Babylon Berlin (48 page)

‘Do you have any idea of what you’ve got me into?’

Rath’s instinct told him it was best to remain silent.

‘You’ve made a mockery of me and the entire Berlin police force. In front of everyone!’

Rath still said nothing. Let Dörrzwiebel tire himself out. At least no-one could say the commissioner was his best friend anymore.

‘We issued a warrant for a man, stated he was the prime suspect in a murder inquiry, and it turns out the man has been dead longer than his alleged victim! How d’you think that looks?’

‘I’m sorry, Commissioner, but it wasn’t me who dumped the body there!’

‘It was you, Herr Rath, who set the entire police force on the wrong track! We’ve gone to enormous lengths to search for a man who’s been dead for weeks. Every paper published his photo, just like every paper is now going to publish this unspeakable story. What other surprises do you have in store for us? Whose corpse is going to turn up next? The Countess?’

Rath shrugged his shoulders. ‘I hope not, Commissioner.’

‘I’ll give you I hope not! I’m not sure you quite understand, Inspector. If you weren’t the son of Engelbert Rath, you’d be packing your case right now for Köpenick! There’s a vacancy there at the moment. You can go back to finding lost cats, and be glad I’m not making you dust court exhibits for the rest of your days!’

That was how easy it was to fall out of favour with Zörgiebel.

Only yesterday he had been feted as the man who would bring glory to the commissioner. Now he was the police dunce, the sole reason why Zörgiebel cut a sorry figure in the press.

‘I’d like to put things right, Commissioner.’

‘That’s rich. How do you propose to do that?’

Rath had an inkling why Zörgiebel was so incensed. The SPD had arranged to have its party conference next week at Magdeburg, and the commissioner would not only have to justify the bloody May riots to his fellow social democrat party members, but also his force’s record on law enforcement in the imperial capital. Given the recent headlines, Zörgiebel could hardly expect to make a good impression. Now, on top of everything else, there was the incident at the cemetery. An unparalleled embarrassment, a clear loss of authority. Zörgiebel must be afraid his party would tear him to pieces.

‘I just meant that if I can help in any way, I will do so, Commissioner. At least give me a chance.’

‘I’ll give you one final chance, young Rath, and I urge you to take it. Bring me the people responsible for these awful crimes, these brutes who have so brazenly made fools of us, so that we can finally put them away. I want to see results in five days at the latest.’

‘That isn’t much time, Commissi…’

‘If you want to keep your desk in A Division, you ought to make use of it!’

‘It’s actually DCI Böhm who’s been working on the case, and Superintendent Gennat…’

‘I don’t care how you do it! If Böhm doesn’t want you, then you’ll have to work alone. It’s what you do best after all.’ Zörgiebel was standing behind his desk now, motioning towards the door. ‘Now get out! Get to work! The next time you walk through that door, I expect you to have something for me. A killer, and this time with evidence that’s admissible in court. Do we understand each other?’

Rath nodded and opened the door. Yes, he understood and he was willing to bet Dagmar Kling had understood every word too.

Dr Schwartz had worked like never before. Even the autopsy report on the Jänicke case hadn’t been ready this fast.

It was an effort for Rath to keep his eyes open as he ploughed through the medical jargon. It was already late and he lit another cigarette to keep himself awake. The ashtray on the little table inside Gennat’s office was already overflowing. He and Buddha were the only ones still working in A Division.

Trudchen Steiner had been the last to leave. The secretary had just had time to bring them the evening papers, almost all of which had accorded the incident at
Georgen
Cemetery a big spread. Most had dug up the old picture of Kardakov and placed it next to a photo of Jänicke’s funeral. Speculation was running wild, as Rath had expected. Buddha likewise, it seemed, as the reports didn’t faze him in the slightest. The superintendent sat at his desk, puffing thoughtfully on his cigar.

‘Don’t you want to go home, Inspector?’

Gennat seemed genuinely concerned.

‘No, sir. I’ve made a mess of things, and I’d like to sort it out. I’ll work through the night if I have to.’

‘I have a bed here so I don’t have to go home,’ Gennat said, ‘but I am
not
going to share it with you.’

