Pierre Frei - Berlin - A Novel

Ben pocketed the fifty Allimarks, designed to imitate an American dollar bill, and went away. 'Bloody awful outfit.' he muttered, meaning the US Army in general and its youth clubs in particular. Places where they promised you Mars bars and gave yellow pencils.

Klaus Dietrich had passed a restless night. It was partly due to the bottle of wine he had shared with Inge: he wasn't used to it. But most of all, his gloomy thoughts of the dead women and their murderer had tormented him in his dreams, and still pursued him now that he was awake. A terrible premonition of other appalling deeds accompanied him on his way to work, making him aware of his helplessness. He had made no progress yet, he wasn't a step further on.

'We know some more about that garbage-truck driver,' said Franke. saluting the inspector. 'Seems like Otto Ziesel has a pathological hatred of German women who sleep with Yanks.'

Dietrich was unconvinced. 'So pathological that he brutally murders three women and gets himself caught disposing of the last?'

'It wouldn't be the first time in the history of criminal investigation that the murderer has pretended to "find" his victim.'

A bit far-fetched, don't you think, Franke?'

'The suspect has previous convictions, inspector. His files have survived. There was a preliminary inquiry brought against him during the war, for rape. It was set aside. The woman was Jewish so it was decided she couldn't be believed. Ziesel was the driver for some Nazi big cheese. Another reason to dismiss the case.'

'Where is the man?'

'I've told him to come here at ten. There's one thing this third case indicates a lot more clearly than the first two, inspector. The killer's working for the Yanks.' There was a touch of irony in Franke's tone. 'No ordinary German criminal has a pass that allows him to kill in the prohibited zone and then stuff his victim into an American garbage bin.'

Tyres squealed outside. Sergeant Donovan strode through the open door like a fighting bull and straight into Inspector Dietrich's office. 'My captain wants you,' he barked. 'Let's go.'

'Good morning, sergeant. Sorry, I'm busy. I have to question a man at ten. Tell your captain I'll be happy to look in this afternoon.'

'I said let's go!' Donovan shouted. 'Now!' He laid his hand threateningly on the grip of his Magnum. Did this damn German still not realize who'd won the war?

'Stop this nonsense, sergeant,' said Dietrich calmly. 'I'll come as soon as I have time.'

The sergeant went red in the face. He drew his gun and pointed it at the German. 'Come on, you goddam Kraut.'

Klaus Dietrich stepped forward. A chop to Donovan's forearm with the side of his hand, quick as lightning, and the Magnum clattered to the floor. Dietrich picked it up, took the magazine out and emptied it with his thumb. The cartridges tumbled out on the floor too. He handed the weapon back to Donovan, who made for him. Dietrich dodged his charge. 'I was in a judo club before the war. I may not be fully back on form, but I can deal with bad manners.' Boiling with rage, Donovan put the gun back in its holster. Sergeant Franke hid his grin behind a file. 'Come on, then, sergeant, we don't want to keep your captain waiting,' Dietrich told him. 'Franke, hang on to this man Ziesel until I get back.'

But Otto Ziesel was in Captain Ashburner's office, and stared challengingly at Dietrich as the inspector walked in.

Ashburner took his feet off his desk. 'Hello, inspector. I wanted you to be present at this interview in case I'm accused of blocking your inquiries again. Bring us coffee. Donovan, and sit down.' Donovan poured two cups from the thermos jug, put one in front of the captain and took the other himself. 'Coffee for everyone, sergeant,' Ashburner told him. Donovan sulkily obeyed.

'So you found the body, Herr Ziesel?' Ashburner's tone was polite.

'Not directly, captain. It was that black sergeant who saw the arm hanging out of the garbage can.'

Dietrich joined in. 'The container you had just loaded up at the back of the shopping street.'

Ziesel shook his head. 'Not there, no. It was on the corner of Ihnestrasse and Garystrasse, that bin was. There's a whole lot of Yanks live there. It was damn heavy when I put it on the truck. Now I know why.'

Dietrich turned to Ashburner. 'So the murder didn't take place in the Onkel Tom prohibited zone.'

And just about any Kraut could have done it.' said Donovan, triumphant.

'Or any Yank,' Ziesel snarled.

'Don't push your luck,' Dietrich warned him. 'You should go carefully. We have statements about you. Your vicious outbursts against German girls who make friends with American soldiers are very incriminating.'

'Yankee whores, sure, I said that. So? It don't mean I'm going to touch one of 'em.'

'What about Lea Finkelstein? Didn't you touch her? We have the 1944 file on that investigation, Herr Ziesel. It doesn't show you in a very good light.' Klaus Dietrich explained to the captain what he was talking about.

'OK, let's put him in the cells for now. Take him downstairs, Donovan.' The sergeant twisted Ziesel's arm behind his back and steered him to the cellar steps. 'Happy, inspector?'

'With interim custody, yes. With Donovan's brutal manner, no. You should straighten him out a bit.'

'We're dealing with a serial killer.'

'That's not proven. But I'll keep it in mind.'

'You'll have plenty of time to do that on the train.' Ashburner gave the inspector a red slip of paper bearing several official stamps. Your visiting permit for Brandenburg penitentiary. My friend Maxim Petrovich Berkov let an NKVD colonel win a game of chess. Good luck.'

'Thanks, captain. And thank you for your gifts. You gave six hungry Germans a glimpse of a long-forgotten paradise. Very gracious of you.'

A simple thank you would have been fine,' replied Ashburner, irritated. Then he thought of Jutta, and his expression softened. They were going to meet this evening.

Jutta was waiting at the gate of the prohibited zone at seven. John Ashburner jumped out of the jeep and mimed a chauffeur opening the door of a limousine for her. 'Where to, madam?' he inquired in what he thought a very British accent.

'The Ritz, John,' she said, playing along. They drove through the gate and turned right at the corner into Wilskistrasse. He opened the apartment door and let her in first. She turned and stood close to him, her lips parted. Putting her arms around his neck, she drew his face down to hers and kissed him with an intensity he had never known before. His reaction was spontaneous, and embarrassed him. Jutta felt his penis harden through her thin dress, and went damp herself. Later, she thought, and the deliberate postponement excited her.

A whiskey?' he asked, covering his embarrassment.

'Too strong for me. I'd rather have a glass of wine. Do you have anything to nibble with it? Or I'll be falling over.'

A few crackers, some peanuts.' He put the packets on the table, opened a bottle of white wine and poured himself a whiskey. 'How wonderful to relax with a glass of bourbon,' he murmured contentedly, stretching his legs out. She liked the fact that he let himself relax in her company. It created a sense of intimacy between them, the kind felt by young lovers and settled couples. 'How about going to the movies?' he suggested.

'Oh, lovely, what's on?'

'No idea.'

The Onkel Tom cinema was part of the requisitioned area around the U-Bahn station nearby. Germans were allowed in only if they were with American soldiers. There was an aura of Pepsi Cola and Wrigley's Spearmint chewing gum in the air.

The usherette went ahead of them down the central aisle, a grotesque lilac bow in her long blonde hair. She indicated a row of seats. Ashburner thanked her with a smile that did not escape Jutta. A silent duel developed between the two women. 'You like him, don't you, but he's mine, understand?' — 'OK, I'm not planning to take him away from you.' 'You'd better not even think of it.'