Berlin Burning (11 page)

Trautmann went over to see what Roth had typed so far, thinking he had to call the hospital and see whether Roth had pulled through. God alone knew what he would do if he hadn't.

A throat clearing made him look up. Haas and Franke were back, and Haas was smiling.

‘Well?' Trautmann said.

‘We got the name,' Franke said.

‘He's not far away either,' Haas said.

‘How far?' Trautmann said.

‘Lichtenberg.'

‘Is your auto still booked out?' Trautmann said.

Damn the report, and damn von Gaben. He wanted answers, and this was his last chance to get them.

Chapter 24

––––––––

T
he name of Maria's ‘suitor' was Klaus Esser. So said the photographer who'd recognised the photograph from the wallet.

They'd gone to the man's apartment where his wife had said he was at work. Nothing to worry about, Trautmann had said, just returning the wallet and asking a few questions about how he'd lost it. The woman had been angry the police hadn't been round before to follow up on her husband's mugging. Trautmann had commiserated and sympathised while doubting very much whether Klaus Esser had reported anything to any precinct house.

Turned out Esser was a clerk at an import company with offices in Treptow near the canal docks. When they pulled up outside, Trautmann asked Haas and Franke to wait in the auto. Haas began to protest before Trautmann said:

‘No, this is supposed to be low key. You think he would say anything with us all there? Especially with his boss within earshot.”

No sense dragging them any further into this than he had to, either.

‘Low key?' Franke said. ‘You do realise you look like a street bum?'

‘Just wait here,' Trautmann said, choosing to ignore Haas' sniggering. Especially as his authority was purely charade at that point.

He got out of the auto and crossed the street to the offices, housed in a squat brick building with deep set windows that might once have been a storehouse for grain. He had to walk through an archway and found the door to his right.

A young man sat in waistcoat and shirtsleeves behind the reception desk, his hair oiled and parted on a razor's edge. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Trautmann.

‘We're not giving out donations, I'm afraid.'

Trautmann's mood boiled over. He pulled out his papers and shoved them in the clerk's face.

‘I'm looking for Klaus Esser, son. And I've just come from a stand-off with a suspect in a burning building, so get moving before you make me lose my temper.'

The clerk jerked to his feet as though pulled on strings. He disappeared through an anonymous-looking door. Trautmann got a blast of clacking typewriter keys and the hum of conversation before the door closed.

So much for low-key. The clerk hadn't even asked what it was all about. Doubtless the rumour would spread that Esser had something to do with the burning building fugitive.

The clerk returned and said, ‘If you'd like to walk this way?'

‘No I wouldn't like to walk that way. Bring him out here, now!'

The clerk jumped back and vanished again. Trautmann grinned. That little outburst had just been for fun. Still, if he was going to take out his frustrations, better to do it with that pompous little fool than the likes of Haas and Franke.

This time when the clerk returned he had someone in tow. Another young man with neat hair above a face full of purpling swellings.

‘Mr Esser?' Trautmann thundered, brandishing the man's wallet. ‘Your wife is most upset no one's been to see you to discuss your mugging as yet. Perhaps you'd like to step outside to talk it over?'

Esser had trouble meeting Trautmann's eyes, though of course he complied readily enough.

Once outside, Trautmann said, ‘Right, tell me all of it and don't leave anything out. I know you were in the Scheunenviertel last night. That's where you left this.' He handed the wallet over. ‘You give me what I want to know and I might not even need you to make a statement. Nothing official, ok?'

Esser took the wallet and flipped it open, staring into it but seeing the events of the previous evening.

‘She came onto me, I swear.' His voice came out slightly muffled through puffy lips.

‘Swear all you like. Just get to the point.'

‘She took me to her place, said it would be safer there. We started doing it when her guy walked in on us, out of nowhere. Shit, I didn't even realise she had a guy. Well, he went crazy. Started punching me. I fell out of the bed and on the floor, scrabbling for my clothes, but he went on punching, and kicking me, you know?'

Trautmann nodded.