Rath laughed. ‘That won’t be necessary, sir. If you want to go to bed, just tell me. I’ll take a taxi back to the hotel.’

‘Are you still at the
Excelsior
?’

‘I haven’t had time to find myself a place.’

‘Remind me tomorrow. Perhaps there’s something I can do.’

As ill-disposed as many of his colleagues at the Castle were to him at the moment – Böhm and Charly in particular – Gennat was treating him well. He had made it clear that he wanted Rath on the case, for his insight into Kardakov’s character. Irrespective of whether he had been wrong in the past, Buddha still believed that Rath could be of assistance whether Böhm liked it or not.

He immersed himself in the autopsy report once more. Truth be told, he had expected the results to be similar to the Möckern Bridge case but, though there were many parallels, there were also some surprising differences.

As was the case with Boris, the abuse Kardakov had suffered hadn’t caused his death. It was probably the same torturers, professionals who knew how to hurt their victims without injuring them fatally and used drugs in a calculated way. They alternated between torturing their victims and nursing them back to health, administering pain-killing injections for any appropriate response. That was how you coaxed information out of your victims, not through pain alone. Dr Schwartz had also detected traces of heroin in Kardakov’s body and found injection sites, as with Boris before him. Nevertheless, it
wasn’t
the heroin that had caused Kardakov’s death.

The man had died of cyanide poisoning. Dr Schwartz found the remains of the poison in his mouth, as well as thin splinters of glass, which suggested that Kardakov had bitten down on the capsule himself. Suicide, then? Or had his tormentors forced him to swallow the capsule? Had they planned to do that with Boris too? Was his heroin death an accident? Had he been given an overdose by mistake?

Two deaths that were almost identical. Only, one had died of a heroin overdose, while the other had succumbed to cyanide poisoning.

The case was more puzzling than ever.

Gennat pushed the papers to one side and was studying the forensic report again.

‘Where do you think our friend was buried before they decided to dig him up?’ he asked, chewing on his cigar.

Rath had just read the document. Kronberg’s people had found pine needles in the soil on the dead man’s clothing. There weren’t any pines trees in
Georgen
Cemetery.

‘Suggests a forest floor, don’t you think?’

‘Exactly what I was thinking. Let’s have a list made up of all pine forests in and around Berlin. We might just find his old grave.’

29

Rath was at the station by dawn, taking refuge in his secluded little office. Gennat had actually slept at the Castle; Rath had interrupted him shaving as he fetched the interrogation records from Buddha’s office. Apart from the two of them, A Division was still completely empty. Rath had barely slept. He was taking Zörgiebel’s threat seriously and time was precious right now.

He had ploughed through yesterday’s statements page by page, but found barely anything they could use. Perhaps the one given by the man from Heinrich-Roller-Strasse 19, who had witnessed two men pulling a cart across the main cemetery avenue. It had looked like an ordinary coffin cart, he had said, and he knew what he was talking about since he often saw them from his window. Unfortunately, Rath’s colleagues hadn’t asked what was on the cart. It was clear, however, that it couldn’t have been the staff pulling it, as the cemetery gardener had said that, after finishing the preparations for the Jänicke funeral, they had gone to the memorial service in the church. After all, it wasn’t every day they saw a ceremonial funeral. That meant the two unknown men must have entered the cemetery chapel, where the coffin carts were usually kept. Yet the chapel was locked up, and Forensics hadn’t found any signs of forced entry.

A witness from Greifswalder Strasse claimed to have seen two men dragging a carpet across the street. A cart, a carpet – perhaps the men had transferred the corpse. Either way, they had chosen a means of transport that was in accordance with the surroundings. Neither witness had thought anything of what they had seen until a few hours later when the police came knocking. Nor could they describe the two strangers. Both agreed it had been two men in grey hats and coats, but they couldn’t give any further details, no facial features, nothing that stood out. They weren’t even sure of the colour of their hair.

Rath studied Charlotte Ritter’s interrogation records particularly thoroughly. They were more carefully composed than his own, but she clearly hadn’t been able to discover anything more. There had been no witnesses in Heinrich-Roller-Strasse 17, or at least none that she had encountered.

