Berlin Burning (8 page)

Trautmann wiped his weeping eyes. ‘Yes, officer?'

‘Found you a car, sir.' The man saluted again, which only set Trautmann and Fleischer off again.

Roth moaned. The sound hit Trautmann like a cold shower. He'd been acting like an hysteric. He had the Schupo help them get Roth out of the van and into the back of the auto he'd found, pushing Fleischer in after him and then getting in the front with the shocked civilian driver, who looked at the gangster's blood-soaked clothing with some alarm.

Back down the road, Kessler's men shifted the dead cow from beneath the wheels of the armoured car. Trautmann and Fleisher had to get out of there, now.

‘Well done officer,' Trautmann said to the traffic cop. ‘I'll be sure to put you forward for a commendation once we're through at the Charité.'

‘Thank you, kommissar.' The Schupo beamed.

‘When our friends get here, do tell them where we've gone, won't you?'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Good lad.'

Then Trautmann lowered his voice, turned to the driver and told him to take them to the Evangelisches Krankenhaus in Lichtenburg – two districts away from the Charité hospital in Mitte.

Chapter 16

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‘O
w!' Trautmann was getting his burns sponged with salt water, his bosomy, middle-aged nurse being none too gentle about it.

‘Just sit there and take it, can't you?' Fleischer said. His attendant – a junior doctor, by his appearance and manner – was sewing up the bullet wound in his arm.

Turned out the slug had gone all the way through. Lucky, as it meant they wouldn't have to hang around long enough for Kessler to track them while someone fished the damn thing out.

The doctor had cut Fleischer's shirt sleeve away and now, thick with crusted blood, it flapped in a draft that Trautmann couldn't source for the life of him.

Aside from the draft it was hot in there, the mysterious breath of air doing little to cool them. The unburned side of Trautmann's face was slick with sweat he hadn't the nerve to wipe away lest his ministering angel decided to treat his burns with still less tenderness than she was already.

‘Doctor, is there any news about my... colleague?' Trautmann said.

‘Colleague?' The doctor didn't turn around.

‘Yes, the man we brought in with us. He was in an accident. And I –' Trautmann winced at yet another indelicate sponge application – ‘I need to know if he's going to live!'

The doctor turned around with a frown. Fleischer caught Trautmann's eye, shared a look that said
stop drawing attention to yourself
.

Trautmann glanced down at the floor. ‘Was I shouting? Sorry... I have tinnitus.'

‘That's not all you've got,' the doctor said, breaking off from his sewing to look at Trautmann's injuries. ‘Were you in a fire?'

‘Yes... the accident.'

‘Listen, doctor.' That was Fleischer, who had come up behind the doctor and now lay a hand on his arm. ‘Our friend was in a bad way. We're very worried. Perhaps you could just go and... see for us?'

His voice was low, the tone even.

The doctor scratched behind his right ear. ‘Yes, of course. I can see you're upset. I'll find out what I can. Nurse?'

Trautmann's torturer looked up.

‘Perhaps you could finish up here for me?'

The doctor nodded at the needle sticking out of Fleischer's arm. The nurse stopped what she was doing with a sigh and pushed Fleischer back into his chair.

‘What was his name?' the doctor said.

‘Schmidt,' Trautmann said. ‘Johann Schmidt.'

They'd agreed on that when bringing him in. Hoping the false name would keep Kessler off their tail – for a while at least.

‘I'll be back as soon as I can,' the doctor said.

‘Take your time,' Fleischer called. Then to the nurse he said, ‘That tickles. Tell me, you tease your husband with those nimble fingers?'

The woman giggled – actually giggled – and slapped Fleischer's knee.

Trautmann rooted through his pockets and finally found his pipe. But when he brought it out, only the bowl came. The stem had snapped off at some point.

‘Here,' Fleischer said, leaning over to offer his cigarette case. ‘Have one of these. Christ knows you need it.'

Trautmann lit up, drawing the smoke deep and suppressing a choke when he let it go. It was strong stuff and caught in his throat. His head swam – or more than it already had been.

