The garage was somewhere in the north, but the thought of being able to drive again made the long train journey more bearable. Second-class wasn’t especially full; most people travelling on this line were content with third.
Rath took his cigarette case from his coat, lit an Overstolz and thought about Böhm’s report at briefing. So, Kallweit was tortured before his death. Did Berolina have a secret the Nordpiraten were trying to extract? If so, it could mean than Hugo Lenz was sitting in a cellar in north Berlin being strong-armed by the Pirates. He was suddenly grateful to Johann Marlow for giving him a little investigative work. At least with Red Hugo’s mysterious disappearance he had something to think about while he twiddled his thumbs in the Excelsior.
For a moment he actually thought Gennat would give him the corpse in Humboldthain, but Böhm got it after all, in addition to his dead fence. Weiss seemed to have issued Buddha with a clear brief: on no account is Inspector Rath to be handed a homicide case. This, despite all the deaths A Division was currently investigating. Charly was probably right: the Goldstein operation was a punishment Weiss had meted out personally.
He displayed his police identification to the conductor instead of a ticket. He was already at Wedding, and would continue to the final stop at Seestrasse. From there it was another two kilometres by tram. Jotwede, as the Berliners said. Bloody miles.
Rath didn’t reach his destination for another half hour. In the light of day, the garage looked dirtier than he remembered. He crossed the courtyard and entered through a wide-open steel door. No one paid any notice. A Mercedes stood on the hoist. Below was a mechanic with a screwdriver. Another four men were gathered around an engine block discussing some technical problem. Rath gave a polite cough but, again, no one paid any attention. He took a large spanner from an oil-smeared table and tossed it on the concrete floor. Now the men turned around.
‘What do you want? Orders are next door in the office.’
‘I don’t want to put in an order, I want to pick up my car.’
‘Next door for that too.’
The office was deserted. Rath looked at his watch. Time was getting on and he couldn’t leave Gräf in the Excelsior for ever. He rang the bell on the desk and, after what felt like an eternity, heard a toilet flushing. A bored-looking man with a car magazine in his hand emerged from the back. ‘Steady on,’ he said.
‘I’m here to pick up my car.’
‘Order number?’
‘No idea. The Buick I brought to you the night before last. An emergency. It was supposed to be ready this morning, your colleague said.’
‘What colleague?’
‘Blond type. Clean-shaven. It doesn’t matter.’
‘A Buick, you say?’
‘Model 26 ES, sand-coloured.’
The man leafed leisurely through the mound of papers on the desk. ‘No Buick here.’
‘The car’s outside. I saw it myself.’
‘Then it hasn’t been repaired.’ The man reached for the telephone. ‘Heinz, can you come here?’ he said into the mouthpiece.
‘This can’t be right,’ Rath said. ‘The car was supposed to be ready by today. Your colleague promised. I need it professionally.’
The man shrugged his shoulders and Rath had to fight the urge to give him the hurry-up with his Walther. The same boiler-suited man who had hounded him out of the shop appeared, chewing a sausage sandwich.
‘The Buick?’ Heinz asked himself, looking through a second mound of papers. ‘That’s right,’ he said, as if only now had it occurred to him. ‘The carburettor!’
‘What do you mean, the carburettor? I needed four new tyres, new headlights and a few spots of paint. Nothing more!’
‘We had your car on the hoist. The carburettor needs replacing, nothing we can do there. Didn’t you notice anything while you were driving?’
Rath shook his head. The carburettor! Bloody hell. Well, the Free State of Prussia could foot the bill. ‘When will you have it fixed?’
‘We’ll need to order replacement parts,’ said Heinz, taking another bite from his sandwich and scratching his head. ‘That’ll take time as it’s an American model.’
‘I’m glad you’ve noticed. So, when can I have my car back?’
‘Thursday could work.’
‘Woe betide you if I come out here tomorrow and…’
‘Tomorrow? Heinz put on his most idiotic face. ‘Not tomorrow, Thursday week.’
‘You’re pulling my leg? I need my car professionally!’
‘We can offer you a replacement vehicle,’ the man at the desk said. ‘Heinz, will you provide the customer with a car please.’
Heinz shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and led Rath into the courtyard, past the damaged Buick. All four tyres were still flat.
‘Did you really have the car on the hoist?’ Rath asked, but Heinz wasn’t listening. He moved past all the vehicles Rath could have pictured driving away in, essayed a sharp turn by the shop floor and came to a halt. ‘Here she is, the Hanomag,’ he said.
Rath thought he was dreaming. A cyclops was staring back at him, a cyclops that had been shrunk to the size of dwarf. ‘What on earth is that?’
‘A lick of paint and she’ll be good to go.’
The one-eyed car standing in the corner, all shy and reserved, was the polar opposite of Marlow’s Duesenberg. It wasn’t just the paltry ten horsepower, but the fact that its designer had only given it one headlight and a single door.
‘You’re not serious!’
‘It’s a reliable car,’ Heinz replied indignantly. ‘German craftsmanship.’
‘Do you have any others?’
‘It’s this one or the BVG. Your choice.’
With a heavy heart Rath opted against making the return journey by public transport.
37
The uniformed officer was barely recognisable. A bandage ran across his face from below his eyes, held in place by sticking plasters. Lange calmly arranged his files, scribbling notes and making ticks in the margin. He and the man hadn’t exchanged a word after a brief greeting. Hilda Steffens looked forlorn with her notepad and pencil.
None of his colleagues were interested in the case, making his presentation at morning briefing a resounding success. He had reeled off a series of platitudes, agreed in advance with Gennat, and no one had asked any questions. No one in the Castle could guess that Assistant Detective Andreas Lange suspected a police officer of murder. Before any information leaked out, the public prosecutor had to have all the evidence, and it needed to be watertight.
First he had to be sure he was on the right track. It wouldn’t do any harm to keep the man in suspense. He was already on edge, that much was clear from his face, even if he was making every effort to hide it.
‘Looks pretty nasty, that injury of yours,’ Lange began finally, out of the blue, gaze still directed on his files. ‘How did it come about?’
Kuschke started as if he had been awoken, and Hilda Steffens’ pencil began scratching across the page. Kuschke looked at her in irritation. ‘Is this an interrogation?’ he asked.
‘Witness examination,’ Lange said, fixing the man with a stare.
This observation seemed to displease Kuschke, who was here for the second time. Recovering himself he decided to fight back.
‘In the line of duty.’ He leaned back provocatively. ‘The sort of thing that wouldn’t happen to you. Unless little Miss here’s ever pricked you with her pencil?’
The scratch of the pencil ceased for a moment. Lange ignored the attempt to provoke him. ‘What duty, exactly?’ he asked.
‘I thought this was about KaDeWe.’