Böhm nodded. ‘Good. That’s all for now. You can go, Constable, but please continue to place yourself at our disposal.’
Eckert appeared relieved. He put on his shako, saluted, and withdrew at remarkable speed.
Böhm stepped out to stretch his legs. Any number of people stood outside Josty gawping across the intersection at the murder wagon, which enjoyed a certain notoriety in the city. Besides which, it was rare to see cars parked at the foot of the traffic tower. The grass-covered island in the middle of the intersection was the one place you were absolutely forbidden to stop. The rubberneckers were focused on the tails of a white coat flapping in the breeze, Dr Karthaus descending the ladder.
‘Well, Doctor?’ Böhm said, as the pathologist arrived. ‘How’s it looking up there?’
‘Do you want the good news or the bad?’
‘Depends what you mean by “good news”.’
Karthaus buttoned his coat. ‘There’s no doubt what happened up there was murder. More than that, we know the killer’s modus operandi.’
‘And the bad news?’
‘The bad news, Detective Chief Inspector, is that the MO fits with a case that remains unsolved.’ He gestured towards the traffic tower. ‘The corpse shows signs of drowning.’
Böhm reclaimed his seat on the murder wagon’s leather bench. ‘And prior to drowning, he was injected…’
‘Correct,’ Karthaus said. ‘Which is why I’m going to ask the lab to look for tubocurarine during the blood analysis. That way, we’ll have the results sooner.’
51
When Charly arrived at the Castle, Böhm and his men were still not back. She asked what was happening in Homicide, but the duty officer wasn’t forthcoming. Michael Steinke was a fellow trainee, a snot-nosed upstart who had come to the Castle from the legal faculty and thought he was a cut above. He seemed to have difficulty passing information to a female colleague. Or perhaps he really didn’t know anything. Neither reflected well on him.
‘Corpse in the traffic tower,’ he had said when asked what was going on at Potsdamer Platz. ‘I saw to it that Böhm and a few others headed out.’
The idiot just had to go playing the big cheese. As if Böhm would let himself be ordered around by a cadet! Did the man have any idea he was speaking to someone with more than three years’ service in Homicide? With a woman, who, while engaged as a stenographer, had contributed to the resolution of no fewer than seven murder investigations?
The telephone rang and Steinke fielded the call with an expression of immense self-importance. He didn’t deign to look at her again.
So, there was a dead man in the traffic tower. She had worked that much out when she saw Böhm emerge from the murder wagon. Even so, Steinke wasn’t about to reveal anything else. He made a show of turning away, speaking so quietly into the device it was as if he were Secret Service, and Charly a kind of Mata Hari.
She looked for a free typewriter. Might as well use the time to start her report on the Haus Vaterland operation. She didn’t admit that she wanted it over as soon as possible, nor did she tell the full story of her encounter with Unger in the vegetable store. That was nobody’s business but her own, although she could hardly wait to put that bastard behind bars, him and his accomplice! Let the pair rot in jail.
Suddenly she felt horrified at herself, at her thirst for revenge. A policewoman should know better than to let her feelings get in the way. She had almost finished the report when the door opened, and Böhm burst in, grumpy as ever. When he recognised his former stenographer his face brightened momentarily. ‘Charly, what are you doing here?’
‘Evening, Sir. I thought I’d stop by after seeing the murder wagon underneath the traffic tower.’
She had toyed with the idea of going over when she saw Böhm emerge from the black Maybach, but decided to head to Moabit first, to cancel her trip with Greta and take a shower. She felt dirty everywhere Unger had touched her. After changing into fresh clothes, she drove to Alex and parked Gereon’s Buick in the shadow of the railway arches, out of sight of Castle workers entering the building.
Böhm told her what had happened, and Steinke, who was still on the telephone, looked on with envy as the detective chief inspector took a female cadet into his confidence.
‘You’re sure it’s our man?’ she asked.
‘The sequence of events is identical. Paralysis followed by drowning.’
‘Has that been confirmed by Pathology?’
‘As good as. The perpetrator even left a red cloth at the scene.’
‘But a police officer! What does he have to do with the other victims?’
‘I don’t know, maybe he saw something a week ago. When Lamkau died in Haus Vaterland. I’ve already requested the duty rotas from the Traffic Police. Perhaps we’ll get a match.’
She wasn’t satisfied with this response – and there was something else that didn’t quite fit. ‘The rhythm’s out,’ she said, and Böhm furrowed his brow.
‘Pardon me?’
‘The rhythm. Until now our killer has struck at intervals of approximately six weeks, but this time only a week has passed.’
‘That suggests it could have been a witness.’ Böhm rubbed his chin. ‘Or a copycat killer. The papers reported everything, even the part about the red cloth.’
She shook her head. Some instinct told her Böhm was mistaken. ‘I don’t think we’re dealing with a typical serial killer here, someone with a psychological disorder.’
‘You can say “madman”, you know.’
‘That’s just it. I don’t think our killer is mad. This is someone who plans his murders carefully. So carefully, in fact, that on one occasion we even ruled murder out.’
‘So?’
‘The first three victims all lived in different cities, which is why he waited six weeks between each one. But now… Haus Vaterland is just a stone’s throw away from Potsdamer Platz and the traffic tower. Lamkau and the dead police officer lived in the same city, meaning he needed less time to prepare.’
‘If Sergeant Wengler fits the pattern, then he must have something to do with the other victims. The three of them are linked by this moonshining scandal.’ Böhm shook his head. ‘Perhaps if Herr Rath would make contact, we’d know more, but it seems he’s having quite the time of it in East Prussia.’
‘Inspector Rath?’ Steinke had thrown the name out there. Charly and Böhm both looked at him. The cadet seemed agitated. ‘Excuse me, Sir, but an Inspector Rath did telephone for you this morning…’
‘And…?’
‘I took down a memo. It’s in your mail tray.’
‘A memo…’ Böhm was beside himself.
‘Yes, Sir!’ Steinke rushed to Böhm’s desk and fished a note from one of the filing trays. ‘Here it is.’
Charly squinted at the note in Böhm’s hands.
DI Rath Telephone call, 11.07 Hotel Salzburger Hof, Treuburg, East Prussia, she read. Further developments in moonshining scandal. 1924: Siegbert Wengler, Sergeant Major in Berlin! DI Rath suggests surveillance operation; possible next victim should suspicion harden against Radlewksi.
Signed Cadet Steinke, Homicide
Böhm placed the note to one side. He breathed heavily, fixing the cadet with his gaze, then exploded. ‘This is a disgrace!’ Steinke ducked as if expecting a beating. ‘When did the call come in, goddamn it?’
‘I noted it at the top of the page.’ Steinke gestured towards the memo. ‘Around eleven.’