Babylon Berlin (38 page)

Scarcely had Zörgiebel heard Böhm’s report than he rounded up all senior-ranking CID officers. Everyone knew what it was about before Zörgiebel even entered the room. The Jänicke case was being made number one priority. Two weeks after the communist riots, the commissioner began, police simply could not allow one of their own to be viciously murdered. Zörgiebel made no bones about where, in his opinion, the guilty party was to be found: amongst the members of the now banned RFB and, with that, he captured the mood in the room perfectly.

Rath thought it unwise to add more fuel to the fire; and indeed the commissioner immediately back-pedalled, calling for the utmost caution and reserve. ‘We must not give the press any occasion to launch a fresh attack on the Prussian police, who are only performing their duty. Therefore, please see to it that you proceed as carefully and as scrupulously as possible. As a matter of principle, interrogate all parties in the presence of an additional officer, who will then countersign your statement in case any communists accuse us of conducting third degree interrogations!’

Third degree interrogations.
That was the name given at the Castle to an interrogation where officers had used their fists as a means of establishing the truth.

As expected, Böhm would lead the investigation. In the meantime, every other homicide case was to be put on ice, while CID concentrated all resources on the Jänicke murder. Böhm approached the lectern to say a few words and distribute papers detailing his instructions, like a school teacher handing out worksheets. Apart from CID, Section 1A would also be pressed into service. Rath had difficulty imagining that Böhm had been responsible for that. Clearly, the commissioner believed it was a politically motivated murder and hoped to use the political police’s network of informers.

Zörgiebel remained in the conference room with Böhm, while the officers set to work. Outside, the reporters were already waiting, the same ones the commissioner had only just condemned. This time they wouldn’t bother him with the usual hogwash, he could be sure of it. A policeman, murdered at Bülowplatz, while the communists were lamenting the May dead… Even for the Berlin press, that was no everyday story. Rath barely registered any hostile glances, and those he did see were directed not at the commissioner, but at him. Weinert was right, some of them hadn’t taken kindly to the inspector’s appearance the day before.

‘Bloodthirsty mob,’ he heard Bruno curse quietly under his breath. They soon pushed past the journalists, and were surrounded by colleagues in the corridor outside. Since Jänicke was their partner, there were words of comfort raining down on all sides. Some of them even went as far as to express their condolences, as if it had been a close relative who had died. The majority, however, declared that they ‘would get the swine that did this,’ or that it was time ‘to do away with that Bolshevik rabble.’ In short, they swore bloody revenge. Rath hoped the daily grind would soon bring them back down to earth.

He accompanied Wolter into their old office. The two former partners were to examine Jänicke’s desk.

‘Who’d have thought we’d be working together again so soon,’ Bruno said.

Rath gave a forced smile. ‘I wish it was under happier circumstances.’

He didn’t really think they’d find anything new. He was familiar with Jänicke’s statements, which had all been logged in the Wilczek file, but you never knew. The assistant detective had completed all his paperwork in the old Vice office, since there was no room in A Division. Roeder’s old office was that of a lone wolf; during Rath’s early morning briefings with Henning and Czerwinski, one of them always had to perch on the edge of the desk, even after fetching an additional chair from the abandoned outer office.

As predicted, they didn’t find much in the drawers. A folder in which the official regulations of the Prussian police had been filed, the plan of action for Operation Nighthawk, the sports section of
Vossische Zeitung
, a few pages of handwritten notes on the König case, a few porn photos, on which the faces were circled in marker pen – the prints they had used to identify the various actors.

‘Not very fruitful,’ said Bruno, once the contents were spread across the table.

Rath nodded, but there was something missing. Something that he had seen only that morning in Jänicke’s hand.

‘Didn’t Stephan have a black notebook?’ he asked Bruno. ‘It would be interesting to know what he wrote in it.’

‘He always took it with him. It was his most prized possession – he never left it lying around. Böhm must have picked it up.’

‘We should let him know anyway.’

Bruno nodded thoughtfully. ‘Then let’s get all this junk packed up and sent to Böhm,’ he said. ‘We’ll add a little report so that Homicide knows why the kid had porn in his drawer. In case they get any daft ideas.’

