At five minutes past ten he parked outside the Luisenhöhe estate house. With no one to receive him he rang the doorbell. A liveried servant opened and raised an eyebrow. ‘Director Wengler is expecting me,’ Rath said, showing his card.
Director Wengler was in no rush. Rath spent the next five minutes waiting in the hall, until the servant returned and bade him enter the drawing room, where the waiting began again. He felt as though he were at the doctor’s surgery. On the table were journals he recognised from Lamkau’s estate: Alkohol and the Spirit Industry Magazine. He leafed through the pages and smoked, but it wasn’t until after finishing his cigarette that the door opened to reveal, not the arrogant servant this time, but the equally glib Herr Fischer, Wengler’s private secretary.
‘Good morning, Inspector. Director Wengler will see you now.’ Rath looked at his watch. Half past ten.
The office looked down the valley onto the great brick chimney of the distillery and, in the distance, the Treuburg water tower. The furnishings were caught between Prussian Junkerdom and modern office. On the spacious desk was a black telephone next to an old-fashioned inkwell complete with fountain pen and card index boxes. On the wood-panelled wall was an oil painting of hunting scenes. Behind the desk hung two portraits in valuable, old-fashioned frames. One showed a grey-haired man with a stern, aristocratic gaze, and the other, far more elaborately rendered, a young woman. In sharp contrast with these oil paintings was a plain, but no less striking graphic detailing the distillery’s revenue curve since 1920. The curve was on an upward trajectory, particularly in the last few years, despite the economic crisis. Perhaps, even, because of the economic crisis. The worse people felt, the more they drank.
Beneath the graphic, advertising placards for Luisenbrand and Treuburger Bärenfang stood against the wall. Rath recognised the motif from Lamkau’s office in Berlin: the bear with the bottle. It was well done, and it looked as if the Bärenfang was to be the Mathée firm’s next money-spinner.
Gustav Wengler cut a wiry figure, not at all the obese managing director Rath had expected. He stood as his guest entered behind the overzealous private secretary.
‘Inspector. Please come in. My apologies for the delay. Urgent meeting.’
‘I think you’ll find this equally urgent.’
Wengler laughed. ‘Fischer, would you fetch the inspector something to drink. Coffee? Tea? Water? Or perhaps you’d prefer schnapps? There’s no shortage!’
‘Thank you, I’m on duty, but coffee would be nice.’ Private Secretary Fischer disappeared. ‘I’m familiar with your schnapps. It’s available in Berlin, you know.’
‘But that isn’t why you’re here,’ Wengler said. ‘Or has someone used my Korn as a murder weapon?’
‘How do you know there’s been a murder?’
‘I fear I may even know the victim.’ Wengler’s face grew serious. ‘You’re a police inspector from Berlin, where my best salesman has just been killed. I can put two and two together.’
‘So, you know…’
‘Edith Lamkau told me a few days ago. The poor woman!’
‘Yes, Frau Lamkau is having a rough time. She said you were going to help her…’
‘Insofar as I can.’ Wengler looked at him. ‘So, Inspector, what are you doing here?’
‘Looking for answers. Trying to find out why Herbert Lamkau had to die.’
‘You’re hoping the answer will lead you to the killer?’
‘That’s usually how it works.’ Rath gazed pensively out of the window at the thick clouds rising from the chimney; the distillery seemed to be in full swing. ‘Do you know why he had to die?’
Wengler shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there.’
‘Then perhaps you could tell me a little more about Herbert Lamkau the man. Before he moved to Berlin and began distributing Luisenbrand, he was employed here by you.’
‘That’s true. Herbert was my operations manager at the distillery.’
‘Did he perform other tasks for you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Beating up Poles, for instance?’
‘Herbert wasn’t always in control of his temper.’ A deep wrinkle formed at the bridge of Wengler’s nose and his eyes flashed. ‘Have I understood you correctly? You’re implying that he engaged in violence at my behest?’
‘I’m just telling you what I’ve heard.’
‘Then you’ve been talking to the wrong people. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.’
‘Perhaps I’m talking to the right person now?’
‘Herbert Lamkau was no angel, and he made no secret of the fact that he couldn’t stand the Poles. Yes, there were times twelve years ago when emotions were running high and he became physical. But to imply that he did so at my behest is simply outrageous!’
There was a knock and a girl appeared with the coffee. The private secretary would consider actually serving it beneath his dignity.
‘Is it possible that one of these Poles, one of these people Lamkau manhandled, has sought revenge?’
‘Anything is possible, Inspector, but why wait twelve years?’
‘Lamkau skipped town eight years ago. Do you know why? Things were clearly on an upward trajectory here.’
‘You can say that again!’ Wengler gestured towards the sales curve behind him. ‘Since I took over, we’ve increased production by almost 500 per cent. I wouldn’t like to say how many public officials live off the money we pay in taxes.’
‘You don’t have it so bad yourself. I mean, you’re an estate owner. People say it was inflation that brought it into your possession…’
‘People say?’ Wengler tapped a cigarette out of a silver case and looked at Rath indignantly. ‘Where on earth did you hear that?’ Rath remained silent, having drawn Wengler out of his shell.
‘Friedrich von Mathée,’ Wengler began, lighting a cigarette without offering one to Rath, ‘was an honest soul and a loyal patriot, but he had no idea about money. The dear man invested almost his entire fortune in war bonds, encumbering the Luisenhöhe estate with massive debts.’
‘And you helped him…’
‘I was the superintendent here and worked as managing director of the distillery. Which I took over after the war. I was to inherit the estate.’ Wengler struggled to get the words out. ‘I was Herr von Mathée’s future son-in-law, but sadly my fiancée… Anna… passed… before we could be married.’
‘I see,’ Rath lit an Overstolz. ‘So, you took on the estate before your father-in-law’s death.’
‘Otherwise it would have belonged to the bank.’
‘How did you manage to write off his debts?’
‘I had a little luck.’ Wengler took a deep drag on his cigarette. ‘Inflation certainly played its part.’
‘Your schnapps must have helped too.’
‘It did.’ Wengler gestured out of the window towards the chimney. ‘The distillery didn’t always look like this. I built a new bottling plant and storage tanks. Today Luisenbrand is famous all over the world.’
Rath gave a nod of acknowledgement. ‘Not to say, a licence to print money.’
‘Luisenbrand is a success story, but you mustn’t think it comes with the territory here in East Prussia. Since we were cut off from the Reich, everything has become that much harder. Especially where agriculture is concerned. How much do you think the Prussian state collects in spirit duty when you’re no longer categorised as a small-scale producer?’