‘Well?’ Roth said.
‘Our man Meist was living under an alias. Listen to this...’
Chapter 8
24 Douglasstrasse
Grunewald
29 May
Dearest Rudi,
This is not the news you want to hear.
I cannot give you what you ask for. I’m sorry, but your father controls our accounts, and there would be no way of withdrawing funds without him being notified. Until you two are reconciled – or at least on some kind of speaking terms – there is nothing to be done.
Still, for all that has happened I am still your Mutti. I love you, Rudi, and I would dearly love to see you.
I know how you must feel. You think I’ve sided with him over you, but surely you cannot be utterly blind to the things he has done for you?
I tell myself this is a phase you are going through, and that very soon you will come to your senses and stop worrying me so. For the answer to both our troubles is for you to return home, Rudi. Patch things up and come back to me.
But no, I told myself I would not seek to blame you. This is not why I have written. In my brighter moments I feel as if this experience could be the making of you as a man. I do hope it will prove so.
Forgive me, Rudi, for rambling. I hope you can see the truth of what I’m trying to say with my inadequate words. That I miss you and you are still my son. Although I know you to be somewhere in the city, you might as well be a stoker on a merchant ship in the far Pacific for how great the distance feels to me.
So please do consent to meet me at the Mulatto Café on the Potsdamer Platz. I do not assume you will write again, certainly not with the risk, however slight, of your father intercepting any correspondence.
Therefore I will make it as easy for you as I can. I will be at the café between 3pm and 5pm every afternoon this week. Please just come and see me. We need not speak to each other if you’d prefer. I can pass you a few Reichsmark – enough I hope to help you for a time.
I must see you, my son, even just to keep my sanity. This is what you mean to me.
I have forgiven you, Rudi. Please now do the same for me.
With all the hope and love in my heart,
Mutti X
Chapter 9
The house was grey stone covered in some kind of clinging plant Trautmann couldn’t be sure of in the wan pre-dawn light. It stood three storeys high beneath a red slate roof, and a small turret marked the entrance. It was also behind a locked gate.
‘So what do we do now?’ Roth said.
Trautmann pointed to the bell hanging by the side of the gate. Roth rang it, and the sound echoed down the dark street, quieting the shrill songbirds for a few seconds.
Roth was about to ring again when a light came on in the porch at the base of the turret. A grey-haired man rushed out of the house towards the gate, buttoning his shirt as he went.
When he saw Trautmann and Roth, he stopped.
‘You’re not the baron,’ he said.
Roth’s look to Trautmann said The baron? What have we got ourselves into now?
But it was to be expected in this part of town. Trautmann flashed his ID and beckoned the man closer to the railings.
‘We’re here to see the lady of the house,’ he said. Then, when the man continued to hesitate: ‘It’s about her missing son.’
The man fumbled a key into the padlock and opened the gate, ushering the detectives inside and into the house.
‘I’ll get the baroness,’ he said, leaving them in a study lined with bookshelves, a large desk facing into the room with its back to a large window with the drapes shut. A half-full glass of whisky or cognac sat on a low table between two sofas in front of the desk. That glass suggested the room hadn’t been abandoned long. The sofas suggested a woman’s touch, upholstered as they were in lemon and cream.
‘Looks like she’s been waiting up,’ Roth said.
‘Jump in if you think of something,’ Trautmann said, ‘but leave most of it to me. This needs the sensitive touch.’
He’d meant it to be reassuring, but Roth tutted in response. Then the baroness entered the room and there was no time to dissipate the tension.
She was dressed for bed but didn’t look like she’d been sleeping. Her face was still made up and her hair pinned back. If anything, she looked ready to attend a society ball if given twenty minutes to change into a suitable gown.
She took in the two detectives at a glance and offered her hand to Trautmann, making him go to her.
‘My butler tells me you have news,’ she said, gesturing for them to sit. ‘Detective...?’
‘Kriminalkommissar Trautmann, ma’am. And this is my assistant, Roth.’
She went straight for one of the sofas and reached for the glass on the table, cradling it as she looked up at the men.
Roth took the sofa opposite while Trautmann sat next to the baroness at a respectful distance.
‘Have you found him?’ she said.
‘We think so, ma’am,’ Trautmann said.
‘You think so?’ Her voice wavered, the weak link in her controlled façade. ‘Is he dead?’
Trautmann took a breath. ‘We’ve found a dead body, but the only clue to his identity came from this.’
He laid out the letter to show her.
‘Did you write this, ma’am?’
She didn’t say anything for a long time, looking first at the letter and then past Trautmann at something in her mind’s eye.
Trautmann waited for a nod. When it didn’t come, he said, ‘Your son’s name was Rudi?’
She shuddered. ‘Rudolph. You found this on him?’
‘In his apartment. Can you tell us Rudolph’s age?’