‘Can you draft it?’ Rath asked. ‘I’ve got to update the Wilczek file.’

‘Do you think it has something to do with his death?’

Rath shrugged his shoulders. ‘If it does, then it’s on my conscience. It was me that sent him to the Barn Quarter.’

Bruno laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Come on, don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s a dangerous job. Besides, who says it wasn’t the communists?’

‘Do you really think that?’

‘They’re capable. The Red Front might be banned, but that doesn’t mean it no longer exists. The ban has just backed them into a corner like a wild animal. And when an animal gets backed into a corner, it bites.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘Head up, my boy! It’s bad enough to lose a colleague. Don’t go blaming yourself for it too!’

By that evening the police murder had already become a major news story. Rath bought the evening edition of
Tageblatt
in Alexanderplatz station and read it on the train. Zörgiebel was clearly using Jänicke’s death for his own ends, and skilfully avoided giving voice to any suspicion. Officially, police were still pursuing all avenues. Nevertheless, the way he described the crime scene and the circumstances surrounding it left little choice but for journalists to conclude that a police officer had fallen victim to a communist attack.

The sensationalist papers at the newsstand hadn’t taken any half measures and had come up with correspondingly sensational headlines on their title pages. Although
Tageblatt
had left it at a simple
police officer murdered
, under the dry headline they had still listed all the details circulated by Zörgiebel at the press conference, not least the fact that communists had gathered that morning in the vicinity of the crime scene outside Karl-Liebknecht-Haus and that at lunchtime Prussian police had been described by the same group as murderers.

Bruno was right. Blaming yourself was pointless. The only one responsible for Jänicke’s death was the person who had pressed a pistol to his nose and squeezed the trigger.

How well he had been served by his former boss was something Böhm had unwittingly confirmed when Rath brought him the Wilczek file. Rath had added a page with a few observations as to why he had asked Jänicke to investigate on
Berolina
’s patch. Partly it had been a way to justify his actions to himself.

‘What’s this?’ Böhm had asked, looking at the page as if Rath had just handed him a piece of used toilet paper.

‘A few pointers regarding the course of the investigation…’ Rath had begun, before Böhm interrupted him.

‘Young man, I don’t know if this has been made sufficiently clear,’ Böhm had bawled, ‘but
I’m
the one leading this investigation. I don’t need pointers!’

Rath had slammed the file on the table and left without saying goodbye.

What an arsehole! Even now he was still annoyed. Was he really going to let himself be treated like that?

Böhm could push other people around if he enjoyed it so much, but Gereon Rath wasn’t going to stand for it. Whenever he thought of the arrogant homicide detective, Rath looked forward to the day when he could show him up with the
Aquarius
case, on ice for now, like the Wilczek case. Both wet fish for the time being. But Zörgiebel couldn’t keep it up for ever. Rath didn’t think that Superintendent Gennat agreed with all A Division officers being concentrated on a single case. True, a murder investigation was also a race against time, and experience told him that the first day or two were the most important. If you hadn’t achieved a breakthrough by then, the whole thing would drag on for weeks and become an exercise in painstaking drudgery.

The evening didn’t quite pan out as Rath had imagined it.

As he was climbing the stairs to Nürnberger Strasse he saw his suitcase standing outside the door to the flat. Next to it was a large cardboard box with a cord tied round it. Rath unlocked the door and lifted the suitcase, surprised at how heavy it was.

Elisabeth Behnke must have heard him. She was waiting in the corridor, examining him as if she were on break duty in a convent school and he’d just urinated in the yard.

‘Why are you still here, Herr Rath?’ she asked. ‘Take your things and leave!’

She was addressing him formally again. It seemed to be serious. Only, he couldn’t take it seriously.

‘The suitcase might be deceptive, but I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,’ he said. ‘I happen to live here.’

‘Hardly, Herr Rath.’

‘Is this some kind of joke?’

‘I can assure you that a tenant breaking house rules is no laughing matter!’

