‘Prettier.’
Rath didn’t know if he could chalk Kowalski’s response up as a success, but at least the man had said something. He stubbed out his cigarette. They passed through a little town. Wehlau, Reg. Bez. Königsberg, the sign said. Wehlau, Administrative Region of Königsberg. A pair of storks had built their nest on a telegraph pole near the entrance.
‘So why did you leave, if Treuburg’s so pretty?’
‘I was transferred.’
‘Do you know the Mathée firm? Luisenbrand?’
Kowalski looked at Rath reproachfully, as if he took him for a drinker, nodded and again focused on the road. ‘It’s part of the Luisenhöhe estate,’ he said.
Now it was Rath who turned his head, gazing at Kowalski in astonishment. ‘A proper estate? With a Junker and all that?’
Kowalski shook his head. ‘It used to belong to the von Mathée family, Huguenots ennobled by Old Fritz himself. But they went bankrupt during the great inflation, or something.’
‘How about now?’
‘Mathée’s old managing director took it on.’
‘Wengler? Director Wengler?’
‘That’s the one. Made a truly model company of it, the distillery especially. Mathée Luisenbrand is distributed all over the world. People are very proud of it in the Oletzko district.’
It was Rath’s turn to nod. All it needed was a little patience, and these East Prussians became positively loquacious.
31
The Treuburg marketplace was enormous. So enormous, in fact, that there was a tree-covered hillock in its centre. The church sat regally at the summit, its spire towering above the trees. At the foot of the hillock were a few houses, the town hall, and, next to it, a school and the fire station. ‘The largest marketplace in Germany,’ Kowalski announced, and Rath believed him. It was so large that, at first glance, it appeared to be something else. It was as if time here had stood stilclass="underline" smart, gabled houses lined its four sides, road traffic was still dominated by horse-drawn carriages, and a few sheep must have escaped their pen, or perhaps simply belonged in the centre.
Kowalski braked and, within seconds, the official car of the Königsberg Police was mobbed by children squinting through its windows. No red carpet or brass band, but it wasn’t exactly what Rath would call a discreet entrance. He rolled his eyes. All he needed now was for the local press to take his picture, and invite him to sign the town’s Golden Book.
It was not yet twelve. ‘Shouldn’t they be in school?’ he asked.
‘Summer holidays,’ Kowalski said, stepping on the accelerator. The children jumped aside and grew ever smaller in the rear-view mirror until the W10 left the marketplace. Kowalski continued to a little river and crossed a bridge, passing another church and eventually reaching a large brick building overlooking the shore. Oletzko District Administrative Office, the sign bearing the Prussian eagle read. Rath got out of the car and stretched his aching limbs before following his aide-cum-chaperone inside.
They passed through an anteroom occupied by a bespectacled girl, reaching the office of a portly man who wore an old-fashioned moustache and blue uniform.
‘Our visitor from Berlin,’ the uniformed officer said, after Kowalski made his report. ‘We weren’t expecting you so early. Please, take a seat!’
Rath sat on the visitor’s chair and admired the view from the window behind the desk: lake glistening in the midday sun, boats pitching and tossing, the whitewashed diving platform of the public baths, dark green treetops on the far side of the shore. Feeling as if he were on holiday he lit a cigarette. ‘Did we speak yesterday on the telephone?’ he asked. ‘Chief Constable Grigat?’
‘That’s right. Erich Grigat. Welcome to my humble abode. It isn’t often we have visitors from the capital.’
‘You’re in charge of the Treuburg Police?’
‘De facto, let’s say. De jure, of course, the police chief would be Landrat Wachsmann, the district administrator. But I am his highest-ranking officer.’
‘Nice view you’ve got here. My office looks out onto the suburban railway and district court. There’s soot everywhere because of the trains.’
‘It’s worth making time for our little town. The lake, the new park with the war memorial.’ Local pride was etched all over Grigat’s face. ‘Have you seen our marketplace? The biggest in the whole of Germany! Seven hectares.’
Rath nodded and drew on his cigarette. ‘Very impressive.’
Grigat fetched a file from the drawer. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of doing a little digging and, lo and behold, the three names you passed on yesterday were all registered here in the district at one point.’
‘Two were born here in fact,’ Rath said. ‘Do you have their addresses?’
‘It’s all in here.’ Grigat tapped the file. ‘Let’s discuss it over lunch. I’ve booked us a table at one in the Salzburger Hof.’
‘Don’t put yourself out on my account.’
‘I eat lunch there every day. Besides, it’s also your hotel. I’ve taken the liberty of reserving a room for you.’
The round-the-clock service was starting to get on Rath’s nerves, but in the meantime he bowed to his fate. ‘Many thanks,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘That’s still a bit away. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get to my room and freshen up a little. I spent last night in the plane and still feel a little washed-out.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. ‘We’ll talk at one.’
‘Of course.’
Rath looked at the file. ‘You don’t mind if I take this? That way I can read up a little before lunch.’
Grigat made a face as if he minded very much. Then his smile returned. ‘Of course.’
A little later, Rath and Kowalski stood at the reception of the Salzburger Hof. Kowalski deposited Rath’s suitcase by the counter and made to leave.
‘Where are you staying?’ Rath asked. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the assistant detective had gestured towards the back seat of the car.
‘My uncle lives just around the corner. Goldaper Strasse. I’ll report back at one if I may, Sir.’
‘Of course. Go to your uncle. I won’t need you again till two.’
Shortly afterwards Rath stood gazing out of his first-floor window. They had given him a balcony room overlooking the Treuburg marketplace; it even came with private bathroom and running water, the hotelier had proudly informed him at reception. Despite his suitcase still being unpacked, he flopped down onto the bed, exhausted by Masurian hospitality, and glad at last to be alone. He dozed for a while, before a glance at his alarm clock told him it was time: only half an hour until his lunchtime meeting with Chief Constable Grigat.
He went into the bathroom and shovelled cold water on his face until he felt halfway revived. He sat by the window with Grigat’s file.
The information gathered by the Treuburg Police was sparse but there were no gaps. All three men had indeed lived for a number of years in Treuburg, or Marggrabowa as it was known then. August Simoneit and Hans Wawerka had never left their home town before the summer of 1924, when both packed their things and headed west, the one to Wittenberge, the other to Dortmund.
Herbert Lamkau had come to Marggrabowa a few years after the war and initially registered as living at the Luisenhöhe estate. After that he had lived on Lindenallee, likewise until 1924.
Before the war, Simoneit had lived in a village called Krupinnen, which was also part of the Oletzko district, registering his address at Legasteg in Marggrabowa following his return from battle in 1918. Wawerka, meanwhile, had always lived in the Schmale Gasse, in the town centre.