46
Rath reacted badly when the servant at the Luisenhöhe estate tried to fob him off again on Sunday morning. ‘Listen here! If you don’t want to be responsible for the Prussian Police carrying out a house search in your esteemed Herr Wengler’s residence, then I suggest you tell me where I can find him. Today!’
Clearly it was the first time the arrogant pizzle had been spoken to like that. He gasped for air. ‘One moment, Sir. I’ll see what I can do.’ The liveried servant vanished behind a door.
Rath was certain he wouldn’t have to make any inquiries as to Gustav Wengler’s whereabouts. Most likely he was simply counting to sixty in his head. As expected, after about a minute the man re-emerged. ‘I’ve been informed that Director Wengler is at the festival site in town.’ He sounded more nasal than a hundred Frenchmen. ‘However, he is very busy…’
‘I thought the plebiscite anniversary was tomorrow?’
‘Preparations.’ The man now spoke exclusively through his nose. ‘Director Wengler is, after all…’
‘I know. Chief of the Homeland Service.’ Rath enjoyed interrupting the smug bastard. ‘So, where’s this festival site of yours?’
The man threw him a glance that implied you had to be a particularly unworthy species of insect not to know where the festival site was. ‘Hindenburg Park, by the district war memorial.’
‘Where is that?’
‘On the road out to Goldap, by the lake.’
Rath headed back towards town. People here were starting to get on his nerves. He longed for Berlin, all the more since finally managing to get hold of Charly yesterday evening in a prosaic exchange during which they had mostly discussed work. Her Cinderella-like existence in the Haus Vaterland kitchen was starting to bear fruit. Messrs Unger and Riedel were indeed involved in blackmail, which had apparently brought them into conflict with the underworld. Perhaps they’d hit upon someone who’d paid his protection money, and was now receiving a service in return. Bagmen didn’t like it when people got in their way. It now seemed increasingly unlikely that the business had to do with Lamkau’s death, but Rath was pleased Charly had a lead which would net her a few points with Gennat, not to say her actual boss, Friederike Wieking.
As for himself, he had at least partially completed Böhm’s list of tasks, having collected the employee names from the distillery yesterday afternoon. Ready on time, as promised, the list was neatly typed and devoid of spelling errors. He’d have gladly had its author accompany him back to Berlin.
The cars lining the road ensured that Hindenburg Park was easy to find. Rath pulled over and strolled across the site, which was a mix of sports grounds and parkland. Flags fluttered on all available poles, black-and-white, and black-white-and-red; but nowhere the red-black-gold of the Republic. Everywhere you looked was a hive of activity; next to the athletics field a marquee was being erected, on the side of which were advertising slogans for Treuburger Bärenfang and Luisenbrand. Next to it was a carousel, and sausage, tombola and gingerbread heart stalls, even a shooting gallery – a veritable funfair stretching across the main path. Meanwhile the ubiquitous slogans for Mathée firm products left visitors in no doubt who was funding – and profiting from – the whole shebang.
The war memorial at the end of the park looked like a church that hadn’t been completed: an apse with no altar or roof, a semi-circle of rubble stone with lancet windows affording wonderful views of the lake. The monument was decked with flowers and garlands, while the platform, which was accessed by a rubble perron, housed a similarly adorned lectern, above which members of the fire brigade were fixing a banner. Prussia and the Reich Semper Fidelis. Rath couldn’t shake the impression that the Oletzko District Fire Department had acquired its ladder truck not so much to extinguish blazes as to help decorate public festivals.
At the foot of the memorial a handful of men were erecting the stage. In the meantime Gustav Wengler had appeared on the plateau, surveying the workers beneath him like a military general. Alongside him was an entourage of three men, one of whom Rath recognised instantly. Chief Constable Grigat stood gazing self-importantly from underneath his shako, moustache combed, uniform ironed, and hands folded behind his back. The other two wore formal dark suits and top hats. Even from afar they looked like senior public officials.
Rath climbed the steps and Wengler extended his arms as if to greet an old friend. ‘Ah! Our visitor from Berlin!’
‘You’re a hard man to pin down, Herr Wengler.’
‘Chief Constable Grigat says the same about you.’ Wengler gestured towards his companions. ‘Might I introduce: District Administrator Wachsmann, Mayor Maeckelburg – Inspector Rath from Berlin.’
He shook their hands, Grigat’s too. All this glad-handing made him feel as if he were attending an official function. ‘Looks like it’s going to be one hell of a party,’ he said.
District Administrator Wachsmann gazed proudly. ‘Few districts in Masuria commemorate the plebiscite on this type of scale.’
‘Might I borrow Herr Wengler a moment?’
‘We were discussing the order of ceremony, Inspector.’
‘It’s all in hand, Gustav!’ Wachsmann clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You deliver the main speech after I’ve said a few words of introduction. Musical society to set the tone… and then the open-air concert, as always.’
‘I’m glad that’s all done and dusted,’ said Rath. ‘It’s urgent.’ He looked at Wengler’s entourage. ‘Perhaps, Herr Director, you know somewhere where we might speak in private…’
‘How about a little stroll in the park?’
Rath agreed and they went on their way. For a moment he was afraid Erich Grigat might feel compelled to join them but, when no invitation was forthcoming, the constable chose to keep the local dignitaries company instead.
‘What’s so urgent?’ Gustav Wengler asked, once they were out of earshot.
‘New developments,’ Rath said, lighting an Overstolz. ‘In our murder inquiry.’
‘I’ve heard you requested a list of employees from the distillery, from 1924.’
‘That’s right. The trail leads into the past.’ He halted and looked at Wengler. ‘Does the name Radlewski mean anything to you?’
‘Paid a visit to old Naujoks, have you? Grigat mentioned something along those lines.’
‘I’m not talking about Martha Radlewski. I’m talking about her son.’ Wengler looked astonished. ‘It’s possible that Artur Radlewski is avenging his mother’s death, and that your former employees…’
‘Revenge? Why? The woman was notorious. She drank herself to death.’
‘Perhaps her son sees it differently. Perhaps he thinks it was the moonshine that killed her.’
‘If he really thinks that…’ Wengler looked Rath in the eye, ‘…then why has he waited this long?’
‘Those are questions that still need answering, but he would have a motive, potential knowledge about the poison used, and he has no alibi.’
‘A savage who lives alone in the forest wouldn’t.’
‘I’m being serious, Herr Wengler. Radlewski hasn’t been seen for almost nine months. He could be responsible for the killings in the west.’ Rath took a deep drag on his Overstolz. ‘We need to know if there are other distillery employees who could’ve been involved in 1924…’
‘So, that’s why you need the list.’ Wengler laughed. ‘Inspector, you do know that proceedings were discontinued? I mean, you have the file. Nobody knows where this rotgut came from, or who sold it as Luisenbrand.’