The baron was starting to grate. So, he had written a book… ‘Why are you telling me this? Are you hoping to gain a new reader?’
‘I fear my novel has someone running scared. Someone whom I thought long dead.’
‘Come again?’
Roddeck fetched a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. ‘Read this. I found it in my mailbox two weeks ago, days after the pre-printing of Märzgefallene was announced.’
Rath skimmed the document, which looked like a blackmail letter, typewritten, and in block capitals.
THERE ARE THINGS IT PAYS TO BE SILENT ABOUT. EVEN TODAY ALBERICH CAN STILL BE DEADLY!
‘I thought it was a bad joke, but it seems he has made good on his threat.’
‘Alberich? Like the dwarf? Strange name.’
‘A code name.’
‘Of course…’
‘You’re aware of Operation Alberich?’ Roddeck asked.
‘1917. The retreat to the Siegfried Line.’
Achim von Roddeck gave a nod of acknowledgement. ‘You served, didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t make it to the Front,’ Rath replied. ‘A few months too young.’ He shrugged guiltily, an involuntary reaction. He had no call to apologise for being spared the carnage, for having seen out the end of the war in the rear, where, in anticipation of imminent death, he and his comrades had lived each day as if it were their last.
‘I was part of it. We evacuated the territory, mined the streets, destroyed the railways, booby-trapped abandoned villages, poisoned wells, you name it. Nothing glorious about it, but that’s war. We did what was necessary.’
Rath silently disagreed. Operation Alberich was a masterfully conceived manoeuvre, but the way the troops had devastated the abandoned territory, leaving it littered with dead, was a matter of national shame. It was one of the many wartime episodes that had shaken his naive belief in the heroism of hand-to-hand combat, which had been drummed into him since his schooldays.
‘Since he called himself Alberich, I thought it might be one of my ex-comrades playing me for a fool,’ Roddeck said. Rath and Erika Voss waited for a name. ‘All these years I thought he was dead. We all did. But he’s alive. No doubt about it, and he killed my faithful Heinrich.’
‘Who did, Herr von Roddeck?’
Achim von Roddeck drew on his cigarette and Erika Voss rolled her eyes. ‘His name is Benjamin Engel. He was a captain on the Western Front.’
At last Erika Voss’s pencil scratched across the page.
What he served up next was hard for Rath to digest: a convoluted account of the exploits of one Captain Engel, who had stood out for his cruelty during the retreat, and had incited his unit to conceal a gold strike, murdering three people when the episode threatened to come to light. Two minors – French civilians – and a German recruit.
‘You covered it up all these years?’
‘Engel fell the day after the murders, or so we thought. Why drag the German army’s good name through the mire?’
We. ‘There were other witnesses?’
‘Heinrich Wosniak was one.’
‘You think this Captain Engel is still alive, and trying to prevent the publication of your novel, which tells precisely this story…’
‘Correct.’
‘Then why did he murder your orderly, if you and your novel are the threat?’
‘My death wouldn’t have prevented its release! Wosniak’s murder was a sign that Engel means business. Isn’t that obvious?’
‘This Captain Engel of yours killed, to give you a sign?’
‘Engel stopped at nothing during the war. Todesengel, we called him. Angel of Death. When I remember how cold-bloodedly he murdered those children, and Wegener, the youthful recruit…’
Despite finding the whole thing fanciful, Rath had Erika Voss note all the names. Not only was Heinrich Wosniak dead, he had met with a violent end. Exactly how violent, Rath would soon see for himself. His body had been on display in the morgue for some days, standard procedure for those whose identity was unconfirmed.
‘I have a gentleman here who knew Heinrich Wosniak from the war,’ Rath explained to the porter. Moments later he and Roddeck stood before the thick glass pane that separated the chilled corpses from onlookers. The showroom was stiller even than a church; the dead demanded respect, or perhaps it was the attendance of Death that made the living fall silent.
Wosniak’s corpse was laid at a slight angle so that visitors could examine his face.
Rath couldn’t work out the man standing next to him. Was Achim von Roddeck a serious witness or just another busybody, the sort who appeared without fail at headquarters following a newspaper appeal?
Roddeck looked at the body carefully. ‘My God, how old his face has grown, and such horrific scars.’
‘Burns,’ explained Rath, who had only seen photos until now. ‘Wosniak survived a fire about a year ago. The shack he shared with various others was burned down.’
Roddeck shook his head. ‘A man survives a war for this.’
‘You can identify him then?’
‘Yes, that’s my faithful Heinrich. You really haven’t traced any next of kin?’
‘But for the service record in his coat we wouldn’t even have his name. Nickname was a different matter. Kartoffel.’
‘Kartoffel!’ Roddeck shook his head. ‘It’s a disgrace the way our Fatherland has treated its most loyal sons!’ He sounded as if he weren’t just speaking for poor disenfranchised souls like Heinrich Wosniak, but men such as himself. He looked at his silver fob watch.
‘Inspector, do you still need me? I have an urgent meeting with my publisher and the editor of the Kreuzzeitung.’
Rath pricked up his ears. ‘You’re thinking of pulling the release?’
‘Absolutely not! I’ve given my word. A German officer does not submit to threats.’
‘Especially when he doesn’t stand to come to harm himself.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘This mysterious captain hasn’t ruined your life but that of your orderly. You told me yourself, your own death won’t prevent the novel being printed.’
‘Nothing will prevent my novel being printed!’ Achim von Roddeck flashed his eyes at Rath, a look that Kaiser Wilhelm had once made popular. ‘Do you sincerely believe my life isn’t in danger?’ He gestured towards the deceased Wosniak. ‘Is that not proof enough of the seriousness of Engel’s threats?’
‘If that’s what you think, you ought to have contacted the police sooner, then perhaps your faithful Heinrich would still be alive.’
‘You think I don’t blame myself? But that doesn’t mean the police should make the same mistake. See that there are no more victims, Inspector! Find Wosniak’s killer.’
‘It isn’t so easy to find a dead man. No doubt your Captain Engel goes by a new name.’
‘Then protect me and my men.’
‘You want police protection?’ Rath gazed at Roddeck in disbelief. ‘Don’t you think that’s a little… over the top? I wouldn’t hold out much hope given the current situation. The sort of manpower that would entail…’
‘I believe my former comrades are in danger, as am I.’
‘Some of these men aren’t even from Berlin.’
‘Captain Engel wasn’t from Berlin either. He was from Bonn.’
Rath gave in. ‘Perhaps I can assign you a little protection today. If you tell me where your meeting is, I’ll take you there myself.’
Lieutenant von Roddeck appeared offended, but nodded all the same. ’Friedrichstrasse,’ he said. ‘Café Imperator.’