil your evening, Tadzio,’ Krasic said. ‘But, like I told you, we’ve got a problem.’

‘It’s OK,’ Tadeusz said, leaning back against the seat and unbuttoning his coat as the car moved off down Bismarckstrasse. ‘My evening was spoiled by a bastard on a BMW, not by you. So, what’s this problem?’

‘Normally, I wouldn’t bother about something like this, but … That package of brown we brought up from the Chinese? You remember?’

‘I’m not likely to forget. I haven’t had my hands on the product for so long, it’s not as if I could confuse it. What about it?’

‘It looks like there’s some sort of crap in it. There’s four junkies dead in S036, and according to what I hear, there’s another seven in hospital in intensive care.’

Tadeusz raised his eyebrows. East Kreuzberg, known locally by its old GDR postal code, was the heart of the city’s youth culture. Bars, clubs, live-music joints kept the area round Oranienstrasse buzzing towards dawn every night. It was also home to many of the city’s Turks, but there were probably more vendors of street drugs than of kebabs in the scruffy, edgy suburb. ‘Since when have you given a shit about dead junkies, Darko?’ he asked.

Krasic shifted his shoulders impatiently. ‘I don’t give a shit about them. There’ll be four more tomorrow queuing up to take their place. Thing is, Tadzio, nobody pays any attention to one dead junkie. But even the cops have to sit up a bit when there are four bodies on the slab and it looks like there are more to come.’

‘How can you be sure it’s our junk that’s killing them? We’re not the only firm on the streets.’

‘I made some inquiries. All of the dead ones used dealers who get their supplies from our chain. There’s going to be heat on this.’

‘We’ve had heat before,’ Tadeusz said mildly. ‘What makes this so special?’

Krasic made an impatient noise. ‘Because it didn’t come in the usual way. Remember? You handed it over to Kamal yourself.’

Tadeusz frowned. The hollow feeling in his stomach had returned. He recalled the bad feeling he’d had about this deal, the unease that had stolen up on him in the Danube boatyard. He’d tried to avoid the fates by changing the routine, but it seemed that the measures he’d taken to sidestep trouble had simply brought it to his door by a more direct route. ‘Kamal’s a long way from the street dealers,’ he pointed out.

‘Maybe not far enough,’ Krasic growled. ‘There have always been cut-outs between you and Kamal before. He’s never been able to say, “Tadeusz Radecki personally supplied me with this heroin,” before. We don’t know how much the cops know. They might be just a step or two away from him. And if he’s looking at a deal that will save him too much hard time, he might just think about giving you up.’

Now Tadeusz was really paying attention, his languid disinterest a distant memory. ‘I thought Kamal was solid.’

‘Nobody’s solid if the price is right.’

Tadeusz turned in his seat and fixed Krasic with his sharp blue eyes. ‘Not even you, Darko?’

‘Tadzio, I’m solid because nobody can afford my price,’ Krasic said, clamping a beefy hand on his boss’s knee.

‘So, what are you saying?’ Tadeusz moved his leg away from Krasic, unconsciously making physical the distance he knew existed between them.

Krasic shifted in his seat, turning to stare out of the window past Tadeusz. ‘We could afford to lose Kamal.’

Two months ago, Tadeusz would simply have nodded and said something like, ‘Do whatever it takes.’ But two months ago Katerina had still been alive. He hadn’t yet had to revise his understanding of loss. It wasn’t that he harboured some sentimental notion that Kamal could be to someone what Katerina had been to him; he knew Kamal, knew his venality, his power games, his pathetic strutting attempts at being someone worth reckoning with. But his experience of the wrench of sudden death had opened up a channel for empathy in quite unexpected directions. The idea of having Kamal killed on the off-chance that it might be for his personal benefit sat uncomfortably with Tadeusz now. Side by side with this was the consciousness that he could not afford to reveal what Krasic would surely see as a weakness. One would be very foolish indeed to show too much of the soft underbelly to a man like Krasic, however loyal he had always been. All this flashed through Tadeusz’s head in an instant. ‘Let’s wait and see,’ he said. ‘Getting rid of Kamal right away would only draw the cops’ attention in that direction. But if there’s any sign that they’re moving towards him … you know what to do, Darko.’