‘I’ve explained all this to your esteemed colleague in Treuburg. Doesn’t he pass information like this on?’
Sadly, not always, Charly thought. ‘Herr Wengler,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid these stories aren’t quite as old as you think. Yesterday evening, working with the Chief Customs Office, the Berlin Police seized a large consignment of lethal rotgut stowed in Mathée Luisenbrand original bottles.’
‘Pardon me?’ Wengler’s surprise appeared genuine, but what did genuine mean with a man like this?
‘The goods were to be loaded onto a cargo boat at the Westhafen by Lamkau employees, whose vans were stationed alongside the quay.’
‘You seriously think I’m involved? Who do you think a scheme like this hurts most? The Luisenbrand name! The good reputation of our company, and the Mathée brand!’
‘I don’t think anything, Herr Wengler. I’m just trying to establish the facts. Do you know how the Berlin Police were aware of the operation? It was thanks to a black book found in your dead brother’s apartment. A book from Herbert Lamkau’s private desk that was seized with other company papers, that your brother must have stolen from headquarters.’
She didn’t mention the Nordpiraten informant who had revealed important information about the Concordia Ringverein’s illegal dealings with Lamkau and the Americans.
Wengler shook his head. ‘To think, back then I believed Siegbert when he told me he wasn’t involved.’
‘He doesn’t appear to have been the driving force.’
‘Lamkau?’ Wengler asked. ‘The rat. He swore to me never again. Dragging my company’s good name through the mire!’
‘I’d be surprised if Herbert Lamkau was behind it. Given that the deal passed off yesterday, almost three weeks after his death.’
‘What surprises me is that such large quantities were contained in original Luisenbrand bottles. Someone from the distillery must have been helping him. One of his old accomplices, perhaps…’
Charly tried to read Wengler’s thoughts, in vain.
The door opened and Detective Chief Inspector Böhm burst into the room. ‘Excuse the interruption, Charly,’ he said. ‘Can I speak with you a moment?’
Wenger gazed at her curiously as she re-entered the room. She took her time, sat down, and opened her notepad. She had no need to take down what Böhm had told her outside – nor did she want to mitigate the effect an open notebook could have on a potential suspect. After a moment she lit a Juno, before striking like a snake. ‘Herr Wengler, where were you yesterday evening between nine and ten o’clock?’
‘I was having dinner. In the Rheingold. Why do you ask?’
‘The Rheingold. The food’s good there. What did you have?’
‘Venison loin.’
Charly nodded and made a note. The response had come without hesitation. As if the answer had been agreed in advance. ‘Can anyone confirm that? You must surely have kept the receipt.’
‘I’m not sure what I’m being accused of here. I thought this was about my brother’s death?’
‘I want to know who you had dinner with yesterday.’
‘Relatives. Uncle Leopold and his family. They were here for the funeral, and returned to Danzig this morning.’
Now Charly was surprised. She had been expecting a different answer. Perhaps Wengler was keeping Assmann’s name back for the end, so that it sounded more credible when he finally remembered him? He said nothing more.
‘No one else?’
‘No.’
Charly looked at her notebook. ‘Your operations manager Dietrich Assmann claims you had dinner with him yesterday in the Rheingold.’
‘He must have the date wrong. We met for dinner on Sunday evening, but at Kempinski’s, not in the Rheingold.’
Gustav Wengler smiled, but Charly could hardly imagine he was unaware of what he was doing. Did he really think he could save his own neck so easily? That his old comrade Assmann would give it up just like that?
68
They were obliged to let Gustav Wengler go, but Lange continued to dog his heels. Dietrich Assmann, on the other hand, was afforded the privilege of lunch in his private cell.
Charly wondered if inmates were served the same muck as staff in the canteen. The mashed potatoes could have served as paste in another life, while the pork was stringy and lukewarm. She took a serviette and stowed the meat carefully inside, for Kirie. The rest she could just about stomach. The sauerkraut even bordered on edible.
Wilhelm Böhm’s plate was clean. The man had a horse’s appetite, with taste buds to shame a garbage truck. ‘When should we bring Assmann back in?’ she asked, lighting a cigarette.
‘We’ll let him stew another hour or so.’
‘I wonder what he’ll do when he realises his alibi’s fallen through?’
‘Let’s hope he implicates Gustav Wengler.’
‘We shouldn’t forget this is a murder inquiry. Bootlegging is a matter for Customs.’
‘Of course. Only, it looks like there’s a link between our murders and the illegal distilling of Luisenbrand. Remember that four of those involved are dead, making anyone else who’s mixed up a potential victim, Assmann and Wengler included.’
‘I can’t shake the feeling this investigation’s jinxed.’ Charly shook her head. ‘We keep finding more and more crimes, yet we’re still no closer to catching the killer.’
Böhm agreed. ‘It’d be good to know what Inspector Rath has turned up in East Prussia. I’d be a lot happier if we could bring this Indian in. Apparently Rath’s sent his colleague back to Königsberg. To me that sounds like he’s concluded his investigation. So, why hasn’t he come back?’ He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. ‘You’re on good terms with the man. Can you explain why he hasn’t made contact in over a week? Just between ourselves, Charly.’
She almost choked on her Sinalco. She had any number of explanations, the majority of which she had no desire to share with Wilhelm Böhm. She had already cursed Gereon a thousand times inside. With a more reliable person you could feel your anxiety was justified, but with Gereon you never knew whether to feel anxious or simply annoyed.
She shrugged her shoulders and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Time for work. Inspector Rath will be in touch. If not, we’ll soon find him back at his desk as if nothing’s happened.’
‘Now that I can believe,’ Böhm said, and stood up. ‘But you’re right: to work!’
A strange commotion disturbed police corridors, distinct from the usual midday ruckus. Officers stood in small groups speaking quietly, watching the passage leading to the police commissioner’s office.
Charly and Böhm pushed to the front to see the unfamiliar grey of the Reichswehr. A captain escorted a police colonel and a civilian to the police commissioner’s office.
‘The uniform cop is Colonel Poten,’ Böhm said. ‘He used to be in charge of the police academy at Eiche.’
‘So what’s he doing turning up here with a Reichswehr captain?’
‘Rumour has it that Poten’s to replace Heimannsberg,’ another officer whispered. ‘They say the man in plain clothes is the new commissioner.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Apparently the entire police executive is to be replaced.’ The officer handed her the morning paper. Dangerous Plans, ran the headline in the Berliner Tageblatt. Papen as Reich Commissioner?