Erika Voss arrived shortly after eight, surprised to find him in his office.

‘You’re not normally here so early, Inspector!’

‘But you are, I hope, Fräulein Voss.’

She put the coffee on without his having to ask. Up until now, he had been smoking cigarettes to keep himself awake, and was glad to have a steaming mug of coffee placed in front of him. In vain he tried to order his thoughts. On the one hand because they still had too little information to put together anything meaningful; on the other because his mind was haunted by the image of a woman. A woman who had no business being there. A slender, pretty face with a resolutely curved mouth and dark eyes you could disappear inside. The dimple on her left cheek when she smiled;
if
she smiled. He had to get out.

When he returned the statements to Gennat’s office Gertrud Steiner was in her place, while Henning and Czerwinski stood alongside the superintendent at his desk. Before them lay various maps, on which wooded areas were marked. Gennat gave a few brief instructions, enough for Rath to infer that the day would begin with police combing the pine forests around the city.

Nevertheless, Gennat agreed to what Rath had in mind. Indeed, Rath thought he discerned something approaching respect in the superintendent’s eyes, or at the very least approval. Whatever the case, Buddha seemed to like him and in A Division that was what mattered. A certain Wilhelm Böhm could be as awkward as he liked.

Even so, Gennat hadn’t spared him the morning briefing. Once again, he felt a stabbing pain when Charly appeared, although at least she had greeted him this time. ‘Good morning, Inspector,’ she had said. The briefing didn’t last long; there wasn’t a great deal to discuss. For the most part it was a question of summarising their findings to date, as well as discussing the pine forest operation, in which several hundred police officers were to be deployed. In addition to Henning and Czerwinski, Buddha had tasked other members of CID with overseeing different patches of wood. Mostly they would work in pairs. For a moment Rath feared (or perhaps hoped, he couldn’t be sure) that Gennat would send him off again with Charly, but Buddha let him work alone.

By nine Rath was finally underway. He drove to the cemetery again to verify the statements, and perhaps get a few more. Above all, he wanted to have a look round the school. So far they only had the unhelpful statements made by the caretaker and his wife, but today things would be different. No other house in Heinrich-Roller-Strasse could come up with as many potential witnesses as the school.

Around 300 young lads were arriving at the 58th
Volksschule
for boys, as Rath called politely at the rector’s office shortly before nine. He could have spared himself the bother because when he expressed a desire to visit all the classes whose windows looked onto the cemetery, the principal, whose name was Edelhard Funke, gave him a good dressing-down. It was unnecessary, he said. No-one had seen anything!

‘Our pupils do what their teachers tell them. They don’t gaze out onto the street,’ the rector said succinctly. When Rath tried to protest, the slippery man met him with a question of his own: ‘When did you say this was supposed to have happened?’

‘Between ten and eleven, but most likely after half past ten.’

‘Well, there you are!’ Rector Funke said triumphantly, as if he had just successfully derived Pythagoras’s theorem. ‘That’s when second recess is. At that time every pupil is in the schoolyard, which goes out to the back. No-one could have seen anything from there!’

With these words, Rath was ushered outside, and by quarter to ten he was back on the street. He had barely spent half an hour inside the school and most of that had been spent waiting to see the rector. What a good start to the day!

He decided to question August Glaser, the witness in number 19, a second time. Perhaps he had a little more to say than his present statement. A second visit could work wonders, Rath had often found. This time, however, it didn’t work anything: Glaser wasn’t at home.

Rath knew that ninety percent of police work consisted of fruitless endeavour, but right now he didn’t have the patience. Time was pressing and his lack of sleep wasn’t doing much for his state of mind.

So back to number 17 it was then, this time without Charly, to the people they hadn’t found at home yesterday. Charly had also rung one doorbell in vain, at least that’s what it said in her report. Rath had made a note of the name.

Inge Schenk was still in her dressing gown, but invited him in nevertheless. She was extremely kind, offering him both coffee and liquor. Rath decided on coffee.

She led him into the living room, asked him to take a seat and returned shortly afterwards carrying a tray. He was given his coffee, while she poured herself a glass of something stronger.