Peace, at last.
Peace, leave me in peace.
Dark, deadly sleep.
Charly’s smile.
Peace.
At last.
67
Dietrich Assmann sat at the table in Interview Room B and shrugged his shoulders. Just as he had done umpteen times already. Böhm might have kept score.
The Lamkau firm meant to offload a large shipment last night at the Westhafen.
Shrug.
The MS Erika, port of destination Hamburg.
Shrug.
The consignment wasn’t accounted for in the freight documents.
Shrug.
The crates contained illegally distilled schnapps, in original Luisenbrand bottles.
Shrug.
Some twelve thousand bottles, the majority already on board, the rest stowed in five delivery vans, property of the Lamkau firm, Berlin-Tempelhof, parked at the Westhafen northern quay. Seized in their entirety by the Chief Customs Office, Berlin.
Shrug.
According to the freight documents, the consignment contained three hundred tons of rapeseed oil, to be offloaded onto the high-sea freighter MS Tsingtao at Hamburg. Its destination: Hoboken, New Jersey.
Shrug.
Böhm stood, arms folded, listening, as Chief Customs Inspector Bruno Kressin continued his fruitless questioning. With every shrug of Assmann’s shoulders, he felt his blood pressure rise. Staying patient during a lengthy interrogation had never been one of his strengths, which was why he had given Kressin, under whose jurisdiction the Lamkau firm’s illegal activities fell, the floor.
For a full quarter of an hour he gritted his teeth and listened. For a full quarter of an hour he displayed the patience of a saint – but no more. ‘Don’t just sit there playing the innocent!’ he yelled without warning, and Dietrich Assmann instinctively recoiled. Böhm beat his fist against the table. ‘They were Lamkau trucks, Herr Assmann.’
For once Assmann offered more than a shrug. ‘Could be,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t send ’em.’
‘No?’
‘No. How many times? Do you think asking the same questions as your colleague will get you a different answer? Change the goddamn record. I can’t tell you a thing.’
‘Can’t, or don’t want to?’ Böhm fixed Assmann with his bulldog-gaze. ‘We’ll question you for as long as it takes to get a sensible answer. Why would almost the entire fleet of Lamkau firm vehicles head out to the Westhafen if the managing director hadn’t given the instruction?’
‘Acting managing director.’
‘And why should your employees, Lamkau firm drivers and warehousers, meet with men who are part of the Concordia Ringverein to load moonshine onto a cargo boat?’
‘What do I know? Perhaps they did so on the instruction of their former managing director. Or, it was someone acting under their own steam who roped the others in.’
‘You had nothing to do with it, then?’
‘That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time.’
‘Then why were you there?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘You were at the Westhafen last night.’
‘Rubbish!’
‘So tell me where you were around half past nine…’
‘I was eating my dinner.’
‘Cut the crap. You were at the Westhafen! A CID officer recognised you.’
‘This officer of yours, got issues with his eyes, has he?’
‘Word is you’re quite the swimmer. Where did you dispose of your wet things? When my colleagues met you at half past twelve in your hotel, you were in evening dress.’
‘I don’t know what you’re driving at.’
‘I just hope you didn’t catch cold in the harbour basin.’
‘What are you talking about? That your officer too? I think you’d better send him to an optician.’
‘In the eyes of the court, police testimony carries serious weight, Herr Assmann.’
‘I wasn’t at the Westhafen, goddamn it, I was in the Rheingold!’
‘And I’ve no doubt you can prove it. So what did you eat, in the Rheingold?’
‘Venison loin.’
Böhm made a note. ‘We’ll check the menu.’
‘Please do.’
‘But that won’t be enough to prove you were there.’
‘How about the bill? Would that suffice?’
‘Better than nothing. Do you have it there?’
‘I didn’t pay.’
‘Then who was kind enough to pick up the tab?’
‘My boss.’ Assmann grinned. ‘Gustav Wengler. Director of the Luisenhöhe distillery.’
Böhm rose to his feet. ‘Kressin, carry on without me for now.’
Charly could tell the man didn’t take her seriously. He seemed to think she was a secretary or second stenographer, even though Hilda Steffens was the only one with a pad in her hand. She had clearly introduced herself and stated her function, but Gustav Wengler was stumped by the very idea of a female CID officer. Or perhaps he had a problem with women in general.
Apparently he thought the uniform cop by the door of Interview Room A was more important than the woman sitting across from him. ‘How long do you propose to keep me here?’ Wengler asked the man. ‘I have appointments to attend.’
The cop gazed sternly, impassive as a castle guard.
‘Appointments can be postponed, Herr Wengler,’ Charly replied. ‘You received our summons four days ago, leaving you more than enough time to rearrange your diary.’
Wengler looked at her in indignation and confusion. ‘I was summoned to an interview. And what happens? I’m here in good time, and the Herr Inspector is nowhere to be seen.’
‘That’s because there is no Herr Inspector. I’ll be the one asking the questions.’ She smiled politely, savouring the look on Wengler’s face. ‘I’m sure it’s in your interests to have the matter of your brother’s death resolved.’
‘I’m just surprised your colleagues didn’t ask these questions when I was here last Friday.’
‘An investigation like this yields new information all the time.’
‘New information? How exciting.’
Hilda Steffens sat at the ready, and Charly began. ‘Dietrich Assmann is the operations manager of the Luisenhöhe distillery in Treuburg?’
‘You call that new information?’
‘Why did you send your operations manager to Berlin? Herr Assmann has been here more than a week.’
‘Edith Lamkau requested my help.’
‘So you send your most vital employee?’
‘My best employee. The Lamkau firm plays a decisive role in distributing our product through Central Germany. It’s in my own interests for business in Berlin to get back on its feet.’
‘How well do you know Herr Assmann?’
‘What kind of question is that?’
‘One I’d like you to answer. Is it a purely business relationship, or are you also personally acquainted?’
‘The former.’
‘How well did you know your brother?’
‘You do ask strange questions.’
‘Just concentrate on answering them.’
‘Eight hundred kilometres makes it hard to stay in touch. I wasn’t aware of his last address, if that’s what you’re alluding to, nor the danger he was in.’
‘And Herbert Lamkau?’
‘What the hell do you want from me? Tell me what you’re driving at.’
‘Let me see. Tainted schnapps containing dangerously high levels of methanol, marketed in Luisenbrand bottles…’
‘Isn’t it about time you stopped digging up these old stories?’
‘The question is: what you know about them? Now, as well as back then.’