Roth.

All he could think of right then was Roth. Yet another young victim of this torturous case.

If the boy died, he'd be to blame.

Frankly, if he didn't die Trautmann would still be to blame. Even more of a cripple than before – what kind of a life was that?

‘Don't suppose there's any coffee?' Fleischer asked the nurse. ‘Be a dear and fetch some for us, won't you?'

‘This isn't a hotel,' the nurse replied. ‘Besides, I haven't finished on your arm yet.'

‘Oh don't you worry about that. We're not going anywhere, are we? So what do you say? I promise I'll be good.'

He winked and the nurse got to her feet with a flourish, wiggling her rear end. She gave Trautmann a sour look, then threw a girlish smile at Fleischer. She left their cubicle with a swish of the surrounding curtain. Fleischer bit off the end of the thread in his arm.

Trautmann dropped what was left of his cigarette and ground it out.

‘Fleischer? Where are you going?' he whispered.

‘No answer from the big man, who crept to the curtain and peeked out.

‘Fleischer?'

Fleischer shushed him and left.

Trautmann jumped to his feet. The movement stung his burned skin, but this was no time to capitulate to his aching body. He followed Fleischer out of the cubicle, caught him turning the corner at the end of the hall.

‘Fleischer!'

He slipped on the waxed floor as he went round the same corner, ducking a swipe from the Fleischer's fist. The gangster had been waiting there for him with evil intent.

The two men looked at each other, Trautmann flat on his arse, back against the wall, Fleischer looming over him; both panting from the brief chase.

‘Take me with you and I'll prove she didn't kill him,' Trautmann said.

Fleischer seemed to think it over. ‘No good.'

‘For God's sake man, listen to me. She didn't kill him and I can make sure she believes that. You don't have to go through all this!'

‘Kessler's coming after me no matter what. You said yourself if he can't get me he'll get her. So what difference can it make, now?'

The two of them were whispering, trying not to draw attention from the hospital staff at the other end of the hall.

‘Stop thinking about yourself for a minute and think about her instead.'

‘You think I'm not?'

‘Shut up, you moron. She's alone out there. Scared, confused.' Trautmann let all his guilt flood through him and come out as anger. At the situation, at the fact Roth could die at any moment – hell, could already be dead, as far as he knew – at strongmen like Fleischer who belonged in the circus ring lifting dumbbells instead of lording it over the helpless in places like the Scheunenviertel.

‘She's in agony, thinking she killed her sweetheart.'

Fleischer rolled his eyes.

‘Reckon she'll believe you if you tell her she didn't do it?' Trautmann snapped. ‘She'll think you're lying to make her feel better. I can put her mind at ease. I can help her get over the death of her lover.'

‘Lover,' Fleischer snorted. ‘The man didn't know what love was. Treated her like an animal.'

So, Fleischer had heard the stories about Meist – sorry, Rudi von Gaben – beating her up, making her work the streets. But of course he had. He heard everything. The landlady had likely been one of his noses.

A hospital orderly came by, said, ‘Everything ok here, chaps?'

He stared at Fleischer's blood crusted sleeve, the burns on Trautmann's face and neck.

Fleischer tried a smile, the kind a cat gives a mouse. ‘Just fine, thank you. I was about to help my friend up.'

Trautmann saw his chance and put out his hands. ‘Don't you want that?' he said to Fleischer. ‘Maria's guilt. Laid to rest. That's what I can do for you.'

The orderly looked from one man to the other. ‘Do you need a doctor? I can go and – '

‘No!' the two men shouted at once.

‘I'll... just go and find a doctor,' the orderly said, backing around the corner. ‘I think that's best.'

‘Well, shit,' Fleischer said. Then he leaned down, took two fistfuls of Trautmann's ruined suit jacket and hauled him up. ‘All right, you can come. But for Christ's sake don't slow me down. And if they've got to her already then all bets are off.'

‘You're so needlessly dramatic Fleischer, you know that?'

‘Fuck you, Trautmann.'

