‘What does?’
‘Soldiers killing their commanding officers and presenting it as an accident. It just takes someone unpopular enough, and a few like-minded souls. And an opportunity.’
‘But, killed for being… unpopular?’
‘If it’s someone who sends his men into battle without heed to the consequences, or who’s a brutal slave-driver… yes, at some point, that’s the type of man you’d want to kill.’
‘And Engel? Was he a brutal slave-driver?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. He was strict, arrogant perhaps, but he was hated because he was a Jew, and had dared to become a captain.’
Rath thought of his former boss, Bernhard Weiss, whose safety was no longer guaranteed. Weiss, too, had emerged from the war as a highly decorated captain, a fact which only stoked the anti-Semitism of his opponents. The more patriotic Jews were, and the greater their sense of duty to the Fatherland, the more bitter the hatred became.
‘You have your suspicions?’
‘Like I said, Engel wasn’t held in very high regard.’
‘But someone must have been on hand to detonate the trap?’
‘Or they manipulated it and moved the wire to a different site, right at the entrance to the trenches.’ He looked at Rath. ‘If so, it must have been someone who didn’t care if Thelen and I were killed too. The fact that we were still standing by the car when Engel went in was pure coincidence. I should have been there, inspecting the traps with him.’
‘If it was an attack…’ Rath considered, ‘could you have been a target?’
‘I was a nobody, Inspector. A man like me didn’t attract hatred or envy, but it must have been someone who thought my life was worthless.’
‘What about Thelen? Would he have stayed by the car whatever?’
‘That was how it was with the others we inspected. He was only the driver.’
‘Do you think he might have been capable? How was his relationship with Engel?’
‘You’d have to ask him yourself. I barely knew him. He was transferred to the Eastern Front shortly afterwards.’
‘You looked for Engel together…’
‘Yes, even though it was futile, burrowing through rubble like that. Then the British artillery started firing, and we made sure we got out.’
‘But no one saw the corpse?’
‘No.’
‘Did anyone look for him later?’
‘It wasn’t possible. The enemy was advancing. It was no longer German territory. Leaving an unidentified corpse behind like that, it happened all the time. Plenty more died agonising deaths, because no one could get to them.’
‘Would it be possible to survive one of your booby-traps?’
‘We always packed a lot of scrap metal around the explosive charge. Nails, sheet metal, old screws, things like that. Pretty lethal when it flies through the air.’ Grimberg spoke as if he were explaining the workings of a pressure cooker. ‘With a little luck, you could survive a hailstorm of metal like that,’ he said, adopting a sceptical expression. ‘The question is whether you’d want to. Sometimes, death can be a mercy.’
49
Charly stood at the window and looked at the full moon over Carmerstrasse and the gaslight below. Previously she might have gone out on an evening like this, perhaps met up with Greta or her former classmates, but somehow she didn’t feel like it. What was happening out there made her sick. It was as if a wicked conjuror had cast a spell on her beloved Berlin, and transformed it beyond recognition.
The city she knew still existed; the people, the bars, the streets, but to access it she had to pass at least a dozen swastika flags, and tonight she couldn’t stomach it. Now that the election campaign was over, she hoped they would disappear and Berlin might begin to look normal again, and not like an occupied city. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt an almost bottomless aversion to the swastika, the symbol of the new party of government – and this despite its geometrically perfect form.
These days Nazi flags even flew outside police headquarters; the black-red-and-gold of the Republic had served its time. Systemzeit was the name given to the years of the Republic, making it sound as if democracy were an aberration in German history.
For Kirie’s sake she still left the house, of course. The dog had to be walked no matter what. After a long excursion following Gereon’s departure, tonight a brief stroll would have to suffice.
Waiting for Kirie to perform her business, Charly gazed up at number 3, Steinplatz. The second floor windows were all dark. It was a week now since Bernhard Weiss had fled, but still she was worried.
Late as it was, she decided not to return to Carmerstrasse but to take a detour to Uhlandstrasse. She rang on Adolf Weiss’s door, and it was some time before a maid opened. No doubt she was afraid it might be an SA wrecking crew.
Adolf Weiss might not have said so as he received her, but fear was writ large on his face. The SA had been in Pension Teske already. Somehow, Weiss said, after the maid had brought tea and set a bowl down for Kirie, the brownshirts must have got wind that little Hilde Weiss had been staying there with her grandmother. Luckily Bernhard Weiss had left with his wife after a single night and fled to a friend’s house in Hamburg. Arriving too late, the SA had tried to take Hilde hostage and it was only through the intervention of a courageous lawyer guest that the situation had been resolved. His brother had returned soon after to collect his daughter and mother-in-law.
‘He was here?’ Charly asked, barely able to conceal her horror. ‘When the SA are out for his neck?’
‘He had to get his little girl.’
The family were now on their way out of the country, stopping in a new city each day, never spending more than a single night in the same hotel. Adolf Weiss couldn’t say exactly where they were, or didn’t want to. Charly could understand why. Before taking her leave she asked him to send her best wishes when he could.
Even in the moonlight there was no missing the flags on Steinplatz, and Charly was relieved to arrive home with Kirie. How empty the apartment felt without Gereon! She was missing him after just half a day.
Kirie curled up in her basket and was already dozing when she turned on the radio and opened a bottle of red wine. She flopped onto Gereon’s favourite armchair. Tonight it belonged to her.
There was only music on the radio, nothing on today’s vote. She lit a Juno and tried to read…
…before catching herself staring out of the window, thinking dark thoughts, snapping awake as she gazed into the eyes of the woman reflected in the glass.
My God, she thought. You’re becoming more and more like Gereon Rath. Sitting here drinking yourself to sleep, alone. At least she hadn’t started on the cognac. She had heard that, after a number of years together, spouses began to resemble one another. To think, they weren’t even married yet.
Either way she couldn’t concentrate on the novel she was supposed to be reading, even though it was by no means bad. Her thoughts kept returning to the last few weeks, to all the Nazi spite and brutality. They had caught everyone off guard. Everyone, not just the Communists.
The telephone rang. She lifted herself out of the chair and picked up the receiver, realising she was starting to sway slightly. Best hold off on the wine after this glass. It was Gereon.
‘Charly, how’s it going? How was your day?’
‘Lousy. How about yours? Were you successful?’
‘Define successful.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘Elberfeld. That is, Wuppertal, I should say. Just got to the hotel.’ She sensed there was something on his mind. ‘Charly,’ he began. ‘You like dancing, don’t you…’