‘What’s the matter this time?’ Rath wasn’t aware of having done anything wrong.

‘You should read your rental contract more closely! Female visitors are expressly forbidden and can lead to the immediate termination of the lease.’

So that’s how the wind was blowing. But why now? If she had seen Charly then why hadn’t she made a scene about it last week?

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t try and fool me, Inspector!’ She laughed aggressively and hysterically. It sounded like she was braying. ‘Or perhaps it’s
you
who wears this sort of thing?’ She lifted an artificial silk stocking in the air. Rath recognised it as the one Charly had been wearing last Thursday. Where on earth had old Behnke found it?

‘How dare you go snooping around my personal things?’

‘Snooping around? I was changing the sheets! Like every Wednesday! This was in your duvet cover. Can you tell me how it got there?’

‘I don’t think that’s any of your business, my dear Frau Behnke!’

This quarrel had been coming for days. Like a storm that finally breaks and dispels the oppressive humidity.

‘I’m afraid it is very much my business when you take a woman to your room – despite the strict ban!’

‘I didn’t realise this was a convent!’

‘It’s not a convent, Herr Rath, but it is
my
flat! And if you don’t stick to
my
rules, then you must bear the consequences!’

Rath wasn’t just bearing the consequences but the weight of the suitcase. He laid it down.

‘So this is my notice.’

‘Yes.’ She rummaged in her purse and held a few notes out towards him. ‘Here.’

‘What’s this?’

‘The rent you get back. You’ve already paid for this week.’

‘Keep the money.’ He made a move to get past her.

She stood in his way. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To my room.’

‘It’s not your room anymore.’

‘And my things?’

‘Already packed.’

‘Then at least let me say goodbye to Herr Weinert.’

‘He’s not home. Please go now!’

There was no point arguing with a hysterical Elisabeth Behnke. He shook his head, picked up the suitcase again and made for the door.

As he dragged the heavy suitcase and bulky cardboard box onto Nürnberger Strasse, he heard a window above him opening.
His
window. Elisabeth Behnke was looking out. Banknotes were fluttering down onto the pavement, a lady’s stocking sailing in their wake. Without a word, she banged the window shut.

Clearly, she wanted to give as good as she got.

He collected the banknotes, stuffed the stocking into his coat pocket and stood at the side of the road with his belongings and waved for a taxi.

My God, what a lousy day!

Bruno was flabbergasted to find Rath outside his door in Friedenau, loaded like a donkey.

‘Do you always bring so much stuff when you visit?’

‘Let me come in first.’ Rath explained the situation as they sat a short time later in the Wolters’s living room, interrupting his story only when Emmi Wolter came in and placed their drinks on the table. Bruno shook his head.

‘Should I have a word with Elisabeth?’ he asked. ‘Maybe it can still be sorted out.’

Rath waved him away. ‘Nah, leave it,’ he said, ‘it’s probably better this way.’

Being booted out had finally put an end to the painful comedy of the last few weeks.

‘I can stay in a hotel until I find somewhere new,’ he said. ‘Do you mind if I use the telephone?’

‘A hotel? You must be crazy! Out of the question.’ Bruno turned his head to the side and shouted: ‘Emmi!’

Emmi Wolter poked her blonde head through the door.

‘Can you prepare the guestroom? Gereon is staying for a few days.’

‘Of course.’ Bruno’s dutiful spouse disappeared once more.

Rath protested. ‘No, it’s fine, I don’t want you to go to any trouble.’

‘Trouble? You must be joking. There’s more than enough room. And the larder’s full, so don’t make a fuss. You’ll stay with us until the weekend, and if you still haven’t found something by next week, then I can always start collecting rent.’

Bruno raised his cognac glass. ‘So,’ he said, ‘and now let’s drink to Stephan Jänicke, and to catching his killer.’ They clinked glasses and for a moment no-one said anything, as both men dwelled on their thoughts.

‘Me, you and Jänicke, that could have been some team,’ Wolter said after a while. ‘Nonsense,’ he corrected himself, ‘that
was
some team.’

‘I always liked the kid, even if I barely knew him,’ Rath said.