She took the U-Bahn to Magdalenenstrasse. The way to Wagnerplatz seemed steeper than usual, the walk more arduous. Everything had changed since yesterday. The District Court building appeared strange and forbidding. The window on the first floor was open, and, for a moment, she thought it hadn’t been closed since yesterday.
It felt almost as if she was entering for the first time. Like that day six months ago when, heart pounding, she had stepped through the doors and her gaze had fallen on the marble slab in the lobby that had survived even the revolution: Wipe your feet/No smoking/Use a spittoon. Three commands, etched in stone, that told visitors in no uncertain terms what was expected of them in this building. Charly had never felt comfortable here thanks to Weber, who was the living embodiment of those expectations.
She jostled past a few people and climbed the stairs, needing to get the news off her chest, to rehabilitate herself in front of her boss. Now that she was back on Alex Reinhold’s tail, she felt hope again.
Weber looked surprised as she entered. ‘Fräulein Ritter? I thought I had relieved you of your duties.’
‘Some good news, Sir. I wanted to let you know.’
He eyed her suspiciously, none too pleased that she was back just one day after the incident. ‘You have something to tell me? When I’ve been trying to contact you for hours.’
‘I was out the whole morning.’
‘Yes, I noticed.’
‘That doesn’t matter now.’ Charly pulled herself together, trying not to sound too euphoric. ‘I’ve managed to identify the girl; I think it’s only a matter of time before I… before we track her down. Her name is Alexandra Reinhold and…’
Weber interrupted her. ‘Great news. So, you know the girl’s name.’ Charly’s euphoria disintegrated like a dry leaf. ‘Since you’ve taken the trouble to come here, allow me to confide something in you: I know what she’s been up to.’
‘Pardon me?’
Weber shook his head, as if unable to comprehend her dim-wittedness. ‘My dear Fräulein Ritter…’ she hated it when he spoke to her like this, mixing false sympathy and contempt. He shook his head as he spoke, and repeated his opening line in the tone of a psychiatrist dealing with a patient. ‘My dear Fräulein Ritter… It seems the girl who escaped your custody yesterday is the second member of the KaDeWe duo. You remember, of course? Sonnabend. The dead boy.’
Charly felt the blood rising to her face as Weber continued. Though it had since been replaced by a new dressing, it was now apparent that the girl’s bandage was in fact a rag torn from the dead intruder’s shirt. The original had been retrieved from the 81st precinct’s ash can, where suspicions had subsequently been confirmed. CID had launched a further investigation and discovered that the girl’s blood group matched that of the sample left by the KaDeWe duo at the display cases. Everything pointed to the fact that an unidentified girl who was being sought citywide had fallen into police hands by chance. This same girl had then managed to escape from the Lichtenberg District Court, of all places, which, of course, hardly showed the authority in a positive light. Charly listened, but felt all at sea, as if Weber were speaking to another person.
‘At any rate,’ he concluded, ‘Inspector Nebe from Robbery Division wishes to speak with you urgently. After which you are to contact Homicide…’
‘Homicide?’ It was the first word Charly managed to get out. What did her old colleagues in A Division want?
‘An Assistant Detective… Lange,’ Weber continued. ‘I’d advise you to be on your way as soon as possible. Best before they finish for the day.’
He no longer attempted to conceal his grin.
40
Reinhold Gräf brooded over the file Böhm had left him. It was from Section 1A, the political police: the politicals hadn’t kept a file on Gerhard Kubicki, but had been monitoring the storm unit he had joined several months ago, detailing a few fights with Communists, but nothing more serious until now.
He snapped the file shut, pushed it away and gazed at Gereon Rath’s abandoned desk. Was this really more exciting than surveillance work at the Excelsior? At least over there he breathed fresh air once in a while. It appeared Wilhelm Böhm didn’t want him to leave the office. New files kept arriving as the DCI was driven around town. It seemed to Gräf that he was suffering Böhm’s mood swings on Gereon’s behalf. To think, they had been a good team when he was still an assistant detective, but that was a distant memory now.
There was a knock. Erika Voss entered and placed another file on Gräf’s desk. ‘Just in on the Kubicki case,’ she said. ‘From E Division this time.’
He looked at it curiously. ‘An SA man who’s attracted the attention of Vice? Was he a pimp?’
‘No idea. I didn’t look inside.’
Gräf opened the file and whistled through his teeth. ‘A 175er. He was caught in a fairly notorious establishment.’
‘A gay Nazi? I thought they were against that sort of thing.’
‘They are in theory. In practice, things are a little different. Haven’t you heard? Apparently, the new SA chief of staff is a homosexual.’
‘If only the Führer knew,’ Erika Voss said, and disappeared back inside the outer office.
Gräf gazed after her. Was she being ironic? He worked his way through the file in astonishment. The kind of places Kubicki frequented were exactly the sort the Nazis would close down, given half the chance. When he had finished reading the file he asked to be put through to the political police. ‘Detective Gräf, Homicide. Could you send me everything connected with the Berlin SA and homosexuality?’
Half an hour later there was a mountain of files on his desk. He opened the first just as the telephone rang.
‘Gräf, Homicide.’
‘I read your appeal in the BZ. You’re seeking witnesses?’
The lunchtime papers had run the article. ‘That’s right. Did you see something?’
‘I know exactly what happened in Humboldthain.’
Gräf took out a pencil. ‘Go on.’
‘A brown arsehole got what was coming to him. That’s what happened!’
‘Who am I speaking to, please?’
‘My name has fuck all to do with you. You pigs are in cahoots with the Nazis. Social fascists!’
Gräf was speechless. He tried to think of an appropriate response, but nothing came.
The caller hung up.
41
Charly knew Arthur Nebe from her time in A Division. The head of Robbery was in Narcotics then, but had been brought in by Gennat to help Homicide on a number of occasions. Recently, he had solved the sensational murder of a chauffeur and been showered with praise by the press. He was an experienced, if slightly aloof, criminal investigator with a distinctive nose, whose eyes sparkled with thwarted ambition.
Although he was pushing forty, he hadn’t progressed beyond the rank of inspector, despite being seen as one of Bernhard Weiss’s favourites. In this he was in good company. The Castle’s moratorium on promotions applied to everyone, whether top brass liked you or not. Gereon, whose special relationship with Zörgiebel had brought him little more than envy, had learned that the hard way.
Nebe seemed surprised when he saw Charly. ‘It’s you?’ he said.
‘You know me?’