‘Will you need me to come and identify him?’ Her large brown eyes bore into his skull.
‘Not necessarily, ma’am.’
‘“Not necessarily?” ’ She got up from the sofa. The two detectives rose with her. ‘So you can’t tell me if he’s dead – or even if you want me to confirm whether he’s the man you have in your... meat chiller, is that right?’
Roth cut in. ‘Madam, why was your son living under an assumed name?’
Trautmann shot Roth a look. But the question had an effect. The woman considered it.
‘You’ve read the letter,’ she said.
‘Yes, but it’s not entirely clear. Perhaps you can confirm our thoughts?’
The baroness stepped close to Roth and held his gaze. ‘And what thoughts are those, exactly?’
Roth didn’t blink. ‘That he and your husband had a serious falling out. Possibly over politics.’
She took a sip of her drink. ‘A falling out? Oh yes. My husband disapproved very much of my son’s membership of the party.’
‘So you knew about that?’ Trautmann said, moving into her line of sight.
‘Of course. It was the whole reason he left.’
‘Did you know he was living under a different name?’ Roth said.
‘No, but it makes sense. It could have been embarrassing to my husband otherwise.’
‘So he was upset enough to leave, but not enough to embarrass his father?’
‘Oh, my husband isn’t,’ she caught herself, ‘wasn’t Rudi’s real father. I remarried. They never saw eye to eye. This party thing was just the last straw. In fact, I’d hoped it was just an empty act of defiance. That he’d come to his senses and come home.’
‘But why was it such a problem?’ Roth pushed on. ‘After all, there must be plenty of sons from this part of the city who’ve joined for a lark. It’s not exactly unpopular in your social circle, is it?’
Trautmann willed Roth to step back – but the baroness laughed. ‘Don’t you men read the papers? If you want my opinion, Rudi changed his name to avoid being associated with my husband.’
‘How did you get his address? To write the letter?’ Trautmann asked.
‘He wrote to me first.’ She took another sip and then set the glass down on the table. ‘The f
irst time I’d heard from him in almost a year and he writes to ask for money. How’s that for a son’s love?’
She sank back into the sofa. ‘How did he die?’
This was heading into unhelpful territory.
‘He was shot,’ Roth said.
No, no, no – now the next thing she’d want to know was –
‘But that’s rare – do you have any leads?’
Just a grocery list’s worth of suspects, that was all. Trautmann sat next to her, hand up to stop Roth asking any more questions.
‘That’s one reason we’re here. Did anyone want him dead?’
‘I barely knew him anymore,’ she said. ‘Certainly precious little of his life or his friends. So I’m afraid I can’t help you.’
‘Did you know he was living with someone?’ Trautmann said.
‘A woman, you mean?’ her voice turned colder. ‘Where was she, when it happened?’
‘We have that in hand, ma’am,’ Trautmann said. ‘Did you know?’
‘No!’ she cried. ‘I did not. Does that satisfy you? Knowing how little I knew about my poor Rudi and his miserable life!’
Roth was still standing. ‘Do you have a copy of the letter he sent you, madam? That could help.’
They heard a car engine and the crunch of tires on the gravel drive. The baroness shot out of her seat.
‘I’m sure my husband can help you with any further questions,’ she said.
The front door closed with a bang and a loud voice said, ‘Kitten? I thought I said not to wait up. Is everything ok?’
The door to the room swung open. The man doing the swinging stopped, confusion making his small eyes wide above chubby red cheeks, thick lips and small waxed moustache.
Roth’s face mirrored the confusion. A moment later, Trautmann realised who this was. Thick lips, small eyes, oiled dark hair combed back from the long sloping forehead: this was the newspaper caricature in Rudi’s apartment come to life.
Their victim was the stepson of the Justice Minister, Paul von Gaben.
Chapter 10
‘What’s all this?’ von Gaben said, his words slurring. Or perhaps he spoke with a lisp.
He was in evening dress, a black bow tie flapping untied around his pudgy neck.
‘Kriminalkommissar Trautmann and Kriminalassistant Roth,’ Trautmann said. ‘We’re here about your stepson.’
‘Oh yes? What’s he been up to now?’ Yes – definitely a slight lisp.
‘He’s been murdered.’
Von Gaben went to the table with the glass on it, picked up the glass and drained the contents.
‘Did you know anyone who might have wished him harm?’ Trautmann said.
‘We’d had no contact with the boy for –’ he turned to the baroness – ‘what was it, a year?’
‘You didn’t know he was living in the Scheunenviertel?’ Roth said.
‘The Scheunenviertel? Good God, no.’
‘Or that he was living under an assumed name?’ Roth said.
‘What name?’ the baron said.
‘Jan Meist.’
‘No, we didn’t know that.’
‘Did you know any of his friends who might have joined the party with him?’ Trautmann said. ‘Friends from around here? Boys he grew up with?’
