The Gloria-Palast was showing the latest Hans Albers film, Heut’ kommt’s drauf an, a perfectly ordinary comedy set in a world with no Nazis, swastikas or politics of any kind. Just the ticket to persuade her that the world outside could still be normal, and to assure himself that, although the Nazis proclaimed a new age, little had really changed.
Arriving home last night from Magdeburg, he had crawled into bed beside her and inhaled her scent. In the morning he told her what had happened, that her suspicions were unfounded now that Achim von Roddeck had an alibi. ‘He was with me in the interrogation room.’
‘But in Magdeburg, it was the same perpetrator as before…’
‘It looks like it.’
Confirmation came from Dr Schwartz a few hours later. The same weapon, the same method. Brief and painless, and the disabled veteran the conductor had seen might just be the killer. A former soldier putting his trench dagger to use once more. Had Benjamin Engel risen from the dead?
Rath had sent a police sketch artist to Magdeburg, but the result was next to useless. All the conductor could see were the suspect’s many scars. It was possible, of course, that it was an accurate depiction of Benjamin Engel following his injury, but it might have been anyone else. The most striking thing was the nose, which thanks to the suspect’s pitted complexion had morphed into a kind of indeterminable clump in the middle of his face, almost a caricature.
When Rath got home, tickets at the ready, Charly had on her green dance dress. So she did want to go out, to dance, to enjoy herself. After the trials of the last few weeks, she seemed to have recaptured some of her zest for life. He changed and they went on their way. The cinema was within easy walking distance and they strolled there without Kirie, whom they had left with the porter.
The swastika flags were less visible in the darkness, and the city looked much as it always had. Rath offered Charly his arm and she slipped her own through, smiling. There, you see? Just like old times.
Soon, with the spires of the Gedächtniskirche above them, they reached the cinema. The new Albers film was a big draw with the foyer full to bursting, but with his police identification casually placed on the counter Rath had acquired prime seats for the Saturday screening.
With its marble foyer and thick, soft carpets, pastel-green and gold theatre walls and bulky, red easy chairs, the Gloria-Palast was one of the most magnificent cinemas in Berlin, a premiere cinema, in which pretty much every Ufa star had made a red carpet entrance. It was also one of the few that still permitted itself the luxury of an orchestra, even though the silent era was at an end. The orchestra opened every screening, making a visit to the Gloria feel more like a visit to the opera.
‘Dr Schwartz sends his regards,’ Rath said, as they queued for the cloakroom. ‘He’s heard we’re getting married.’
‘I thought the whole of Berlin knew.’
‘Anyway, there’s no doubt our killer has struck again. The weapon in Magdeburg was the same.’
‘Do you think it’s Roddeck’s Todesengel?’
‘It certainly seems likely it’s a soldier.’ He told her about the conductor and the police sketch.
‘A disabled veteran?’ Charly looked at him wide-eyed.
‘A man with facial scarring. Unable to walk properly. Not a beggar, but the conductor swears he’s an ex-soldier. He had two brothers in the war, one of whom was killed in action. Says he can see it in their eyes.’
Charly wasn’t interested in the conductor. ‘Sounds like the man who raised the alarm at Bahnhof Zoo after seeing Hannah Singer. A well-dressed, disabled veteran with scars on his face and one leg dragging behind.’
‘I could show you a dozen who fit that description at Bahnhof Zoo alone.’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Show me.’
‘What?’
She dragged him out of the queue and towards the exit. ‘We’re heading there now, so you can show me all these men fitting that description. Facial scarring, bad leg, well dressed.’
‘We’ll miss the film!’
‘Show me!’
‘Okay, you’re right. But even if well-dressed veterans are rare, it could still be a coincidence.’
‘You know perfectly well it isn’t. It’s highly likely the man who recognised Hannah Singer and the man who murdered Hermann Wibeau on the Magdeburg train are one and the same.’
‘What if they are?’
‘Then he’s the link to Hannah Singer. Hannah didn’t just know Wosniak, she knew his killer too. That’s why she fled the asylum. Because he’s after her as well.’
Charly looked at him so triumphantly that he knew arguing was futile. He steered her gently to rejoin the back of the queue.
64
‘My gorilla has a villa in the zoo…’ Charly sang, dipping the washing brush in the warm water. There wasn’t a lot to wash up; yesterday’s wine glasses, Gereon’s breakfast dishes. He had chosen not to wake her this morning.
‘…my gorilla is happy and never blue…’
She couldn’t get the daft song from the film out of her head. The refreshingly silly comedy had put her in the mood to explore Berlin’s nightlife. The Nazis steered clear of the Ku’damm, which meant Charly could enjoy it all the more.
It was good to have the morning to herself at home. They had gone a little overboard last night but it had been fun. At least, as far as she could remember.
After the film their first port of call had been the Kakadu-Bar, just like two weeks ago when Gereon took her out for dinner and Göring did his best to spoil their appetite. In Kakadu you could forget that people like Göring existed. The few brownshirts who drank there were more worldly than their beer-swilling, march-obsessed comrades.
She danced through the kitchen, holding the washing brush like a microphone, trying to whip up her audience of one dog, but Kirie wasn’t interested. She tilted her head to one side and looked up with pity. Charly couldn’t help but laugh. She had no idea why she was in such a good mood, but why not just run with it?
The doorbell rang, too early for Gereon unless he had followed her lead and feigned a stomach ache. Unlikely, since in the meantime he’d really got his teeth into his case. Three dead bodies was decidedly too many, but what really rankled was that the killer could lead them on such a merry dance – and that Achim von Roddeck was innocent.
She looked through the peephole to see two police officers in blue coats, one wearing a shako, the other a brown SA peaked cap. On opening the door she noticed the little red-haired boy standing between them, grinning up at her in embarrassment.
‘Hello, Aunt Charlotte,’ he said. ‘Excuse the interruption.’
The cop administered a clip to the back of his neck. ‘Speak when you’re spoken to,’ he said, turning to Charly. ‘We picked him up at Friedrichstrasse station, begging from passers-by. He gave us this address and claimed you were his aunt.’
Charly looked down at the boy, who stared pleadingly back. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were full of trepidation. Before she could say anything, Kirie emerged from the kitchen and pitter-pattered towards the door for a closer look.
‘Hello, Fido,’ the boy said, ruffling her fur and floppy ears. Kirie wagged her tail and licked his face.
The cop looked as if he were about to strike the boy again, but cleared his throat instead. ‘Apologies. We thought the little mite had bust out of care.’
The boy was still busy with Kirie, but at the word ‘care’ he looked at Charly even more pleadingly than before. She didn’t know his name, but he seemed to read her mind. ‘Fido!’ he said. ‘You remember your old friend, Erich, don’t you?’