‘Yes, Sir.’ Rath did his best to sound contrite. He’d had a lot of practice down the years, and not just with this commissioner. ‘As far as Wibeau’s concerned, there’s no need to ask Roddeck for his alibi. I was interrogating him at the time.’
Levtzow shot him a glance. ‘Speaking of interrogations: we’ve received a complaint about you from the SA Field Police. Apparently you let a dangerous career criminal and alleged Communist escape during an interrogation?’
‘The man is a witness in the Wosniak investigation. He didn’t escape, his lawyer had a prisoner release form.’
Levetzow waved dismissively. ‘You were played by a Jew shyster and the witness retracted his statement. Am I right?’ Rath nodded. ‘Meaning you lost your witness, and the SA their prisoner.’ Rath nodded. ‘Perhaps you should have treated this lawyer with the same obstinacy you reserved for poor Lieutenant von Roddeck!’ Rath nodded. ‘Then get to work, Inspector. Find this Engel!’
‘Yes, Sir.’ Rath stood up.
‘Report to me as soon as you pick up his trail. I want to be kept personally informed.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Good, now get out of here.’ Magnus von Levetzow stretched out his right arm. ‘Heil Hitler!’
The salute caught Rath off guard. Unsure how to react, he settled for clicking his heels and taking his leave with a brisk bow. In the corridor he felt like an idiot, but at least he hadn’t been cajoled into thrusting his right arm aloft.
Back in his office he took Benjamin Engel’s biography from the file. As Levetzow had said: from his childhood friends to his Rabbi… To think, he didn’t even know if the man was alive.
The official report from 1917, which had found its way to police headquarters, gave no clues either. The episode was described more or less exactly as in Roddeck’s novel, which was hardly surprising when you looked at the signature on the form. Back then, the lieutenant had questioned the witnesses himself. Alongside demolition expert Grimberg, the focus had been on Engel’s driver, Franz Thelen. In point of fact, they were the only witnesses, or at least the only ones present when the charge detonated.
Absent from the report was the question, first raised by Grimberg, of whether Engel’s death might not have been an accident. The interrogation mostly consisted of the demolition expert exploring the various possibilities that might have led to the charge going off prematurely, including the stray pigeon he later mentioned to Rath. The statement made by Engel’s driver was more straightforward: a British artillery grenade must have landed in the trench and set off the trap. Unfortunately Thelen, the only other witness to the explosion, seemed to have vanished into thin air. In 1917 he had been sent to the Eastern Front, and in 1919 had joined a volunteer corps fighting against the Red army in the Baltic States. Erika Voss had been unable to find a current address.
A search for Engel’s corpse had never taken place, since the area in question had ceased to be part of German territory. If he had survived the blast, the advancing enemy, whether British or French, would surely have found him.
Rath skimmed the biography. Benjamin Engel was born in Siegburg in December 1883 and educated in Bonn, where he also attended university. The only period he’d spent outside of the Rhineland was in Munich, where he had completed his studies before taking his commission in the Bavarian Army. He had married Eva Heinen, whom he’d obviously known for some time, immediately following his return from Munich in 1907, and entered his parents’ furniture business. The couple welcomed a son, Walther, in 1908, and a daughter, Edith, followed in 1913. No mention of Rabbis or childhood friends, but Rath noted the names of the groomsmen all the same. Perhaps one was a friend from school days. After that came the Catholic priest who had married them, probably the same man who had baptised Engel.
Police colleagues in Bonn had been shadowing Eva Heinen since Rath’s visit to the Rhineland last week, but the only point of interest were her walks in the nearby Siebengebirge mountains, where her driver would drop her most mornings. Rath didn’t think the surveillance would lead them to Engeclass="underline" by now it was clear the killer was based in Berlin or environs. It was here, rather than the Rhineland, that he had struck: Berlin, Potsdam, and on the train between Braunschweig and Magdeburg.
There was a knock at the door. ‘Yes,’ he said, reluctantly. He hated it when his secretary wasn’t there. He hated it even more when she wasn’t there, and he was interrupted. This particular interruption had a cute face, however, and lovely brown eyes.
‘Is this a bad time?’ Charly asked.
‘It’s fine. Come in.’
She crossed the empty outer office. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I forgot Erika isn’t here today.’
‘No problem. Should I lock the door?’
‘Gereon, really!’
‘Are you surprised? We had company last night, which means we have to take advantage during the day.’
‘Don’t start that again.’
Returning from work last night he had felt like a stranger in his own home. Charly intercepted him at the door and placed a finger to her lips, leading him on tiptoes into the living room where a boy lay under a woollen blanket on the sofa, at the end of which Kirie was curled into a little ball as if watching over him.
‘That’s Fritze,’ Charly whispered, before steering Rath into the kitchen and closing the door behind them. Eschewing a cognac in his favourite armchair, Rath made do with warmed Bouletten and a glass of water, after which Charly told him what the boy was doing there. Clearly she was in battle mode. Her gaze said the boy stays, or I go, and Rath was too tired to engage.
At breakfast the boy made himself useful in whatever way he could. Charly even entrusted him with Kirie’s morning stroll. Rath secretly feared he’d sell her to the nearest passer-by, but he was back after a quarter of an hour. A warm place to sleep obviously meant more than a hasty mark or two. Charly had promised he could stay for a few days, mentioning this only once she and Rath had left for work. She had already introduced Fritze to the porter, saying he was her nephew from Zehdenick. That way he could come and go as he pleased. ‘He’s helping me find Hannah,’ she had explained.
Rath swallowed his anger in the car, but could no longer hold his tongue. Charly was ready. ‘There’s no way I’m sending him back on the streets. He stays with us until I think of something else.’
‘How about a children’s home?’
‘Why do you think he bust out in the first place? He says he’d rather die than go back, and I believe him.’
‘And that’s not the only thing.’
‘Gereon, let’s not fight here too.’
‘Who’s fighting? As a matter of fact I suggested the exact opposite.’
‘Lecher!’ She couldn’t help but smile.
‘Then what are you doing here?’
‘Duty call.’ She gestured towards his desk. ‘The documents from the Bülowplatz fire, can I have them?’
‘What do you want with them?’ Rath rummaged in his drawer. The file was somewhere near the bottom.
‘I’m looking for a fallen girl,’ she said. ‘It’s what G Division are for.’
‘If you’re seeking refuge… from Wieking or your colleague – you can always use my office.’
‘I’m not sure your secretary would appreciate that.’
‘Erika’s off for the next two days, and I’ll see Plisch and Plum are kept busy.’
‘Then you’ll lock the door…’
‘Who knows?’
Charly kissed him back, but withdrew when he tried to embrace her.