‘A Jew?’ Gräf looked up. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Who else goes around in black with a beard and sidelocks? It isn’t Carnival yet.’
‘From the beginning, I said. What exactly did you see?’
‘I was in the U-Bahn station, and…’
‘Which U-Bahn station?’
‘The one here, of course. Gesundbrunnen. Where else? I was waiting for my train.’
The comforting scratch of Christel Temme’s pencil made Gräf feel as if he were sitting behind his own desk at the Castle. ‘OK, go on.’
‘Well, a Jew was waiting there too. Then the Nazis came. The man from the paper was there, the murder victim. I recognised him straightaway from the photo.’
‘What happened on the platform?’ This might be the first witness they could take seriously.
‘Not much. At some point the Jew went up the stairs. And the SA followed.’
‘Just like that?’
‘They made fun of him a little first. Nothing serious.’
‘Nothing serious…’
‘I don’t know why he scarpered. The train had just arrived.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I got on the train.’
‘See anything else?’
The man shook his head. ‘I was already on the train. They all went upstairs.’
‘How many were there?’
‘Four or five.’
Gräf took out the photo of Scharführer Günter Sieger he had found in the political files, and pushed it across the table. ‘Was this man one of them?’ he asked.
The witness only needed a brief glance. He looked at Gräf and nodded.
53
Rath fought against sleep by sketching meaningless patterns in his notebook. He had already had five cups of coffee with no discernible effect. Last night had been late, but he still hadn’t got any sleep when he finally crept into bed. He began to miss the cognac in Moabit. He could have done with it at Luisenufer, and urgently needed to get hold of a bottle today. Three more nights without sleep and he’d be on his last legs.
It would have to be the grinning man! Rath had wished that idiot to hell the moment he first clapped eyes on him. He clearly had designs on Charly, even if she always denied it. Rath had actually thought he was rid of him, but old perma-smile had just been waiting for his chance. Well, now it had arrived. The widow chaser! He should have socked him one on the nose, damn it!
The lift opened and a boy placed a cup of coffee on the antique desk, clearing away the empty cup at the same time. Rath could no longer stand the table surface with its intarsia-decorated top, the lift, even the doors. He was sick of the whole hotel, except, perhaps, for the service.
He had been glad to see Goldstein crawl into his suite like a bear entering hibernation, chalking up a victory in their little contest, which had begun with the car chase on the first day. Now, he longed for their next encounter. Rath couldn’t understand why the Yank didn’t just skip town. What business did he still have here? Was he lulling his minders into a false sense of security, all the better to strike? Or perhaps he was taking care of his affairs from the comfort of his hotel room, and they had been watching him in vain the whole time?
Well, Rath thought, so long as he isn’t out on the streets spraying bullets and creating anti-Semitic headlines, we’re doing our job.
Someone appeared in the corridor and all of a sudden he sprung awake. She hadn’t come out of room 301, but was pushing a laundry cart down the corridor. He intercepted her before she could disappear.
‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’ he asked.
‘Assuming you’re not blind. You’ve been here a few days now, haven’t you? In front of the lifts?’ She pointed with her chin towards the desk.
‘I don’t mean from here.’ She shot him a questioning look. ‘Two words. Venus. And Keller.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘The Venuskeller? You’ve never heard of it? It’s a nightclub, an illegal nightclub.’
‘Do I look like the sort of person who hangs around illegal nightclubs?’
‘I’d be willing to bet I’ve seen you onstage at the Venuskeller.’
She eyed him suspiciously. ‘And if you had? Are you trying to blackmail me?’
‘I just think it’s strange I should see you here again, of all places.’
She looked him up and down. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you were the type.’
‘I used to work in Vice.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘So, you are a police officer!’
‘Word’s got around then.’
‘Do you really think anyone believes that author rubbish Teubner’s been putting about?’ She looked at him with contempt. ‘A bit strange for an author to have four different faces, don’t you think?’
‘Your hotel detective insisted on the story in order not to unsettle the guests. I hope I can count on your discretion.’
She tried to push the cart onwards, past the lifts and into the next corridor. Rath blocked her path.
‘What is this? Let me get on with my work!’
‘Just a few words on the guest in three-o-one.’
‘The American?’
‘The very same. Have you noticed anything suspicious in the past few days?’
‘Depends on what you mean by suspicious. That he rarely goes out, perhaps. He seems to have a lot to do, anyway. He’s almost always in his room when I bring in fresh towels or make up the bed.’
‘What makes you think he has a lot to do?’
‘The fact that he spends the whole day in his room, on the telephone.’
‘Have you managed to listen in on any of his conversations?’
‘I don’t speak English.’
Rath gave her his card. ‘If you should think of anything, let me know. What was your name again?’
‘Marion.’ She put the card in her pocket. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I really have to be getting on.’
There was a pling and the left-hand lift opened. Rath gave an imaginary tip of the hat and returned to his desk. Marion wheeled the laundry cart on past.
54
In his day-to-day life Günter Sieger, who occupied the rank of SA-Scharführer, was caretaker of a run-down tenement on Bernauer Strasse. Gräf caught him eating lunch. The smell of sauerkraut and smoked pork loins reminded him how empty his own stomach was. Apart from half a bread roll and a cup of coffee, he hadn’t eaten anything all day.
The interviews in the 50th precinct had dragged. A further four witnesses had confirmed the story that, led by Scharführer Sieger and dressed in full regalia in spite of the uniform ban, Kubicki’s SA troop had abused an old Jew at Gesundbrunnen U-Bahn station. A witness reported that the abuse had continued upstairs until the man fled the station building. ‘That was when the other man became involved,’ he said. ‘He can count his lucky stars the Nazis went after the Jew, otherwise they’d have given him a good thrashing.’
Gräf had sent Christel Temme back to Alex. He had no need of a stenographer out here. His joint operations with Charly had been very different. More than just a stenographer, Charly thought like a CID officer. Christel Temme, on the other hand, didn’t think at all, she just took notes. Her reward was to sit down for lunch at the same time each day in the canteen while Gräf stared hungrily at the other man’s food.
‘You don’t have anything against me eating?’ Sieger said. No sign of a wife, perhaps the Scharführer was gay too. No hasty conclusions now, Gräf thought. You eat alone too. If you eat at all.