By the time they pushed the luggage trolley towards check-in, her anger had abated. Thinking about what Gereon had done to Dettmann, she took a kind of mischievous pleasure in the image. For once he had done the right thing, damn it, no matter how stupid it might have been. Well, sometimes doing the right thing was stupid. Perhaps, on some level, he had accepted his banishment for her sake, and that was deeply flattering – more so than she cared to admit. She despised male posturing, but even so it was wonderful knowing he had defended her, perhaps even avenged her a little.
Did Gennat really hope to gain anything by this East Prussian operation? Perhaps it was more important that Gereon be removed from the line of fire; that way there was no risk of Inspectors Rath and Dettmann duelling at first light.
Things could certainly have turned out worse. Another disciplinary hearing and Gereon Rath could kiss goodbye to his police career, just when he was on the verge of marrying and starting a family. Now that would be stupid, even though she had a career these days too. She looked up at the ceiling and smiled at the idea of her returning home, exhausted from work, to find her husband in an apron and brandishing a wooden spoon. What a crazy idea! Not to say unrealistic: Gereon’s culinary skills were even more questionable than her own – and that was saying something.
As far as the cooking went, they’d both have been better off finding a new partner…
She heard the apartment door opening and Greta giggling quietly. She seemed to have brought her latest crush home, a lodger with a strict landlady who didn’t allow female visitors. It wasn’t the first time he had stayed over. Would the two of them make it? Would Greta even want them to? She was a permissive sort, so permissive it was sometimes frightening. Charly still hadn’t told her friend that she was engaged. She knew that she wouldn’t be in favour, either of Gereon, whom she’d always given the cold shoulder, or, indeed, the concept of engagement itself.
Still, at some point, she’d have to confess. Admit that she couldn’t stay much longer in Spenerstrasse. Even now, just thinking about it, she felt the wrench of separation. She and Greta had lived here more than four years, with a couple of breaks, and for the most part it had been good. Why did life have to be so complicated?
She closed her eyes, picturing a mound of onions, only this time she fell asleep.
30
Königsberg Police Headquarters bore no comparison with its Berlin counterpart, feeling almost homely in style. If anything, the modern train station on the other side of the road was more monolithic. Despite the strong Luft Hansa coffee, Rath felt tired as he climbed out of the taxi and heaved his case up the stairs.
They had landed at Devau Airport in Königsberg half an hour earlier, but he had been awake since the stopover at Danzig two hours before. Taking off for a second time, he had gazed upon Danzig centre and the mighty Marienkirche, even winding down the window to locate the Crane Gate among the toy houses, and let in a little fresh air. He could get used to this flying business.
At headquarters, he soon found his way to the relevant office. Behind the desk sat a fat, excessively jovial man with thin glasses and thinning hair. The superintendent had clearly been expecting him, for no sooner had he entered than a secretary placed a tray of fresh coffee on the table.
‘Welcome to Königsberg,’ he said, stretching out a hand. ‘Grunert, Superintendent Wilhelm Grunert.’
‘Gereon Rath. Detective Inspector.’
‘Yes, yes, I know. They announced you at reception.’ Grunert gestured towards the visitor’s chair, and Rath sat down.
‘So, you’re off to Treuburg, Superintendent Gennat tells me…’ Grunert poured coffee.
‘Yes, Sir. We have a lead in a homicide case.’
Rath took a sip: a clear dip in quality compared with the plane, but police coffee was supposed to wake you up, not taste good.
‘You’re looking for the killer here?’
‘His victims.’ Rath lit a cigarette. ‘Three men from East Prussia; the killer is most likely in Berlin.’
‘Then let’s hope you catch him soon. A serial killer?’
‘Seems that way.’
‘One who has it in for East Prussians?’
‘Former East Prussians. Treuburgers, who’d been living in West or Central Germany for years.’ Rath smiled. ‘Nothing to fear so long as you stay in East Prussia.’
Grunert’s secretary must have smelled the cigarette smoke, and entered with an ashtray for Rath.
‘Very well,’ Grunert said, rubbing his hands. ‘Then let’s get you on your way. If you set off now, you should be in Treuburg by midday. I’ve taken the liberty of letting the local police know. I thought you could discuss the matter over lunch.’
Rath felt uneasy. How many people knew he was here? All he needed now was a red carpet and brass band. ‘Many thanks, Superintendent.’
‘We’ve arranged a car for your onward journey.’
‘Then I’ll just need a decent map. I’m afraid I don’t know my way around here.’
‘No need. I’ve something better.’ The superintendent picked up the receiver and pushed a white button under the dial. ‘Fräulein Sieger,’ he bellowed into the mouthpiece. ‘Please send Kowalski in.’
Moments later a gaunt young man with straggly blonde hair entered. There was something odd about his appearance. It took Rath a moment to realise there were still bits of toilet tissue clinging to his face and neck from his morning shave.
‘Where culture ends, there Masuria begins,’ Grunert declared and laughed. The youth remained impassive. ‘Assistant Detective Kowalski here is a local, and will serve as your companion.’
This was all he needed! He’d been looking forward to a solo journey through the expanses of East Prussia, but now they’d assigned him a chaperone. Rath took his place next to the dour Kowalski on the narrow front seat of a pitch-black Wanderer W10 which had seen better days. From 1926, he estimated, which made it significantly older than the vehicles belonging to the Berlin motor pool. He’d never have thought he’d find himself longing for a green Opel.
As Assistant Detective Kowalski steered through the dawning city, past the castle and over several bridges, he wondered if it had been Buddha who’d requested his presence, or perhaps Superintendent Grunert. Either way, he wasn’t sure whether the man was there to provide assistance or surveillance, but at least he was a local.
He lit a cigarette and debated whether he should draw Kowalski’s attention to the lingering evidence of his morning shave but decided against. By now most of the tissue had fallen away, save for an isolated wisp that clung stubbornly to the young man’s chin. He blew cigarette smoke through his nose so that Kowalski couldn’t hear him sigh and gazed in the opposite direction. They passed a low city gate and a park, allotments and suburban houses as the city began to fray into the countryside.
He was prepared to endure his driver’s silence up to a point, but as the cigarettes and kilometres mounted his patience began to wear. An hour after they’d set off from Stresemannstrasse neither of them had said a word, which was more than any self-respecting Rhinelander could bear.
‘I’ve worked with East Prussians before,’ he began, after clearing his throat. Kowalski nodded silently while overtaking a horse and cart that sagged under its load. Rath lit his next cigarette and fell silent. It occurred to him that Stephan Jänicke was dead and Helmut Grabowski in prison, making his two East Prussian colleagues unlikely conversation starters. He gazed out of the window onto a sleepy avenue that meandered through the countryside past a still lake surrounded by woodland and wheat fields. ‘It’s pretty here,’ he said. ‘The region, I mean.’ Again Kowalski nodded. ‘So, you’re from Treuburg?’ Another nod. ‘Is it as pretty as here?’