This morning Weiss had invited Rath to submit a report. He opened the garden gate and entered an oasis of green. A walnut tree stood by the fence, with apple and pear trees in the middle of the lawn.
‘Are you looking for Papa?’ a child’s voice asked from above.
He looked up and saw a kind of treehouse in an old beech. A girl of eight or nine was gazing down curiously.
He nodded.
‘Are you a criminal?’ she asked, deadly serious.
Rath couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I don’t think so. I work for your father.’
‘Then you’re a policeman?’
He nodded again.
‘You can see how well guarded I am,’ a deep voice said. ‘No one gets by my Hilde unseen.’
Dr Bernhard Weiss stood outside the house, his hands buried in light canvas trousers. Over his shirt he wore a thin knitted waistcoat. ‘Please come in, Inspector,’ he said. ‘We have matters to discuss.’
‘I fear we do, Sir.’
Inside, a maid took his hat and coat.
‘We don’t want any disruptions,’ Weiss said, leading Rath into a spacious office that was far more impressive than his room at Alex.
At an upholstered suite, a pot of coffee and two cups stood on the table, along with fresh pastries. Rath interpreted that as a good sign. ‘Have you heard anything from Warrants?’ he asked.
‘Nor did I expect to,’ said Weiss. ‘We don’t even have a photo. In a city this large, all a description will get you is the wrong man. Or no man at all.’ Weiss poured coffee for his guest. ‘What have you found out, Inspector?’
‘According to what we know so far, the fugitive must have had help. What with our surveillance, he could only have made it outside using a pass key. He must have used an adjoining room, then taken the staff staircase.’
‘We should have thought of that.’
‘If we’d wanted to guard all exits, we’d have needed seven or eight men, but…’
‘I’m not making accusations. You did your best.’ For some reason, Weiss spoke momentarily in Berlin dialect before switching back.
‘I hope you’re right, Sir.’
‘You asked for reinforcements that I was unable to provide. Given the circumstances, keeping his room under surveillance made most sense. We couldn’t expect the man to get his hands on a pass key.’
Rath nodded.
‘You don’t have any leads?’ Weiss asked.
‘We have a statement from the laundry driver, who was surprised to see an elegantly dressed man with two suitcases at the staff exit. We asked him to describe the man, and it’s as close to a match as we’re likely to get. The driver says he left the hotel on Friday morning around six.’
‘Almost twelve hours before his disappearance was uncovered.’
‘We’ve been trying to trace him through the Taxi Drivers’ Guild. So far to no avail. It’s possible he took the U-Bahn. He did that a week ago when trying to give me the slip.’
‘Do you know how he got hold of the pass key?’
‘The hotel detective’s looking into it.’
‘Well,’ Weiss said. ‘That’s not a priority. First we have to see how we can get out of this shemozzle, before the press get wind that there’s an American gangster at large.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning: find Goldstein. As quickly as possible.’
Rath had to cross the city to reach his next destination. Niederschönhausen, another neighbourhood of villas. This time, however, he wasn’t seeing a police commissioner but an underworld boss. He got out of the car and looked around.
Where was he going wrong? He’d never be able to afford houses like these, either as a police officer, or as a gangster. Perhaps it was because he was neither one thing nor the other.
Johann Marlow lived in an impressive villa on Victoriastrasse. One of the reasons it was so impressive was that it didn’t need to try. There were no gun-toting thugs circling the property; Liang’s presence provided ample protection. The Chinese himself opened the door to modern decor decidedly more tasteful than Red Hugo’s nouveau riche apartment.
They traversed the house before stepping back into the open air on the rear terrace. Dr M. stood bare-torsoed, pointing a bow and arrow towards a large target at the opposite end of the garden. More muscular than Rath had thought, he took aim calmly, not letting himself be put off. The arrow struck right in the target’s centre.
‘Respect,’ Rath said.
Marlow lowered the bow and turned around. ‘Have you ever tried archery, Inspector?’
Rath shook his head.
‘It’s amazingly relaxing, and the perfect way to effect a silent kill.’
‘Like the Native Americans. Did you learn that in the States?’
‘They use different weapons these days. Above all, Thompson machine guns.’
‘You know your stuff.’
‘I’ve been to the States a couple of times. Once to Chicago and twice to New York. What are you trying to say?’
‘You really don’t know Abraham Goldstein? You’ve never had anything to do with him?’
‘No, what’s this about?’
‘I’m wondering why you helped him escape from his hotel.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘You smuggled the chambermaid into the Excelsior, didn’t you?’
‘Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me what’s happened and what you want to know. Then maybe I can help you.’
‘Isn’t it strange that one of your employees should begin as a chambermaid in Goldstein’s hotel just days before his arrival? Was she there to keep an eye on him, or was it about evading police surveillance?’
‘One of my employees? What are you talking about?’
‘Bosetzky. Marion Bosetzky. A dancer in Venuskeller.’
‘Marion? She hasn’t worked for us in ages. Sebald kicked her out.’
‘Why?’
‘A minor loyalty issue. She was working for someone else on the side, which we couldn’t tolerate. Maybe you should have a word with him. Maybe he’s the one who smuggled her in.’
‘Gladly. If you would be so kind as to tell me who he is.’
‘Not he, so much as they, Inspector,’ Marlow burst out laughing. ‘Your colleagues. That is to say: your former colleagues, you know, in E Division.’
58
Rath hadn’t been down this way in a long time, certainly not this early in the morning. He didn’t encounter many colleagues, but the officers he had worked most closely with in Vice were both dead, and he hadn’t had much to do with the rest. He had been with the squad only two months but, even so, seemed to have made a lasting impression on the division chief.
‘Inspector Rath,’ Werner Lanke said, offering a hand. ‘What a surprise! You were never this early back in the day.’ He gestured towards Kirie. ‘You must be working like a dog.’
Werner Lanke laughed at his own joke and Kirie wagged her tail, realising they were speaking about her. Rath managed a friendly grin. He had to remain civil, even if he and Lanke were linked only in mutual antipathy.
Krumme Lanke, after the lake, was an accurate nickname. The man had such a pronounced stoop that, over time, his official six foot three had become more like five foot eleven. There was something vulture-like about him, an impression intensified by his prominent nose and piercing eyes that peered over reading glasses.