‘I can look into it if you like,’ Charly fetched a second glass from the cupboard. ‘Fancy a drop? I know it’s a little early, but I had to open a bottle.’
They clinked glasses. ‘Hard day?’ Rath asked.
She looked at him so seriously he’d have liked nothing more than to kiss her again. ‘Gereon, I can’t take it anymore. Wieking, Karin, the whole goddamn WKP! The way they run after this Hitler as if he were the Saviour.’
‘That bad, huh?’
‘Worse.’ She reached for her cigarettes. ‘Can’t you put in a request for me?’
‘If only it were that simple. You mustn’t think there are no Nazis in Homicide. The commissioner is a Nazi, the whole damn country is governed by Nazis. That’s how it is, but it won’t last forever.’
‘Though apparently I’m fine to work unofficially, and spend my evenings grappling with gigolos.’
‘I’m sorry about that. I thought…’
‘It’s fine. Actually I enjoyed it.’ She looked at him with that gaze she knew he couldn’t resist. ‘I realise Gennat isn’t going to let us strike out together, Gereon, but he could always pair me up with Reinhold Gräf, like Böhm used to.’
‘Gräf’s no longer on my team.’
‘What? Why not?’
‘I didn’t ask him to be.’
‘But he knows the case. He was there at the start.’
‘He’s still working for the Politicals. Besides, he’s…’ He broke off. He didn’t know how to tell her.
‘He’s what?’
‘I…’ he hesitated again. ‘The thing is: Gräf’s a Nazi.’
‘Reinhold?’
‘I didn’t want to say anything, but as far as the national revolution’s concerned he’s really got the bit between his teeth. He’s friends with an SA officer too.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything. Reinhold’s a nice guy, I can’t picture him as a Nazi.’
‘He isn’t one of the malicious ones, but he’s just as gushing about Hitler as all these women. Like your colleagues in G, as if Hitler’s the Saviour. That’s what Reinhold believes too.’
The record ended. Rath returned the tone arm to its starting position and went over to Charly, pulled her out of the armchair and danced slowly with her across the room. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I want to see what you learned from those gigolos.’
‘I hardly had a chance to dance,’ she said, nestling close.
She told him the rest over dinner. Potato soup, the best thing she’d cooked for him yet. He lavished praise on the food.
Her information confirmed him in his suspicions against Achim von Roddeck. A calculating sort who had been kept by various women, but had lost his meal ticket and possibly had money troubles of his own. All were avenues he ought to pursue. He told Charly about his visit to the demolition expert, Grimberg, and the man’s low opinion of his former lieutenant, before moving on to the widow Engel, whose description of her husband had been far removed from Roddeck’s lamentable novel.
‘It’s an insult to authors everywhere,’ Charly said. He looked at her in astonishment. ‘I had a glance at the Kreuzzeitung.’ She shrugged, as if to apologise for being more interested in his case than her own.
‘Then you’re up to speed.’ Rath had to grin. ‘No need to ask Gennat or Wieking for reinforcements.’
‘I certainly have some thoughts I’d be willing to share.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘You want me to be honest?’
‘Of course.’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me if Achim von Roddeck is behind the murders himself.’
‘I don’t like him much either, but I wouldn’t go as far as that.’
‘He’s the only one who’s benefited. Without these murders, his so-called novel would never have got this much attention. Nor would he. I have the feeling he enjoys playing the role of endangered author.’
‘Still, that’s no reason to kill.’
‘Perhaps there’s another motive, but I certainly wouldn’t put murder past him. The war would have taught him how to kill.’
‘His own orderly though? Wosniak was devoted to his lieutenant. The pair were inseparable. At least, that’s how Grimberg tells it, and he’s hardly Roddeck’s greatest fan.’
‘Take a look at the Kreuzzeitung and you’ll see what I mean. The papers are in your briefcase, along with the files from your office.’
While Charly cleared the table he retired to the living room and topped up his glass. The Kreuzzeitung had certainly pulled out all the stops for the start of their serial. The first lines of Roddeck’s novel were flanked by an up-to-date report on the endangered author and his life under police protection. Rath suspected that people would buy the paper mainly to see if Roddeck were still alive, or whether he, too, had fallen victim to the mystery killer. He examined the Kreuzzeitung’s photo of the author-come-gigolo-lieutenant. Achim von Roddeck gazed resolutely into the camera, flanked by two uniformed cops who escorted him to his car. It seemed almost as if he were a statesman of some kind, rather than an author whose work would most likely be forgotten in a year or two. It was a role he enjoyed; the photo left no room for doubt.
Charly was right. There was no question the deaths of Wosniak and Meifert had brought the lieutenant and his novel to the public’s attention. However stuffy his prose might be, a sizeable payout was sure to follow.
The next instalment made it sound as if the outcome of the war remained open and Germany still had a chance of victory.
Tomorrow: Fateful Slaughter on the Somme
As far as Rath recalled, the events of summer 1916 hadn’t proved decisive. Meanwhile the details of the episode which the Kreuzzeitung sought to lay bare hadn’t occurred until March 1917. He wondered how many more instalments would be published before then.
When Charly emerged from the kitchen she was holding a second bottle in her hand. ‘I knew you’d finish it. Do you want to open another?’
He grinned and reached for the corkscrew. ‘As long as it doesn’t become a habit. We both have to work in the morning.’
‘Then perhaps we should…’ she took the bottle from his hand. ‘…get ourselves to bed.’ With that, she vanished into the bedroom with the wine and her glass. She didn’t look in the slightest bit tired. Rath examined his almost empty glass and took a last gulp. He picked it up and followed her inside. Kirie was shown the door.
59
An Inspector Stresow from 1A was responsible for coordinating Achim von Roddeck’s security arrangements. ‘It’s Hotel Central today, Friedrichstrasse. Ask for Herr Rubens at reception.’
‘Rubens?’ Rath asked.
‘We use different names each day.’
‘Let me guess: yesterday it was Dürer?’
‘Come again?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I see you’ve got it all worked out.’
‘Can’t make things easy for his would-be assassin.’
When Rath emerged from the lift in Hotel Central, a handful of journalists were grouped outside the mysterious Herr Rubens’s suite. He lit a cigarette and joined them.
His day had begun in the small conference room. These days, A Division resembled the waiting room of a provincial train station but, with so many CID officers recalled from the Political Police, things were starting to pick up again. Rath noted Gräf’s continued absence with relief.
It was clear that a number of colleagues already took Hermann Wibeau for dead. There was nothing new from Warrants, but unless they picked him up on his doorstep he was unlikely to fall into their hands. Rath had instructed Henning and Czerwinski to conduct a parallel search, ensuring they were occupied while he stopped by Hotel Central.