‘So?’ Lange said.
‘So, it can be difficult to identify the owner of such a weapon. But… in this case, I believe we have managed.’
‘Yes?’
‘The dead SA man in Humboldthain was stabbed to death with a weapon just like this, his own. Until now, the weapon’s been missing without trace, but if you ask me…’ Kronberg gestured towards the photograph. ‘This is it here.’
94
Johann Marlow held a bottle of chilled white wine. F.W. Borchardt was one of the most exclusive gourmet establishments in Berlin, where fine cuisine was fused with an impeccable wine cellar. Marlow had taken a table in a booth where they could talk undisturbed. Liang was there, and they had laid a place for Rath too. As much as he despised Johann Marlow’s attention, he was in no position to refuse. After all, what could he say? No thanks, I’ve already eaten? His stomach was making far too much noise for that. He hadn’t taken any food on board since wolfing down a meagre lunch at Stettiner Bahnhof with Gräf and Tornow; Kirie likewise. He was almost refused entry with the dog but Liang, waiting by the door, handed a note to the man at reception, and soon a boy emerged to take her. Kirie went willingly, instinct telling her there was food on offer.
‘Do sit down,’ Marlow said. ‘Wine?’
Rath nodded. Liang poured.
‘I’m sorry about Lenz,’ Rath said. ‘Perhaps it will comfort you to know that Rudi the Rat was found dead at a rubbish dump.’
Marlow slammed his fist against the table. ‘Damn it,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that Lenz was dead? Why do I have to hear from Teuber about your boys showing up in Amor-Diele, shouting about how Hugo’s mortal remains have been fished out of the Mühlendamm Lock?’
Rath lit a cigarette. If he had learned one thing it was not to be intimidated by this man. ‘It’s not my case; I only heard about it from Herr Liang here.’
‘Well, we picked the right man to have at the station.’
‘I’m not your man. I’m doing you a favour because I owe you a debt.’
‘I asked you to investigate the background to Hugo’s disappearance.’
‘I’ve already told you that I think he fell into a trap, at the Osthafen, and that he probably didn’t survive.’
‘Probably. So, who laid this trap?’
‘I’ve spoken to colleagues working on the case.’ Plisch and Plum had been only too happy to tell him what they knew, especially Czerwinski, who was proud to be leading an investigation that gave him the chance to order his friend Henning around. ‘Pathology has confirmed that Hugo Lenz didn’t drown,’ Rath continued. ‘He was shot. Bullets to the head and chest, just like Rudi Höller. They think Lenz’s corpse drifted around the Spree for a few days before surfacing at the lock. They’re assuming he was thrown into the water somewhere upstream. They don’t know where.’
‘But you do.’
‘Like I said a week ago, we know that Hugo Lenz went to the harbour area, but that no one saw him return. The next day his car was still parked where he left it. Then, there are the shots the night watchman claims to have heard near the cold-storage depot.’
‘You searched my warehouses and found nothing.’
‘I still believe that’s where it happened. Hugo Lenz was shot by whoever agreed to meet him at the harbour, and he would feel secure at a Berolina warehouse. It’s the same MO as Rudi the Rat, only he was disposed of in a rubbish dump.’
‘Both corpses were still found,’ Marlow said.
‘Perhaps they were meant to be. Mutilated and disfigured as a warning to you and the Nordpiraten.’
‘Who’s behind it?’
Rath shrugged. ‘Another Ringverein. Or someone you haven’t bargained on.’
Marlow made a pensive face. ‘And this someone hired an American contract killer?’
‘More likely it’s someone trying to lay the blame at his door. That’s what it seems like to me, as if the whole thing’s been staged.’
‘You surprise me, Inspector, protecting a gangster like this.’
‘It couldn’t have been Goldstein. I had him under surveillance at the time.’
‘I thought he gave you the slip.’
‘Not on the day Hugo Lenz disappeared.’
‘Whatever the case,’ Marlow said, ‘we have a problem. Now that Hugo Lenz has been confirmed dead, I have to act.’
‘You want revenge? When you don’t even know who’s behind it?’
‘Let’s not misunderstand each other,’ Marlow said. ‘I’m not mourning Lenz personally, but his death is an affront against my organisation and, since the whole world thinks the Pirates are behind it, it’ll be the Pirates who take the rap. They’ve been acting up for weeks, and who can say that Lapke wasn’t involved.’
‘He and Rudi the Rat were best friends.’
‘And rivals.’
‘Aren’t you being a little hasty?’
Marlow gave Rath a cold, hard stare. ‘I need to act, and if you can’t tell me who killed Hugo Lenz, it’ll be the Pirates who get it.’
‘Do you know what will happen in this city if you move against them now? It’ll be a bloodbath.’
‘You think I can stand for this? If I don’t strike back, Berolina will be on me before I can count to three.’
‘Lay down an example for all I care. Have a few Pirates beaten up, kidnap them, lock them in a damp cellar, but don’t risk open warfare until you’re one hundred percent certain who has your business partner on their conscience.’
‘Then it’s time you delivered.’
‘I’m working on it.’
‘I’ll give you three days,’ Marlow said. ‘Exactly seventy-two hours. On Sunday evening we’ll meet again and I want to know for certain. One hundred percent.’
‘You will.’ Rath stubbed out his cigarette and stood up.
‘Don’t you want to eat?’
‘We’re too close to the station.’
‘Don’t worry, your colleagues can’t afford this sort of place, and the commissioner’s too tight for Borchardt.’
‘No, thank you, but you could do me another favour?’
‘Yes?’
‘I need to speak to Christine again. You know, the dancer from Venuskeller.’
‘I think that can be arranged,’ Marlow grinned. Liang took a black notebook from his jacket and wrote down an address before tearing out the page and passing it to Rath. ‘You can reach her there, but not before midday. Or you can go to Venuskeller tonight.’
‘No thank you,’ Rath said. ‘I’ve got something better in mind.’
95
Charly hadn’t heard anything more from either Alex or Vicky. The girls were still missing. She closed the door to her flat and went inside. Gereon still wasn’t home. Luckily, she hadn’t run into him again at the Castle. She felt guilty, but also relieved that she hadn’t had to speak to him.
She found a half-open bottle of red in the cupboard, and sat at the table with her glass. The first sip felt good. She lit a cigarette. What was she involved in here? Police officers killing police officers? Underage girls seeking revenge. How she would have liked to talk things over with Gereon, if only she could. Her case seemed to hang together with his. The murder weapon: the SA man in Humboldthain had almost certainly been killed with the same knife as the police officer in the Hansaviertel. This same police officer was also a member of the SA. Was that a link? Was there someone going around town butchering SA men? More, was that someone Abraham Goldstein, Gereon’s gangster? He was Jewish. Perhaps that was why he had crossed the Atlantic? Because he had been contracted to take care of a few brownshirts on behalf of Jews who would no longer stand for the abuse. It was an absurd idea but, on the other hand, it was often the absurd ideas that led to the solution. Somehow, it fitted.