‘Herr Radlewski!’ Rath chose to be friendly, knowing the man understood High German. He smiled. ‘Good to meet you after all this time.’ Radlewski silently removed the notebooks from the table, and stowed them back inside whatever this strange item of furniture might be. ‘You rescued me from the moor. Many thanks.’
Radlewski threw him a suspicious glance as he placed the diaries alongside the letter paper, muttering sullenly.
‘I came to, not knowing where I was. When I saw your books, I thought I might find some clue there.’
Radlewski’s gaze flitted between Rath and the desk. Though no less suspicious, his expression was at least a little friendlier. Or rather, a little less unfriendly.
‘My apologies. I had just opened the book when you came in,’ Rath lied.
Radlewski mumbled something and went to the hearth, finding the tin plate with the gnawed-off bone. On top of everything else, it looked as if Rath had bolted his lunch. He took the plate and looked at his guest.
‘That was me. Apologies.’ Rath wondered if the apologies would ever stop. ‘But… I was ravenous. I’ll pay for it if you like. As well as any other inconvenience you’ve suffered on my behalf. If you just tell me where my wallet is.’
‘You’ll pay for nothing. You’re my guest.’ The blonde beard could speak, and the voice wasn’t nearly as dry as Rath had imagined. No doubt he spoke regularly with his dog. The beast, at any rate, wasn’t surprised to hear its master, but remained in the door, watching Rath. ‘I’ve made another catch.’
‘Catch?’
‘Just needs to be skinned and gutted, then we can roast it.’
With that he disappeared outside. The dog remained in the door. Rath didn’t move.
Soon Radlewski returned, holding a metal skewer on which three scrawny, suspiciously small-looking rodents with long tails were impaled one on top of the other.
‘Are those… rats?’ Rath asked.
‘Rats?’ Radlewski laughed. ‘Yes, rats.’ Giggling, he reached into a small bag and rubbed the bloody, skinned animals with salt. Rath’s stomach briefly threatened to rebel, but soon settled. ‘Special rats,’ Radlewski continued, stoking a small fire. His cackling was starting to grate. ‘Tree rats!’
‘Tree rats?’
‘Squirrels,’ Radlewski said, hanging the skewer with the three animals over the hearth. He was still shaking his head and grinning in amusement.
Rath breathed a sigh of relief, though he didn’t especially feel like eating another squirrel.
Radlewski set the meat on the tin plate and handed it to him. ‘Eat,’ he said, taking a second animal from the skewer and biting. ‘You need to eat. You were sick.’
Rath examined the skinned, roasted thing on his plate, so stringy it really was more reminiscent of rat than squirrel, closed his eyes and bit inside. His stomach didn’t protest.
The two men ate in silence for a time until, when Radlewski offered some of the third squirrel, Rath gratefully declined. Radlewski shared it with the dog. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked suddenly. ‘What are you doing in my forest?’
Your forest, Rath almost asked, thinking the possessive pronoun incongruous. ‘I’m a police officer,’ he said. ‘I catch killers.’
‘I’m aware you’re a police officer, but you’re not from here.’
‘No.’ Rath debated whether he should tell Radlewski the truth, but it was so clear the man had nothing to do with the curare murders that he preferred to keep it to himself.
‘Why are you here?’
‘I wanted to meet you.’ At least it wasn’t a lie; it sounded almost friendly.
‘You won’t bring me in. I’m no killer. I just wanted justice.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My father. I assume that’s why you’re here?’ The fourteen-year-old boy who had scalped his father.
‘No,’ Rath said. ‘You witnessed the murder of Anna von Mathée,’ he said at length. Radlewski looked at him. Surprised, perhaps even a little upset. ‘You need to testify in court. You saw the man who killed Anna. An innocent man went to jail.’
He had said too much, he could see straightaway from Radlewski’s reaction. The man was thinking. ‘You read them,’ the Kaubuk said at last, the old suspicion returning to his voice. ‘You read my notebooks.’
‘No more than a glance, but Maria Cofalka…’
‘I’m not leaving the forest,’ Radlewski said. ‘I’ll never return to the world of men! Did Maria send you?’
‘Yes and no, it’s…’
‘I’m not leaving my forest,’ Radlewski interrupted. ‘Neither you nor anyone else can persuade me.’
‘I just want…’
Radlewski stood up. Seeing his size Rath started. No wonder everyone here spoke of the Kaubuk. He was really not the kind of man you’d want to run into alone in the forest. ‘You’re fit and healthy again,’ Radlewski said. ‘You don’t need nursing any more. Time for you to leave.’
‘You nursed me?’
‘You had a bad fever, but now you need to return to your people, and never enter my forest again!’ As he spoke, Radlewski fetched a canteen from a windowsill next to the hearth. Seizing Rath so suddenly that there was no chance for him to react, he forced his jaw open and held the bottle to his mouth. ‘Drink,’ he said over and over. ‘Drink!’
Rath had no choice, so firmly were the Kaubuk’s thumb and index finger wedged between his jaw, as if he were a horse being bridled.
The broth tasted better than the Kaubuk’s dirty fingers, and soon Rath realised he was dozing off.
What the hell had the bastard given him? Was he trying to poison him? Why…? Wh…y?
The only response came in the form of darkness, enveloping him once more.
72
At eight the lights went out, and it grew colder. Dietrich Assmann wrapped himself in his blanket and shivered on the plank bed.
So, he’d have to spend a night here, but the lawyer would get him out soon after. Hopefully the man was good. He’d have preferred Dr Schröder, but Schröder ate out of Gustav Wengler’s hand and, as matters stood, wouldn’t be much use – if, that is, Gustav really was trying to do the dirty on him.
He still couldn’t believe it. Why would Gustav Wengler collapse his alibi? Everything had been agreed. True, the shipment at the Westhafen had gone belly up, but that was hardly his fault! He’d bust a gut to ensure they kept to the delivery date, despite the problems created by Lamkau’s death. It wasn’t his fault they’d been grassed up. Some arsehole from Concordia, no doubt. Unlike Gustav Wengler, he’d never entirely trusted its members.
The truth was, he was proud of how he’d dodged the cops, how he’d obtained a set of dry clothes and returned to the hotel. He’d have thought Gustav might reward such commitment. After all, he could have died.
He still wasn’t sure the cops hadn’t simply laid a trap. Every fibre of his being resisted believing that Gustav Wengler had dropped him just like that. Gustav must understand that a man like Dietrich Assmann wouldn’t go down without a fight. Or perhaps it was all part of the plan? Just like in ’24 when Lamkau and his gang were sacrificed to save the firm. Even Siegbert Wengler had left Masuria back then, though not before ensuring it was worth his while.