‘It’s up to you whether you choose to pursue what is no more than a hunch. If it was a family member, then their conscience ought to be punishment enough. For an orthodox Jew, assisted suicide is forbidden under any circumstances, no matter how adverse.’ He gazed over his spectacles. ‘Don’t forget it was we Jews who invented Job.’
70
At least there was a cafe, so Charly didn’t have to loiter on the street.
What were they thinking? A surveillance job without a car? She stirred her coffee and looked across to the house front opposite: REVENGE FOR BENNY S.
Keeping Sergeant Major Jochen Kuschke under surveillance was a tedious chore, unlike the search for Alex, which dovetailed nicely with her own interests. She had only been shadowing Kuschke in the evenings as agreed, but the call from Lange at lunchtime had changed all that. He had surprising news. ‘Kuschke is going on temporary leave from today. This alters our plans.’
Above all, it altered Charly’s plans. She had intended to surprise Gereon and have lunch with him somewhere, since they hadn’t been able to eat breakfast together. Instead, Lange had given her Kuschke’s address in Winterfeldtstrasse, a solidly middle-class neighbourhood, and identified this cafe as an ideal observation post. She sat at a window seat behind a curtain, with an excellent view of the street outside. The view in the opposite direction was less good, however, owing to the reflection in the glass pane. As agreed, she had called Lange when she arrived.
‘I’m here,’ she had said quietly, so that the staff behind the counter couldn’t hear. ‘What happens if he isn’t there?’
‘He’s there, believe me. I think you’ll catch sight of him soon.’
Lange proved to be right. Charly had just added milk to her second cup of coffee, and lit her first cigarette, when he emerged. There was no mistaking the bandage across his face. In all likelihood, Kuschke had Alex to thank for that little keepsake. He carried a pail of water, a scrubbing brush and a wooden stepladder. After unfolding the ladder in front of the mural, he climbed up and began to scrub, starting with the word REVENGE.
Charly looked on calmly. She was starting to enjoy this. It was always nice watching other people work, but in this case it was particularly gratifying to know that the words most likely belonged to Alex, which reminded her of her plans for the afternoon. Another hour and she would have to go and collect her bicycle from Moabit.
From time to time people would speak to Kuschke, but he didn’t seem to like it and answered with a few terse words. Most times he didn’t even turn, just kept on scrubbing. The colour was coming off nicely; the word REVENGE was now scarcely legible. FOR would be next.
She glanced at her watch. Time was getting on if she didn’t want to miss Erich Rambow. She drank the last of her coffee, placed a one-mark coin beside the cup and set off. The search for Alex took priority: Lange said so himself.
Half an hour later she stood in the Wertheim delivery area for the second time that day. On this occasion, however, she stayed in the background. She had taken Greta’s Miele bicycle out of the cellar this morning after returning from Wertheim and pumped up the tyres. She hadn’t ridden one like it for a long time but, for today’s operation, it was essential.
He emerged punctually. Erich Rambow pushed his bicycle out with the first wave of Wertheim employees. To the carrier he attached a package dripping with blood, probably his supper or offcuts for the dog. He mounted on Vossstrasse and pedalled off. Charly swung herself onto Greta’s rickety two-wheeler and followed.
Erich Rambow cycled mighty quick; she pedalled hard to keep up, taking care not to get too close. She had taken the precaution of changing her clothes, wearing completely different colours from this morning, a subdued mixture of brown and grey.
Rambow cycled right across town, via Werderscher Markt and Königstrasse, out towards the east. Passing Alexanderplatz he skilfully weaved his way through the maze of diversions created by the construction site; Charly prayed that no one from the Castle would see her cycling after a scrawny butcher’s apprentice. Luckily no one did, and she was able to stay on him. She just hoped he didn’t live too far out east, as she was beginning to run out of puff. Rambow turned uphill onto Greifswalder Strasse, before, finally, riding into a rear courtyard in Lippehner Strasse. The smell of the nearby brewery hung in the air: malt and mash.
Charly dismounted and peered carefully through the entrance to the courtyard to see Rambow carrying his bike down a set of basement steps. She felt her heart pumping and her lungs gasping for air, but got her breath back before he returned with the blood-soaked package in his hand. He vanished inside the rear building. She waited a moment, then went over, leaning her bicycle against the wall and looking at the mailboxes until she found his name. Fam. Günter Rambow. So, he lived with his parents. Good to know. She mounted the bicycle again, cycling at full pelt through the entrance and back onto the road. She had to look like she was in a hurry, with a long journey still ahead. No one could suspect that she had no intention of leaving the neighbourhood.
71
They had found the stolen ambulance at last. Böhm left a message with Erika Voss while Rath was on his lunch break with Tornow and Gräf: Warrants had located the vehicle near the freight depot at Moabit. It was empty of course; of Goldstein, not a trace.
‘DCI Böhm said you should head out there with your team, Inspector,’ Erika Voss said.
‘Reinhold, take our cadet with you,’ Rath said. ‘I have a meeting I can’t afford to postpone.’
In the canteen Rath had the impression that the two young men got on well. Gräf was scarcely older than Tornow, but his career path had been very different, having never served in uniform. As far as Rath knew, Gräf had worked in Homicide almost from the start, which spoke volumes, as Buddha only took the best. There had been a few rotten eggs, such as Czerwinski or Brenner, but Czerwinski, at least, must have been good once upon a time. Over the years though, he had been passed over too often and subsequently lost all motivation and ambition. As for Brenner? The idiot had been put out to pasture. After last year’s disciplinary proceedings they had transferred him to East Prussia, to the furthest reaches of the country, where he couldn’t get up to any mischief. He was probably sitting in a stuffy office plotting his revenge on Gereon Rath. In reality, he had been responsible for his own downfall, but he wouldn’t see it like that.
Even at lunchtime, conversation had centred around Goldstein.
‘I don’t know why they didn’t just nab him at the border and send him straight back home,’ Gräf said. Tornow agreed.
‘It’s a disgrace that a proven criminal should be allowed to do simply as he pleases.’
The two men had worked themselves into a rage, and Rath had no choice but to play the considered older colleague. He could understand where they were coming from but, ultimately, there was no alternative to the legal system that said you were innocent until proven guilty. It wasn’t enough simply to be thought of as a criminal.
‘Do you need the car for your meeting?’ Gräf asked.
‘You take it,’ Rath said. It wouldn’t hurt to make Gräf’s task at the freight depot a little more appealing. Better to drive to Moabit in a Buick than a green Opel from the motor pool. He tossed him the keys.