Chapter 17

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I
t was during the war when I first met Kessler. The turnip winter, you remember? When the price of pork went through the roof.

Made me rich off black market piggies. But it's funny what money will do to you. I'd been happy up till then sharing my patch with the Bergmann boys. You remember them? Course you do. Yeah, that's right. Busted in '17, but I'm getting to that.

See, suddenly I just had all this cash. And people's stuff. Old jewellery, the odd antique. Butter. Booze. Whatever people had to trade with.

And it wasn't enough anymore, being the black market guy. Now I was somebody, somebody who counted for something. And I wanted more. I looked at all the protection, the prostitution, the Jew-smuggling from the east – all that Bergmann stuff. And you know what I said to myself?

I said now the pig business ain't so different from the people business. It's all just flesh when you get down to it.

I could do what they do, I thought. Do it better than them, too.

That's right, Kessler was involved in the Bergmann sting. That's how he made sergeant. In fact, he told me later he'd been asked if he wanted a transfer to Kripo. He could've taken it, you know. Imagine that, eh? Might have ended up working with him – how would you have liked that? But he turned it down. I told him to. He was more useful to me in uniform.

Well how do you think he got involved in the first place? A rat like him wouldn't know the first thing about going after the Bergmanns. Not unless he had help.

So, one day, two of my guys bring in this lanky kid in a blue uniform and a big, scared look on his face. He'd been out in those empty wartime streets, driving one of the Schupo pool cars, racing it around just that little bit too fast.

Well I'll tell you what happened, you give me the chance. Drove right over a mother and her kid is what he did.

And my guys were there to see it.

Like I say, they brought him to me, told me what had happened. And Kessler's practically shitting himself in fear. This is the end of his career, right?

Well, hold up, I say. Maybe not.

Maybe I can help make your problem go away if you make mine go away.

What problem's that, he says.

The Bergmanns, I say.

So he says what do I mean, and I tell him. And bless him, his eyes pop out of his head.

But he went along with it, all right. Did you never wonder how it was he knew exactly where the latest consignment of women would be? Or where their counting house was?

I'd been busy getting all the information I needed on them. Just waiting for the time to strike. And Schupo did it for me! Shotgunned half the Bergmann brothers and jailed the other half. Beautiful to behold, it was.

He worked for me on and off right up until last year. Then he comes and says he's not working for me no more, and if I've got anything to say about that I can just take it up with the brownshirts.

I knew that was it right there. And he's been after me one way or another ever since.

For me? A couple of house fires. A car crash. Just the one shooting. No one who'll be missed.

What do I think?

I think he had his road to Damascus moment, joined the party. Decided he didn't have enough time for my shit cause he had so much of theirs to take on.

Well, the human brain can take only so much shit before it gets too full up. Least, that's what I reckon.

Oh, and you know the funniest thing? That mother and her kid weren't even killed. Kessler didn't know that. Still doesn't.

What happened to them? Christ, what do you care? All right, all right. Kid ended up working for me and I gave the mother a load of apartments to run. Sure, you know her. She's the landlady at Maria's old place.

Chapter 18

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‘S
o that's why he wants to get you so badly,' Trautmann said.

The Fleischer shrugged. ‘I'm no clairvoyant, but I reckon so.'

Trautmann hoped that was all there was to it. He didn't fancy Kessler being wrapped up in the murder like Roth had said. The case was twisted enough already. And now he was close enough to picking the girl's brains it felt like the case was almost over.

God, but he wanted this to end.

They were huddled outside the Bahnhof Alexanderplatz, smoking cigarettes and waiting for their chance to get inside. It was just after 9am, the sun already high and blasting the city.

The train tracks ran above ground at the Alexanderplatz, east to west. The ground trembled as another steam train pulled in overhead, its whistle blowing to make sure the tracks were clear.

Roth had been right about one thing: Maria was in there somewhere. It seemed mad; the station was just across the street from police headquarters. Trautmann said as much to Fleischer.

‘I just gambled on your guys being a bit less sharp so close to home,' Fleischer said. ‘I mean, who would've thought I'd send her here, right?'