55
Goddamn it! Did he have to take care of everything himself? He hung up, ruing the fact that the cabins were equipped with swing doors, but at least now he knew why he hadn’t reached Charly yesterday evening, and why Böhm had wanted to speak with him.
Kowalski waited outside the post office. ‘What news from Berlin?’ he asked, pushing himself up from the wing of the car. ‘Are they happy?’
‘Get in.’ Kowalski obeyed without further comment. Rath sat in the passenger seat. At least here he could slam the door.
Kowalski had provided the names at one on the dot, five more distillery workers who, according to the Treuburg gossip mill, were implicated in the moonshining scandal. Two had moved, but three were still employed by the distillery, among them Dietrich Assmann, the operations manager, currently on business in Berlin.
‘Good work on your list, Kowalski.’ Böhm had noted each name meticulously: Berlin didn’t want any more mistakes. No doubt Warrants were already working flat out.
Rath stared out the window as Kowalski rolled the engine. The Communists had been at it again. Down with Fascism! Join the Communist struggle! Choose List 3! They must have put them up in broad daylight this time; the slogans were still damp from the paste. Today the marketplace was more or less deserted, save for the pile of wood in its centre. It looked as if the townsfolk were still searching for a heretic to burn.
‘If Berlin is happy, why are you in such a bad mood?’
‘Kowalski,’ Rath said. ‘Do you know what a death knock is?’
The assistant detective blanched.
Gustav Wengler, on the other hand, remained composed. More composed, at least, than Rath had dared hope. It was almost as if he had anticipated the news. They had collected him from his employees’ table inside the marquee, where celebrations were in full swing. Only once they were at some remove from the hullabaloo did Rath come out with the news. He conveyed the message as per Gennat’s training: Don’t blurt it out, but don’t wait too long either.
‘Sad news,’ he began. ‘Your brother in Berlin…’ Gustav Wengler reached for the cigarette case in his pocket and fumbled out a cigarette. He had understood. ‘I’m sorry, Herr Wengler, but your brother is dead. He was killed on duty.’
Wengler placed the cigarette between his lips and checked his pockets for a light or matches, finding neither. Rath gave him a light, lit an Overstolz himself, and explained when and where Sergeant Major Siegbert Wengler had died.
Gennat’s next piece of advice was: Don’t quiz them straightaway. Let them talk if they want to. If not, fill in the silence yourself.
Wengler didn’t want to talk.
‘We suspect it’s the same man who has your former employees on his conscience.’
Wengler took a deep drag. ‘Artur Radlewski?’ he asked.
‘That’s how it looks. Only, there’s still no trace of him. Seems the man can make himself invisible.’
‘Killed on duty, you say?’
Rath wanted to spare Wengler the details for now. ‘I’m very sorry to have to break the news at a celebration that already has unhappy associations for you.’
Kowalski kept himself in the background the whole time. Rath could see the situation made him uneasy. No wonder, he had known Siegbert Wengler as a police officer, and even ten years ago his brother Gustav would have been an important town figure.
‘We need to ask you a few questions, Herr Wengler,’ Rath said.
‘I understand. You’re only doing your job.’
‘We have some names here. Men who were also implicated in the moonshining scandal. I’d like you to help us find them. We need to warn them, and, if possible, protect them. So that no one else dies.’
Wengler took the list Kowalski handed him. ‘Assmann is in Berlin,’ he said. ‘As for the others, let me ask around.’
‘Thank you.’ Rath waited until Wengler had pocketed the list before posing his next question. ‘Your brother – is it possible he suspected he was in danger?’
‘We didn’t talk much, at least not in the last few years.’ Wengler shook his head. ‘Damn it. How can someone just cease to exist like that?’
‘Did you know your brother had recently moved?’
‘He’s no longer in Schöneberg?’
‘No. I’d hoped you might be able to provide his new address. Your brother doesn’t appear to have told anyone where he was moving. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was trying to hide – even if he appeared for duty each day as if nothing had happened.’
Wengler drew on his cigarette and gazed thoughtfully into the middle distance, towards the war memorial and the Treuburgers drinking themselves blind on Luisenhöhe Distillery produce. ‘You think he moved because he felt threatened?’
‘He probably felt safer on duty.’
‘Clearly he was wrong.’
‘Can you tell us who your brother was friendly with? People with whom he might have shared his new address.’
‘Siegbert was never one for friends.’ Wengler stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Now if you would please excuse me. I’d like to be alone.’
Rath and Kowalski gazed after him as he made his way down to the shore, alone with himself and his thoughts. Suddenly the great man appeared rather lonely.
56
Manfred Unger sat in his office behind the glass pane, watching Charly wide-eyed as she entered the central kitchen four or five hours late in the company of a lone man. After a moment to process what was happening, he rushed to the door and flung it wide open. ‘Who the hell do you think you are!’ he shouted. ‘Swanning in like this. Do you realise what time it is? Collect your papers, and get out!’
‘We’ll be on our way soon enough, Herr Unger.’ Lange showed his identification, and suddenly the head chef appeared to twig. ‘Only, you’ll be coming with us.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘How about multiple extortion? I would ask you to come quietly. It’s not in your interests to make a scene.’
‘But…’ Unger gestured towards the central kitchen, his realm. ‘The work here…’
‘You needn’t worry on that score, Herr Unger,’ Charly said. ‘There are plenty of people who’d do anything to work at Haus Vaterland.’
He gawped at her, still apparently unaware of her role. He looked at Lange. ‘Did that little bitch report me? Don’t believe a word she says. Fucking Sarotti-sweetheart.’
‘I’d advise you to choose your words more carefully,’ Lange said. ‘Little bitch is an inappropriate way to describe a CID officer.’
‘Pardon me?’ Unger stood open-mouthed, looking unusually stupid.
‘Fräulein Ritter here is a CID cadet,’ Lange explained.
‘What’s the world coming to?’ Unger said, shaking his head. ‘Women police officers!’
‘You’d do well to get used to it. You’ll be seeing rather a lot of Fräulein Ritter in the coming days.’
‘It won’t be long before we have a woman minister. Chancellor, even, knowing these Social Democrats.’
‘Keep this up, Herr Unger, and I’ll have a squad of uniform officers cuff you and turn your office upside down.’ Lange took a couple of official-looking documents from his pocket. ‘These search and arrest warrants give me every right.’ He smiled at the chef. ‘So, how about we tone things down a notch, and wrap this up as discreetly as possible.’
Unger said nothing more. They closed the door and showed him to a chair. Lange took up position while Charly filled two cardboard boxes with files, and the contents of Unger’s desk. The man threw her a venomous glance. Through the glass pane, she could see that just about every kitchen employee had realised that something was up. They carried on as before, but continued to look furtively in Unger’s direction.