‘No, I’ve seen her somewhere else, I think. I just don’t know where. How long was she in with him?’
‘No idea.’ Gräf looked in the notebook. ‘I didn’t see her go in. Was it when I was in the toilet?’
Rath shook his head. ‘I didn’t see anything. She must have spent the night with him.’
‘Come off it! Your imagination’s running wild.’
‘You said it yesterday yourself. He had the chambermaid for breakfast.’
‘That was a joke.’ Gräf was outraged. ‘She’ll be out on her ear if this gets out!’
Rath shrugged.
Gräf took his hat and coat. ‘So,’ he said, ‘I’m off to stretch my legs. See you later.’
‘No you won’t. I’ve got an assignment for you – from Gennat himself. You’re to head back to the Castle and report to Böhm. They’ve got a new case. A corpse has been found in Humboldthain.’
He said it as casually as possible, but Gräf froze in mid-motion, his coat only half on.
‘What about you?’ Gräf looked like a scarecrow with his dangling coat sleeves.
‘I’m staying put. Someone’s got to look after the important jobs.’
39
Charly had already visited three of the Reinhold families in Friedrichshain. At the first door no one opened; the second family, the Reinholds in Romintener Strasse, had only been blessed with sons; and at the third address a woman of at least seventy answered. It transpired that she was unmarried and took the very question of a daughter or granddaughter named Alexandra as an insult.
Here in Grünberger Strasse, the fourth address on the list, Charly was having difficulties even finding the name Reinhold. She compared Gereon’s note with the house number again: Grünberger Strasse 64. The address was right, but there were no Reinholds here, either with a ‘d’ or a ‘dt’.
A man in grey overalls was sweeping the yard, shouting at a few boys playing football. He kept on until they finally picked up their homemade ball and pushed off. Charly went across.
‘The Reinholds haven’t lived here for a long time. They were given the boot around Christmas.’ He had a Berlin accent.
‘The Reinhold family is on the streets?’
Charly was so excited she didn’t realise she was thinking out loud. She had a good feeling about this: family on the streets, daughter neglected. Everything seemed to fit.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ the man said. ‘I didn’t turf them out! I just keep things tidy, but that’s how it goes when you don’t pay your rent.’
‘But a family… with children?’
‘Are you from Welfare or something?’ Charly looked at him steadily as the words sputtered out. ‘You couldn’t call them a family anymore. They do have one respectable son, Helmut, but he won’t have anything to do with them. If he’s sensible, that is. The younger brother, Karl, is almost certainly in Moscow by now, or wherever it is the Reds are hiding him. He’s a wanted man. Didn’t you know? The Beckmann murder.’
The name didn’t mean anything to Charly, but she hadn’t worked in Homicide for a long time. She shook her head as the man continued.
‘Heinrich Beckmann was the buildings manager here. It was in all the papers. Karl Reinhold’s meant to have shot him dead, that’s what people say. About the rent, maybe, but maybe also because Beckmann was in the SA, and little Kalle was in the RFB, the Red Front. Like father like son and, well… since the murder he’s vanished. His sister as well, maybe she’s involved too, a right little devil, she was. The cops were asking after both of them anyway. And now they’re gone. Strange wouldn’t you say?’
Charly was overwhelmed by the torrent of words, but remembered the story. It had made the headlines around Christmas. The Nazis had made a meal of it at the time but decided that SA-Führer Heinrich Beckmann didn’t have it in him to be a second Horst Wessel. At some point the matter had ceased to interest people. ‘You’re well informed,’ she said.
‘You’ve got to keep a close eye on those Reds, best to know who’s living in your building.’
‘I take it you’re not a Communist then…’
‘Do I look like one?’
‘The sister, you don’t happen to know what she’s called?’
‘Alex. Well, Alexandra, actually. You must have that in your files.’
He still thought she was from Welfare. ‘Of course,’ she said, and smiled, ‘but do I look as if I’ve brought my filing cabinet?’
Kopernikusstrasse was lined with tenements, and the mouldings were crumbling on the fronts. The building where Helmut Reinhold lived was the only one to have been given a lick of paint since the war. Charly had come by a few hours ago but no one had been home; now the door opened first time. A woman looked at her out of tired eyes amid the smell of fried onions.
‘Good afternoon, I’d like to see Helmut Reinhold, please. Am I in the right place?’
The woman nodded. ‘My husband’s eating at the moment. What do you want from him?’
‘Just a few questions about his sister. It won’t take long.’
The caretaker didn’t know where the rest of the Reinhold family were staying, but he’d given her the older brother’s address, so Charly had returned to the flat where she’d stood in vain that morning. Beforehand she had sat in a little cafe at Boxhagener Platz and treated herself to a cup of tea and a read of the papers. The headlines of the regional section were dominated by the fatal shooting on Frankfurter Allee. There was no mention of a girl who had escaped from Lichtenberg District Court.
‘You wanted to speak to me?’
A powerfully built man in his mid-twenties stood at the door. Helmut Reinhold was just as reluctant to ask her in as his wife.
‘You’re Alexandra Reinhold’s brother?’
The man nodded. ‘That’s the reason you’re here, Martha says.’ He eyed Charly suspiciously. ‘From the Welfare Office, are you? Well, you could have saved yourself the bother. I haven’t seen Alex in almost a year.’
‘Apparently she’s living on the streets…’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘Could she be staying with your parents?’
‘Typical Welfare, no idea about anything!’ Helmut Reinhold was another who associated a woman asking questions at his doorstep with the Welfare Office. He shook his head. ‘Do you know why Alex has been living on the streets all this time? Because my dear old father kicked her out a few days before Christmas.’
‘Then why don’t you take her in?’
‘If only I knew where she was. But she won’t come to me, she’s too proud for that.’
‘You sound as if you don’t care much for your parents.’
‘I can’t see how that’s any of your concern.’
‘In as much as it concerns your sister.’
‘My father hasn’t spoken a single word to me since my wedding. I invited my parents but they didn’t come. Mother sent a card, that was all. His signature wasn’t on it.’
‘Your parents are homeless. Isn’t it time to bury the hatchet?’
‘I went out to see them,’ he said bitterly, ‘to this camp on the Müggelsee, and was about to offer them a bed with me and Martha, but…’ He fell silent. ‘He can go hang for all I care.’
‘Is it possible that Alexandra is there?’
‘What do I know? Listen, I thought this was supposed to be a brief chat. I’d like to finish eating. I need to go back on shift soon.’ He slammed the door in her face.
There were many more questions Charly could have asked, about the missing brother, the Beckmann murder, about Alex’s friends and acquaintances, places where she might have found shelter, but the closing of the front door left her in no doubt that it would be pointless coming back. At least she knew where to find Alex’s parents.