The whispering that filled the large meeting room grew quieter and finally stopped. Rath looked up as the deputy commissioner stepped onto the podium with a grave expression. He threw his cigarette on the stone floor and trod it out with the tip of his shoe. Dr Weiss gripped the lectern and waited. Only when all was quiet in the room did he speak.
‘I have gathered you here today,’ he began, looking around, ‘in light of recent, tragic events. I am sure most of you have heard already.’
His account of the clash on Frankfurter Allee sounded altogether more grave than it had coming from Charly. As expected, the deputy didn’t mention anything about a guttersnipe who had escaped from Lichtenberg District Court. He simply listed the facts: a workers’ demonstration in the middle of a Communist area; sudden escalation, and advancing police officers find themselves in a hail of bullets; a sergeant who storms demonstrators on the front line is hit in the chest, collapses, and dies shortly afterwards.
‘You are no doubt aware, gentlemen,’ Weiss said solemnly, ‘that Sergeant Emil Kuhfeld is not the first police officer to lose his life in the line of duty. Nor, I fear, will he be the last. I know I speak for us all when I say that we, his colleagues, will not forget him.’ He gazed around the room. ‘Gentlemen,’ he continued, ‘Please rise and observe a minute’s silence for our dead colleague.’
Hundreds of chair legs scraped across the floor and the room became eerily quiet. Everybody knew this minute’s silence was no hollow, meaningless gesture, but affected each one of them personally. The much-invoked superiority of CID over Uniform had no place in this room. When it was a question of the mood outside, of the increasingly brutal hostility officers faced every day on the streets, they were all in the same boat, whether in uniform or plainclothes. The only difference was that Uniform had to risk their necks far more often. Out there were people who looked on police officers as fair game.
Rath had never felt drawn to life on the beat; now it seemed less attractive than ever.
‘Thank you, gentlemen.’ Weiss drew the minute’s silence to a close, and the room filled with noise again.
Only now did he mention the state of the investigation. Initial enquiries from Section 1A, the political police, had revealed that the shooting was coordinated by Communist headquarters, and, for this reason, Weiss had ordered a series of searches. The ban on the Spartakiad was now to be implemented in all its force. Weiss had already forbidden the Communist sports event a few days ago, as well as an SA event scheduled for the same day. In his campaign against the violent, so-called politicians who had brought Germany to the brink of civil war, Bernhard Weiss, himself a former chief of the political police, was consistent like no other Prussian officer.
‘Now let us move on to something altogether more agreeable,’ he said, smiling for the first time. ‘There is another reason I have gathered you here. In fact there are several reasons; specifically, the men sitting directly in front of me today.’
Weiss paused, and the atmosphere grew restless as everyone tried to see who was in the front row. Rath craned his neck, but couldn’t see past the bulky Ernst Gennat, who was sitting in the third or fourth row.
‘These are your new colleagues,’ Weiss continued. ‘CID is being supplemented by a number of cadets. Despite the compulsory saving measures imposed by the government, we are doing everything in our power to avoid police numbers being cut.’
‘And what are you doing to avoid police salaries being cut?’ a heckler shouted. Everyone turned, but the man was nowhere to be seen. No one dared laugh and Weiss remained calm.
‘I see many well-nourished faces before me. To my knowledge, no CID officer has died of starvation this year. Should you genuinely be living in want and find yourself unable to afford the canteen, come and see me in my office. Just make sure you don’t go nosing about Superintendent Gennat’s cake selection.’ A few colleagues laughed, but not many. ‘Back to our cadets,’ Weiss said. ‘Allow me to invite the men onto the stage.’
Rath heard chairs shifting as half a dozen young men lined up in front of them.
‘Messrs Start, Tornow, Schütz, Weisshaupt, Marx and Kluge begin their service as cadets today. Initially, they are assigned to J Division, as Warrants are currently suffering the greatest shortages. However, they can be assigned to other divisions on a case-by-case basis, at the discretion of Chief Scholz.’
Second from the left was the police lieutenant Rath had encountered outside Weiss’s office. He cut an immaculate figure in a suit. Tornow, the deputy said his name was.
‘I ask that you remain on hand with help and advice for these men,’ Weiss continued. ‘Most of you were in Uniform not so long ago, exposing yourselves to great danger in the service of our democratic state. If you are teamed with one of our cadets, please exercise patience as you show them the ropes. Remember, in time, one of these gentlemen could be your superior.’ He paused until the laughter died. ‘All joking aside, yesterday’s events remind us how important it is to work together, with rather than against one another.’
Rath couldn’t be sure through Weiss’s thick reading glasses, but he felt as if the deputy had his eyes trained on him. It was probably just his imagination, an inherent sense of guilt exacerbated by his rigorous Catholic upbringing. Appeal over, Weiss brought the meeting to an end. The officers stood up and gradually filtered out of the room. In their midst moved a man whose vast frame made him impossible to overlook.
Rath considered whether he should speak to Gennat. Perhaps the chief of Homicide could exert a little pressure, even if it was clear that Bernhard Weiss had no intention of withdrawing Rath and his men from the Goldstein operation. Why the whole thing couldn’t be transferred to Warrants, Rath didn’t know, especially now that they had a few extra hands. After all, what better job was there for a cadet than a stake-out? Rath headed towards Buddha, before hesitating. Wilhelm Böhm stood alongside the superintendent. It would have to be Böhm! Approaching the two detectives he overheard the Bulldog mention something about a robbery homicide that wasn’t.
‘Good morning, Superintendent.’ Rath tipped his hat. ‘Detective Chief Inspector.’
‘Ah, Inspector Rath,’ Gennat said. Böhm broke off mid-sentence and cast the troublemaker an angry glance. ‘I see you’re back,’ Gennat continued. ‘How is everything going?’
‘Fine, thank you for asking. I just wanted to check what was happening in A Division. We don’t hear much out in the field. Looks like the number of cases is on the rise again.’
‘Yes, a real tragedy, this business with our colleague. We’ll touch on it in briefing later.’
‘And DCI Böhm is investigating a death as well, I hear?’
Böhm shot him a second, angrier glance, which Rath chalked up as a minor victory.
‘We found a corpse yesterday in Friedrichshain,’ Gennat said. ‘A second-hand dealer in a pretty bad way at the back of his shop. Everything points towards robbery homicide, except the man was a known fence with links to the Berolina Ringverein.’
‘Which is why I suspect a different motive,’ Böhm butted in. ‘Berolina and the Nordpiraten are at loggerheads and it wouldn’t surprise me if the robbery homicide was staged. There are, at any rate, a few discrepancies.’
Rath’s ears pricked up. ‘You think there’s someone out there settling underworld scores? What do you think?’ he asked Gennat. ‘Would it be possible for me to take part in today’s Homicide briefing? Just to keep up to date, in case my men report back for duty in the next few days.’