Rammoser shrugged. ‘I’d say he must. If he doesn’t want to die of loneliness.’
39
Lange wore such a look of consternation that Charly felt duty-bound to ask what was wrong. Until she realised it was her.
‘Have you been crying?’ he asked as he stood to greet her.
She couldn’t help but laugh. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Chopping onions.’
In fact, she’d started in the salad kitchen today, which was considerably more enjoyable. Just as she struck up a conversation with the girl on the adjoining table Unger drafted her in for more onion chopping. Apparently, he wasn’t too keen on his employees making small talk.
Lange straightened her chair like a gentleman of the old school, and she sat down. Café Schottenhaml on Kemperplatz was the sort of place they could pass themselves off as an amorous couple if one of her new colleagues should make an unexpected appearance. In truth, it was unlikely: Schottenhaml was modern, tasteful and elegant, no place for kitchen staff.
‘I just thought… your eyes…’
‘You’re right. We look like we’re in the middle of a tearful separation.’
Lange went red. ‘The main thing is that no one thinks we’re police officers.’
Charly opened her cigarette case. ‘What’s the latest from East Prussia?’ she asked, as casually as possible. ‘Has Inspector Rath been in touch?’
Lange shook his head. ‘Not yet, but he’s only been there two days.’
‘But he’s definitely arrived?’
‘The Treuburg Police have confirmed as much. A Chief Constable Grigat seemed curious to know what we were doing. Inspector Rath doesn’t seem to have been especially forthcoming.’
‘Isn’t Böhm expecting a report?’
‘Poor old Rath still doesn’t know Böhm’s taken over the case.’ Lange grinned. ‘Otherwise he might have been a little more conscientious.’
Or not, Charly thought, once he knew Böhm had been parachuted in again. ‘Have you made any progress with the tubocurarine lead?’ she asked.
‘I’d say by now we’ve looked into all known sources of supply in Berlin. Still no luck.’
She couldn’t help feeling reassured that her colleagues hadn’t made much progress either. It meant the fault didn’t lie with her or this business with Dettmann.
‘Perhaps he’s making the tubocurarine himself,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should ask an expert what you’d need to cook it up.’
‘Precisely what Gräf’s doing tomorrow.’
‘Of course.’ Charly nodded, ashamed of her wiseacring. The waiter appeared, they ordered and Lange changed the subject. ‘So, what do you have for me? Have you seen anything?’
‘Not much. Chopping onions makes it rather tricky.’
‘You poor thing.’
‘I had more luck the day before yesterday. I managed to look inside a folder full of complaint letters. They were pretty harsh. Some of them sounded more like extortion.’
‘You think Rath was onto something?’
‘I still haven’t managed to work out if Riedel and Unger know each other, but Unger seems pretty wary. It’s possible that suppliers are being blackmailed.’ She fetched a note from her pocket. ‘I haven’t found any correspondence with the Lamkau firm yet. If there was anything, it would most likely be in Riedel’s office, but how I’m supposed to get in there beats me…’ She passed the note across. ‘…I do have two addresses. Perhaps you should try and find out what kind of trouble they had with Haus Vaterland – and how they were able to smooth things over.’
Lange pocketed the note. ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m afraid that’s it. Today I’ve been mostly concentrating on my home-making skills.’
‘How long do you think you’ll be able to continue undetected?’
‘Not too much longer, I hope, otherwise I’ll need a new pair of eyes.’
‘Well, just get through tomorrow, then it’s the weekend.’
‘For you maybe.’ Charly forced a smile. ‘Unger’s already asked if I can work overtime on Sunday.’
Lange nodded as the drinks arrived.
‘There was one more thing,’ Charly said, once the waiter had taken his leave. ‘I’ve met someone who seems to know the ropes.’
‘Go on.’ Lange took out his pencil.
‘He knows Riedel, he says. The spirits man Unger is most likely in cahoots with. I’ve arranged to have a drink with him, tomorrow after work.’
‘With Riedel?’
‘No, with this waiter. A Negro from German East Africa.’
‘A Negro? I hope you’re not taking any unnecessary risks. Should I have someone tail you?’
Charly shook her head. ‘If you really want to help, you could always chop some onions yourself!’
40
Yippee, yoohoo. Run, Julius, run and I’ll catch you! I’ve got you! Julius, I’m faster than you. I’ll run, I’ll race, I’ll zoom. And I’ll catch you all. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a tiger by the toe…
Rath stared at an image of two happy children with satchels playing tag. A textbook, clearly. A primer. He tried to order his thoughts, but only when he sat up and rubbed his eyes did he realise where he was.
Morning sunlight filtered through a small window onto a skeleton hanging beside a desk. But for the rolled-up maps in the corner and a portrait of Hindenburg on the wall, it could have been a doctor’s surgery. The Wielitzken village school staffroom, he remembered now. A woollen blanket slid to the floor as he rose from the sofa.
The primer was open on a side table. He snapped it shut and looked at the cover. Der fröhliche Anfang. Happy Beginnings. He recalled a similar book from childhood and reflected that some things never change. The smell of coffee wafted into the room, and he traced the aroma back to the teacher’s apartment, where Karl Rammoser sat at breakfast, reading the paper. The Treuburger Zeitung. Of course.
‘Morning, Inspector.’ Rammoser was full of beans. ‘Coffee? Erna’s just brewed some fresh.’
Rath nodded. ‘First I need to pee.’
‘You know where.’
He made his way across the yard.
Erna. By the time the housekeeper had served supper last night, he was already experiencing problems with his balance. Their aperitif had stretched to half a bottle, and Rammoser’s pear schnapps packed quite a punch. ‘I don’t think you should drive again tonight, Inspector,’ he had said. ‘Erna can make up the sofa in the staffroom.’
Erna proceeded to do just that, while the pair resumed their discussion. The problem was that Rath couldn’t for the life of him remember what they had discussed. With the reappearance of the bottle, the real drinking had begun. Incredibly he didn’t have a hangover, though the gaps in his memory troubled him. In the outhouse he washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face.
Coffee awaited him on return, and it did him the power of good. He would have liked a cigarette, but, out of consideration for Rammoser, made do with the bread basket. ‘Late one last night…’ he said.
The teacher shrugged. ‘You had a lot of questions.’
‘Occupational hazard.’ A loud gong sounded behind him. He turned and saw a magnificent grandfather clock, then the dial, and hands. ‘Damn it,’ he said. ‘Half past eight already. Is that clock right?’
‘I hope so. We use it to set the school bell.’
‘I need to make a telephone call.’
‘Then you’ll have to go to the post office.’
A little later Rath stood in the small, shadowy post office and waited as an old man conducted an important, or at least lengthy, telephone conversation. The branch had only one booth.