After two minutes it didn’t look as if the conversation would ever end. He returned to the counter and gestured towards the black Bakelite device on the desk. ‘It must be possible to make an outside call on that.’
‘Not without authorisation.’
‘Here’s my authorisation.’ He showed his identification.
The girl from Salzburger Hof came on the line. ‘Hella? Hello!’ he said, not realising how stupid he sounded until it was too late. ‘Inspector Rath from room twenty-one. Is Assistant Detective Kowalski with you?’
‘Herr Kowalski has been here over half an hour. You weren’t in your room this morning.’
‘Take the man a coffee and tell him I’ll be there in a quarter of an hour.’
When he returned to the school Rammoser stood outside the building, a leather bag under his arm. ‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘You need to go into town.’
‘I’m sorry. No time for breakfast.’
‘All is forgiven,’ Rammoser said. ‘So long as you take me with you.’
‘How will you get back?’
‘By train.’
Rath opened the car door and cleared the case files from the passenger seat. ‘Take a seat.’
Rammoser gestured towards the folder. ‘Anything on Marta Radlewski’s death in there?’
‘Only the circumstances; nothing on her life, or why she turned to drink.’
Rammoser climbed in with his leather bag. ‘A tragic irony, don’t you think? No sooner is she rid of her drunk of a husband than she takes to the bottle herself.’
‘What a life…’ Rath started the car. ‘I mean, what choice did she have? When you consider how her husband died; and her only son vanishing to live like an animal in the forest.’ He accelerated onto the road.
‘Like an Indian in the forest,’ Rammoser said. ‘You think that Artur Radlewski is avenging his mother’s death? Because he believes she died as a result of the tainted Luisenbrand? Even though it happened years ago?’
‘I don’t think anything, but I’d like to speak to him.’
‘That could prove tricky. I’d be willing to bet Artur hasn’t spoken a word to anyone since vanishing.’
‘Then he’d better start once we find him.’
‘Finding him could prove trickier still.’
‘We’ll see.’ On Bahnhofstrasse in Treuburg, the fire brigade were using ladders to put up black-and-white garlands. ‘What’s going on here?’ Rath asked.
‘Preparations for Monday.’
‘For the marksmen’s festival?’
‘Plebiscite anniversary. The most important celebration of the year.’
‘You mean the plebiscite of 1920.’
‘Yes. You’ll be aware of the result, above all here in the Oletzko district.’
‘Yes, sir. Two votes for Poland.’
‘Very good.’ Rammoser smiled, but it was a pensive smile. ‘Two out of almost thirty thousand counted. The young Polish state did its best to win the Masurians over. It even established an Agitation Bureau here in Marggrabowa, all in vain. The only upshot was that the Heimatdienst knew whose windows to smash at night.’
‘Who?’
‘The Marggrabowa Homeland Service. I told you last night. They campaigned for Prussia.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Rath searched his memory but found nothing. ‘You don’t think much of them?’
‘Don’t get me wrong, I voted for Prussia too, but even then I didn’t like the way the Homeland Service sowed hatred against anything foreign, hatred against anything Polish; hatred and violence.’ Rath pulled over by the Salzburger Hof. The schoolmaster wasn’t finished. ‘For hundreds of years,’ he said, ‘people in Masuria co-existed peacefully alongside one another. Then suddenly, after the war, hatred was all the rage. Not least because of people like Wengler and Lamkau.’
‘Were they part of the Homeland Service?’
‘Stick around until Monday, and you’ll see Gustav Wengler in his element as Homeland Service Chief and acclaimed keynote speaker.’ Rammoser looked around as if someone might be listening. ‘As for Lamkau, you already know what I think. He and a few others did Wengler’s dirty work for him.’
‘By smashing Agitation Bureau windows.’
‘Worse. Countless people were injured. I’ve already mentioned the beatings, but don’t go thinking it stopped there. On one occasion a barn was set alight, over in Kleszöwen. It was a miracle there were no fatalities.’
‘Are you telling me Lamkau waged a systematic campaign of fear and terror against Polish sympathisers here in Oletzko?’
‘I just want you to know what kind of man you’re dealing with.’
‘A Nazi?’
‘There weren’t any Nazis back then, but brutal bastards who thought human life was worthless… they existed all right.’ Rammoser opened the car door. ‘Thanks for the lift, Inspector.’
With that, Karl Rammoser was gone. Rath gazed after him a time before exiting the vehicle himself. Entering the lounge he found Assistant Detective Kowalski sitting dutifully before his coffee. ‘Morning, Sir.’
‘Morning, Kowalski.’ Rath took a seat and waved Hella over. She approached with the coffee pot and poured, even offered a smile as their eyes met. He lit a cigarette.
Kowalski seemed restless. ‘What is it?’ Rath asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen the Kaubuk. Or perhaps you’ve caught him already?’
‘We have a witness, Sir.’
‘A witness?’
‘Someone who knows the Kaubuk.’
‘Personally?’
‘My uncle claims old Adamek saw the Kaubuk last year. Out in the forest somewhere.’
‘A taciturn sort, isn’t he, this Adamek? Does he even speak German?’ Kowalski looked at him blankly. ‘Doesn’t matter. You can always speak Masurian if need be.’
The journey took less than five minutes by car. Old Adamek lived in a small, one-storey building on the edge of town, more shanty than house. They knocked, but no one answered. Rath realised that the door was unlocked, pushed it open and stepped into the dark hall. ‘Herr Adamek,’ he called. No response. ‘Herr Adamek? CID. We’ve a few questions we’d like to ask.’
Wilhelm Adamek wasn’t home. Rath looked around. The decor was spartan. A table, two wooden stools, a pot-bellied stove. The only decoration on the wall was a framed photograph of Hindenburg, upon which an Iron Cross, Second Class was pinned. He opened a door that led to the back.
‘Shouldn’t we be going, Sir?’ Kowalski seemed uncomfortable with his curiosity.
‘I just want to make sure Adamek isn’t lying dead in his bed. Or sleeping off his hangover.’
The bed was empty.
‘Sir, he isn’t here. We’ll come back another time.’
‘Strange bird, this Adamek, isn’t he? Does he live alone?’
‘His wife died a long time ago, my uncle says. During the war, when the Russians were here. They wreaked havoc in our district.’
‘You were a child back then. Do you remember?’
‘The fighting lasted nearly a year. In Markowsken too. For nights we couldn’t sleep for fear; days were punctuated by the rumble of artillery fire.’
Rath was about to heed Kowalski’s advice and leave, when he saw something that roused his curiosity. ‘Just a moment…’ On a stool by the bed was a mound of dirty washing.
‘I thought we wanted to question Adamek. You’re sniffing around like he’s a suspect.’
‘Who knows,’ Rath said, lifting the flannel shirt that had attracted his attention. ‘Perhaps he is.’ He gestured towards the red-brown stain covering almost the entire right side. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, this is dried blood. Lots of it, too.’