‘Well, then his woman starts pawing at him, yelling at him to stop. Of course, that just made him madder. But he stopped hitting me. Started shouting at her instead, then. I saw her pick up this thing off the dresser and go at him with it. I couldn't see what it was, just that it flashed where it caught the light. Could have been anything. And I pulled my trousers on and got the hell out of there with them still shouting behind me as I went. Then later I realised I'd dropped my wallet. Or maybe she'd stole it. I don't know. That bitch.'

‘Steady on lad,' Trautmann said. ‘A little respect, if you please. It's no easy thing selling your body.'

‘But now my money's gone and my wife might find out! My wife! Oh God, I couldn't bear it if that happened, you know?'

‘Calm down, boy,' Trautmann barked. ‘You swear that's all there was to it? You didn't hit the guy back?'

‘No, I told you, I got out of there as quickly as I could.'

‘You didn't know either of them before last night? You'd never met before? Been a regular customer, anything like that?'

‘No. God, no. No way!'

‘You ever own a gun?'

‘No.'

‘Remember I can check that.'

‘No!'

‘All right,' Trautmann said. ‘Now take some deep breaths and think hard for me, please. When you left the apartment building, did you see anyone else going in?'

‘Funny you say that. There was someone, now you mention it.'

‘What did he look like?'

‘Is it important?'

‘You bet your marriage it's important. Now what. Did. He. Look. Like.'

‘Well, I noticed him straight off, you know? His clothes were all wrong.'

‘Wrong?'

‘For the Scheunenviertel. He didn't belong.'

Much like you
, Trautmann wanted to say, but didn't, not wanting to interrupt the flow.

‘He looked like money,' Esser said. ‘I can't explain it, but that's what I thought.'

‘And his face? Did you see what he looked like?'

Esser told him, and Trautmann knew he had his killer.

Chapter 25

––––––––

P
aul von Gaben opened the door to his study and paused to gather his thoughts.

Trautmann didn't blame the man; he'd have been shocked to find himself there waiting behind the desk too. Not to mention sipping a glass of the smoky Scotch from the crystal decanter on the sideboard. It might have looked like a deliberate affront, but really he needed it to calm his nerves.

Besides, he had permission. He raised the glass, half-toast, half-apology:

‘Your wife said I could. She's gone out, by the way. I thought it best if we had privacy for what we need to discuss.'

That was a lie, of course, but von Gaben seemed not to be listening. Instead, he loosened his tie and shot his cuffs, keeping his eyes on Trautmann the whole time and refusing to be intimidated.

‘I suppose you know what you've done.'

And just like that, he'd stolen back some of the initiative. The wax on his moustache shone in the lamplight.

Trautmann put down his glass and crossed his arms, deciding he'd wait for the minister to continue. Von Gaben came closer.

‘They attacked the convoy,' he said.

‘I knew it. What did I tell you! Brownshirts? Or Schupo from the 87
^th
?'

‘Communists, damn it!'

What? That was the last thing Trautmann had expected.

‘They detonated the leading armoured car with some kind of explosive device and your friend Fleischer and the girl got clean away.'

Trautmann chuckled. ‘Well, what do you know? Don't suppose Kessler was any too pleased.'

Von Gaben went to the sideboard and poured himself some scotch.

‘We'll never know,' he said, over his shoulder. ‘Fleischer saw to that.'

He turned back with a glass half full, and met Trautmann's quizzical stare with: ‘They kidnapped him, Trautmann. Stole him right off the street in broad daylight. His body turned up outside the Alex three hours ago trussed up in a potato sack. I take it you're familiar with the practice of sacking?'

Trautmann nodded. Putting a man in a sack was an old underground enforcer trick. Having coshed your victim and tied his hands behind his back, you then tucked his knees under his chin, running a length of twine from around the knees to around the neck. Lastly, you bundled him in a sack. Waking up later, the victim would panic and try to straighten up, thereby choking himself to death.

‘Well it's a damned nasty way to go, I don't mind telling you. And I suppose you realise it raises the temperature of the water you're already in by several degrees?'

