‘Since December 1931?’ The librarian nodded. That fitted with Adamek’s statement. ‘Is this sort of thing common?’
‘I’ve been working here more than twelve years. Since then he’s… it’s only happened twice. On both occasions all the books that he… that went missing were returned.’
‘You’re not worried something could have happened to him.’ She shook her head artlessly, blushing when she realised she was giving herself away. ‘And most recently… I mean, last December, he returned everything then, too?’ She nodded. ‘You’ve been a great help, Fräulein Cofalka.’ He smiled and handed her his card. ‘I’m staying in the Salzburger Hof. Please notify me immediately if any more books go missing. If Herr Radlewski is anywhere in the vicinity, I need to be told.’
She took the card and nodded again. ‘He hasn’t done anything wrong, Inspector. Artur is a good man.’
‘You know him, don’t you?’
She lowered her head in embarrassment, as if he had extracted her deepest secret. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I knew him when we were children. We went to the same school, over in Wielitzken.’
‘With Rammoser senior…’
‘That’s right.’ She looked at him in astonishment, surprised a detective inspector from Berlin should know old Rammoser.
‘A final request, Fräulein Cofalka. The books Radlewski was interested in – can you arrange them for me?’
The librarian smiled for the first time. He took it as a good sign. ‘That won’t be too hard. They’re all from the same shelf.’
There were around two dozen books in all. Without exception they were concerned with Indians and their culture. To his surprise the shelf contained considerably more non-fiction texts than adventure novels. Equally astonishing was the variety of titles on offer. No need to embarrass Fräulein Cofalka here, he already knew the reason why. Evidently the librarian had a soft spot for Artur Radlewski. Perhaps the forest dweller was the great, unrequited love of her school days, even of her life, and it wasn’t hard to imagine her thoughts turning to him with each new acquisition. The titles alone gave no indication of whether the books might contain poison recipes. Someone would have to take a look inside.
‘I’d like to take these out,’ he said, gesturing towards the shelf.
‘All of them?’
‘All of them.’
‘I’ll have to make out a membership card,’ she said, rummaging in one of the card boxes.
Rath placed his identification on the table. ‘I think this will do.’ She hesitated for a moment, before helping him load the books into a cardboard box.
He was about to leave when he spied a table next to the entrance, on top of which was today’s edition of the Treuburger Zeitung, secured against theft by a long, thin chain. ‘Is this always here?’ he asked, chin pointing towards the front page.
‘Not for loan, but you’re welcome to take a look.’
‘But the paper’s here at night?’
‘Yes. It stays there until morning, when I lay out the new edition.’
‘So it’s possible that during his night-time visits, Artur Radlewski also read the paper?’
‘I wouldn’t put it past him.’
‘Can you remember roughly when in December Artur returned those books?’
She knew the exact date.
Kowalski was astonished to find Rath outside the door. ‘I wasn’t expecting you so soon, Sir.’
‘How’s the head?’
‘Better already.’
‘No concussion?’
‘Luckily for me.’
‘Good,’ Rath said. ‘I have a task for you.’ Kowalski looked at him expectantly. ‘Go to the newspaper’s administrative office, and look at the editions for 9th December 1931, as well as the 8th and 10th to be sure. See if you can find anything that might’ve lured the Kaubuk out of his forest.’ Kowalski’s face fell in disappointment. ‘After that,’ Rath continued, ‘you’ll need to use your local knowledge. Berlin’s asking if there could have been others involved in the moonshining scandal of 1924. Names that don’t appear in the case file or newspapers. Do some asking around, and see what the Treuburg rumour mill churns out.’
‘You think the Kaubuk isn’t finished?’
‘I don’t think anything. Detective Chief Inspector Böhm from Berlin wants us to ask around, so that’s what we’re going to do. Böhm is leading the investigation.’ Kowalski nodded eagerly. ‘When you’ve finished that,’ he pressed the box of books into Kowalski’s hands, ‘you can spend tonight looking through these. Should make for ideal bedtime reading.’
‘What are they?’
‘Books read by Radlewski. I’d like to know if any contain instructions for making poison.’
Kowalski nodded, took the box inside, and returned moments later carrying his hat. Rath dropped him outside the newspaper office and drove onto Luisenhöhe. Regrettably, Herr Director Wengler wasn’t home, the liveried servant informed him, barely a note of apology in his voice. Fischer, the private secretary, was likewise unavailable. The servant couldn’t say where the two men were; couldn’t, or didn’t want to.
Rath tried the distillery. The secretary in the operations manager’s office looked as if she were preparing to go home. ‘I’m afraid Herr Assmann isn’t here,’ she said.
‘Herr Assmann? Doesn’t he live on Lindenallee?’
She arched her eyebrows. ‘Yes, but you won’t find him there. Herr Assmann is away on business. Danzig, then Berlin.’
‘When’s he coming back?’
She looked in her appointments diary. ‘It says here: Berlin until further notice.’
‘Until further notice… What’s he doing in Berlin?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know, but I can give you the name of the hotel he’s staying in.’
‘Not necessary. I just need a list of all employees who worked at the distillery in the spring of 1924.’
‘I think,’ the secretary said, ‘I should call Herr Assmann after all.’
‘You do that,’ he said. ‘Do whatever it takes, but I’ll need the list this afternoon, let’s say by five.’ He smiled at her. ‘If it isn’t ready by then, I’ll be obliged to return for a third time, with a warrant.’
The secretary looked horrified, and began dialling with her index finger. Somehow he felt pleased to have upset her plans. ‘Berlin,’ he heard her say as he exited the office. ‘Südring, seven-four-zero-three.’
A number in Tempelhof. He remained in the hallway listening. The secretary asked for a room number. So, the operations manager was staying in a hotel in Tempelhof, where the Lamkau firm had its headquarters.
‘Herr Assmann,’ she said. Evidently she took no pleasure in disturbing her employer. ‘Please excuse the interruption, but I’ve just had an Inspector Rath here…’
45
It was the sort of dive Charly would never have set foot in unaccompanied. It didn’t even have a name, at least none that was printed above the door or on either of the grime-covered display windows. Not far from Potsdamer Platz, it was a completely different world. Mohamed Husen held the door for her and cleared a path through the drinkers. A number of them looked up briefly when they entered, but she soon realised no one was interested in the white woman with her black companion.
Perhaps that was why Husen had suggested the place. At lunch today he had been smoking on the balcony dressed as a Sarotti Moor. ‘A colleague dropped out at the Turkish Café,’ he explained. She pitied him his fate, but Husen didn’t seem to mind the ever-changing outfits; if anything it gave him pleasure. He took the whole business in good humour.
Now he was dressed like an ordinary European, wearing a grey suit and elegant bowler hat, which he hung on the stand. He led her to a table by the long wall at the back, where they could talk in peace over coffee and cigarettes.