‘For God’s sake, Kirie, to heel!’ He pulled furiously on the lead. The dog gave a brief yelp and looked back in surprise, but at least she stopped. Charly too.
‘What on earth’s the matter with you?’ she said. ‘Pull yourself together.’
‘We should have left the dog at home.’
‘So she can keep the whole building awake? You know she doesn’t like being on her own.’
‘Maybe all three of us should have stayed at home.’
‘If it’s too much for you then you should have said.’
‘It’s fine. I just had a lousy day, that’s all. Sorry.’
Rath was still annoyed that he’d let himself be talked into it. God knows, he could imagine better things than searching for a homeless camp on the Müggelsee. If he was right, then this business with Charly’s fugitive had come to a head, and Alex Reinhold was no mere fare-dodger. She was also involved in one of the most spectacular break-ins of recent times, as well as two possible murders.
First Beckmann, one of Böhm’s cold cases. Heinrich Beckmann was shot dead in his flat on the evening of December 20th. There was no sign of the killer, but witnesses attested that they had seen Karl Reinhold emerge from the house. Others claimed to have seen his sister Alexandra entering the building around ten minutes beforehand. Both had been missing until yesterday afternoon, when Alexandra had done a bunk from Lichtenberg District Court. Her parents had been thrown out of the flat just two days after the murder, a forced eviction which Beckmann, the buildings manager, had set in motion on the morning of his death.
The second murder had to do with the KaDeWe break-in. Some of the spoils had been found with the dead Berolina fence. Whatever Alex’s role in these cases, Charly’s error had taken on a new significance, and could no longer be brushed aside.
Although needing to find the girl as quickly as possible, Rath still couldn’t see the use in visiting her homeless parents, especially when questioning them had been a dead end six months before. ‘You have her name, you’ve tracked down her family and you’ve even dug up an old case, so why don’t you just leave the rest to Warrants,’ he said once Charly had told him everything. It was meant to be comforting, but she had looked at him with that blank gaze he so hated, that ever so slightly contemptuous gaze which seemed to say: how can you still not understand me?
The settlement, a strange mix of campsite and shanty town, was clean and tidy, almost as if it were regularly swept. The smell of fried potatoes hung in the air. They reached a kind of square where wood was neatly stacked in the middle. A woman was hanging out washing and two children were playing tag, otherwise there was no one to be seen. The woman eyed the two well-dressed visitors suspiciously. The last rays of the setting sun made the scene appear almost idyllic.
The hairs on the back of Kirie’s neck stood up and she growled.
The woman took the wash basket and disappeared inside one of the shacks and a dog started barking fiercely.
‘Hold Kirie tight,’ Charly said.
Rath had already wrapped the lead several times around his wrist, but Kirie made no attempt to break free. She stood stock-still, growling to herself and quivering like an electric motor with fur. She gazed at the lane which led into the middle of the settlement. The barking grew louder, and at last they saw a big dog the colour of a cockroach, an unhealthy mix of Dobermann, Rottweiler and Werewolf rolled into one.
Rath realised to his horror that the monster wasn’t on a lead. For a moment it stayed where it was and looked at the newcomers curiously, before breaking into a trot and making straight for them. Now Kirie started barking too, yapping at the onrushing jumble of muscles, hide and teeth, but she sounded like she always did: harmless. She certainly didn’t scare the charging brute. Rath stood stiff as a board, feeling as if his heart had stopped. The dog was only a few metres away when there was a shrill whistle and it threw itself to the ground.
A man of perhaps thirty was sitting in the shadow of a corrugated iron wall. He stood and went over to the dog. ‘Good boy,’ he said, patting the dog on the back of the head. ‘Good boy,Stalin.’
The dog looked at Rath and Charly as if he wasn’t finished with them yet.
Rath stood close to Charly, whose face was slowly regaining its colour. Stalin’s master left the dog where it was and approached.
‘If you’re from the public order office, I advise you not to show up here without the police.’
Rath was about to pull out his identification when Charly nudged him in the side.
‘We’re looking for Emil Reinhold,’ she said. ‘Apparently he lives here with his wife.’
‘What do you want from him?’
‘We’re friends of Helmut’s,’ Charly said. ‘The son of…’
‘I know who Helmut Reinhold is, but I don’t know if Emil will have much time for him. Or his Social Democrat friends.’
‘That’s why he sent us.’ Charly lied. Rath was astonished at how convincing she was. ‘He knows his father resents him, and he’d like to make peace.’
‘So you’re his envoys, are you?’ The man laughed. ‘There I was thinking you were cops.’ He ran both hands over the dog’s neck fur. ‘Stalin has an allergic reaction to cops. But…’ He lifted his hat towards Charly, ‘then I saw there was a lady present.’
‘So where can we find Herr Reinhold?’ the lady asked.
The man pointed in the direction of the shore. ‘Down there by the lake. See the trail of smoke?’
Charly nodded and pulled Rath away. Stalin followed them with his eyes, but stayed where he was even when Kirie issued a brief, spirited bark. Rath pulled the lead and she followed obediently.
Emil Reinhold’s hut was a former Christmas market stall. Rath had difficulty imagining it had ever been so badly put together as here on the banks of the Müggelsee. The roof looked as if it were built solely for the purpose of gathering rainwater, before transmitting it inside, drop by drop. The side wall didn’t appear to have a single right angle. Clearly, Emil Reinhold was no carpenter. In front of the entrance he had constructed a little lean-to, which was covered with what might have been a grey flysheet, or perhaps a discarded lorry tarpaulin.
Rath gave Charly a nod, positioned himself by the fitted door and knocked. An ill-tempered man of about fifty appeared. ‘Emil Reinhold?’ The man nodded. ‘My name is Ritter, and this is Herr Rath. We’re looking for your daughter Alexandra.’
‘Well, you’re in the wrong place.’ Reinhold tried to shut the door, but Charly had wedged her foot in the crack.
‘Perhaps you have some idea where we might find her. Your son, Helmut…’
The mention of his son acted like a trigger on him. ‘So, that’s the way the wind is blowing. Is Helmut sending his Sozi friends, because he no longer dares come here himself?’ He gestured towards the settlement. ‘Take a look around. This is the mess you Social Democrats have landed us in. Class traitors!’ He spat, and Charly had to move her feet to avoid being hit.
‘Herr Reinhold, we’re not Social Democrats; this isn’t about Helmut, it’s about your daughter!’
‘I don’t know where she is, and I don’t want to know. Maybe she’s started at Wertheim again. If he’s so keen to see her he can go looking for her himself.’
‘We’re looking,’ Charly said. ‘Because we’re afraid something bad has happened. We want to help her.’
‘And who is we?’ Charly gave Rath a nudge and he pulled out his identification. Reinhold stared at the metal badge. ‘I thought you wanted to help her?’
‘We do,’ said Rath.
‘Always nice to hear from your local police department.’ The man gave a jerky laugh. ‘Go on, you have my blessing. Give that brat what for. If you find her that is!’