‘All right, this is all very shocking. But it's time to stop the charade, I think.'

Von Gaben's lips curled into a sneer. Well, all to the good. He was about to object even more.

‘Tell me, you think getting the sack is worse than two bullets to the gut?'

Trautmann held up the type-written document he'd brought with him; he threw it in von Gaben's direction.

‘My report, minister. A little late, I know. But worth the wait, I'm sure you'll agree.'

Von Gaben retrieved the dog-eared pages from the floor. He sat on the edge of one of the sofas and began flicking through them.

‘It was your sudden keenness to admit Meist was your son that first got me thinking. That, and the statement from his girlfriend that he was blackmailing someone. Well, this afternoon I finally managed to put it together. It was all about politics, that's the crazy thing.

‘I don't know how long you've been a Nazi, minister, but that was the big secret you couldn't reveal to the world. Not until the government had moved in and taken control of the police, cleared it of all socialist elements. And Meist's murder was the perfect catalyst, wasn't it? To show that Grzesinski and Weiss had lost control of the streets and couldn't be trusted. The perfect excuse.'

Von Gaben looked up from his perusal of Trautmann's report.

‘What I can't work out was whether you'd planned it. I mean, you went to see him last night. That was why he left his party meeting and came home early. Now, all of this could have been part of a plan to kill him. I assume you had the gun with you. But then why write him that cheque, only to tear it up and have to burn it afterwards? It doesn't make sense. Unless you
were
willing to buy him off and something went wrong...'

The minister's shoulders slumped. There were bags beneath his eyes, and his lips had lost some of their elasticity.

‘That little bastard,' he said, his lisp to the fore. ‘All he had to do was keep his stupid mouth shut. I blame that girl of his, messing with his mind. Yes I wrote him that cheque, but then he said he was going to tell the world anyway. Tell them all about my secret party membership. The bloody fool. Well, what else could I do?'

He paused to take a deep slurp of scotch.

‘You can't prove any of this, of course. The Fleischer girl has disappeared, doubtless never to be heard from again. And it's just your word against that of a grieving government minister.'

‘You were seen going into their apartment building after Maria had left.' Trautmann nodded at his report. ‘It's all in there. Page eleven, I think. Odd, for a man who swore to me and my colleague that he hadn't known his estranged stepson's whereabouts. That's why the anger when you found out your wife had written to him. Because it suggested a link when you thought you'd kept your tracks covered.'

‘An eyewitness?' von Gaben sneered. ‘And how long do you think he'll last once you reveal his identity? How long do you think any case would last in the courts with so many party members or open sympathisers sitting on the bench? It's too late, Trautmann. Too late. We've made our move and you lost.'

Trautmann willed his hands to keep from shaking. This part was going to be tricky and he needed to look in control.

‘Oh, I know that, minister. But there is a way to make all of this unpleasantness go away entirely.'

‘I'm listening.'

‘Honourable discharge for me and Kriminalassistant Roth. No charges, no recriminations, no internal investigation. And full pensions in perpetuity.'

Von Gaben blinked in surprise. ‘That's it? So little?'

‘Some of us don't need very much, minister.' Trautmann held up some more type-written pages. ‘I took the liberty of drawing up these for you to sign.'

The minister stood and walked to the desk, shooing Trautmann out of his chair. Then he sat and looked over the documents.

Without a word, he took a pen from his inside jacket pocket, unscrewed the lid and signed the two pieces of paper.

‘This will be the end of it? You'll destroy your report – and any other copies you have?'

‘I have a copy in a safe place. As insurance.'

‘Wise, Trautmann. Very wise.'

‘Just tell me one thing.'

‘What's that?'

‘Did Kessler know about the murder?'

‘Christ no!' von Gaben laughed. ‘He was a loyal drone, keen to take Fleischer off the streets, that's all. God knows why. Hell, he didn't even know I was in the party.' He relaxed in the chair. ‘Pass me my whisky, will you? We might as well drink to this new accord.'