‘Hardly, kommissar.’ Then a thought struck the minister. ‘Wait a minute. If he was living under a different name, how did you know to come here?’
‘We found a letter,’ Roth said.
‘A letter?’
‘From your wife.’
Anger flashed across von Gaben’s face for a second, then was gone. He spoke to his wife: ‘You wrote to him?’
‘He asked for money,’ the baroness said. She didn’t meet her husband’s eyes, Trautmann noticed.
‘You didn’t give him any, did you?’
‘No – ’
‘After everything we said – we agreed...’
‘I said no, Paul.’
Von Gaben’s face softened. He smoothed his moustache, then grasped his wife’s hand and gave it a squeeze. At that, the baroness buried her face in his husband’s chest. She had to lean down to do it, as she was taller than him.
Trautmann wanted to get the baron alone and ask him more questions. ‘Minister, a thought occurs. Would you be able to come with us to identify the body?’
Von Gaben kissed his wife’s cheek. He had turned away from the detectives, and he didn’t turn back now.
‘Yes, of course. Shall we say 10am? You could pick me up from the ministry.’
‘Actually sir, I was hoping we might do it now.’
At this, the minister did turn around. ‘Now? Is that really necessary?’
Roth cut in. ‘Minister, I’m sure you understand that the sooner we can get procedure out of the way, the sooner we can get on with catching the killer.’
‘Do you have any suspects?’ the minister said.
‘Let’s discuss that on the way,’ Trautmann said. Holding it out as bait for his compliance.
Von Gaben nodded, dislodging the baroness from his mascara-smeared shirtfront.
‘Just... give us a few moments, won’t you?’
Trautmann and Roth left the room to wait in the hall. After a while, they heard the sound of wracking sobs – a mother wailing for her lost son.
Chapter 11
They’d driven to the morgue in silence, the minister still in his make-up-soiled evening garb. Now he watched as the morgue attendant pulled the sheet from Jan Meist’s body, his breath misting in the chilled air.
A couple of seconds was all it took. Then he nodded and cleared his throat.
‘That’s him,’ the minister said. ‘Did he suffer much?’
‘Hard to say,’ Trautmann said.
Von Gaben sighed. ‘Ah, Rudi, Rudi, Rudi... It wasn’t easy, you know. Having a Nazi for a step son. I mean, what do you do with someone like that?’
Trautmann didn’t know how to respond, so he didn’t.
‘These boys, they don’t want our problems to be solved. They want everything to start over in cleansing violence, to purge the country of its troubles.’
He smiled suddenly, briefly, making his eyes vanish into narrow slits again.
‘But of course you men know that. You have to see it every day, I expect.’ He looked at Roth. ‘How did you lose your arm, son?’
‘An accident,’ Roth said. ‘During the May Day Riots in ’29. I got in the way of an armoured car.’
Von Gaben whistled. The sound echoed mournfully off the tiled walls and cold steel hatches behind which the bodies were stored.
Trautmann knew the story. Everyone in Kripo knew the story. It had caused a lot of resentment with some of them, as Roth had sued the department for compensation – and kept his job. Disloyal, some of the men had said, and still said.
Especially since Roth had got in the way deliberately, to stop the vehicle from crushing rioters on the barricade. He’d given his arm so that men and women who’d been shooting at him or hurling rocks at him moments before could get away.
Brave, stupid, political... the words would sit well on Roth’s gravestone one day.
‘Minister,’ Trautmann said, ‘you’ve been getting a lot of abuse in the Nazi press.’
Von Gaben smiled again – an odd reaction, perhaps. ‘It’s my cross to bear.’
‘Well, could someone have killed Rudi to get at you?’
The minister rubbed his soft jawline where dense stubble began to show. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. But... well... of course it’s possible. But how do you narrow it down? How many thousands of Nazis are there in the city? And how many more silent supporters?’ His lisp made a soft hiss of ‘silent supporters’.
‘There’s no one in particular you can think of?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, no.’
‘Did you ever receive any death threats?’ Roth said.
‘My dear boy, come to my office and you’ll see a whole drawer of my secretary’s filing cab
inet full of nothing but! You’re welcome to them if you think it might help with a lead but... he was living under an alias, correct?’
‘That’s right,’ Trautmann said.
‘So how would anyone know of his connection to me?’
‘People do talk, minister,’ Roth said. ‘Maybe he told one of his party chums, or his girlfriend. Word can get around pretty quickly.’
‘You really think so?’ Von Gaben tensed at the idea.
‘Minister, when Rudi left your house, did you swear him to silence about his real identity?’ Trautmann said.
‘I’m afraid I insisted on it, yes. I didn’t want him... jeopardising my career.’
‘And how did your wife feel about it?’
‘She was upset. Though naturally she took my side.’
‘It can’t have been easy.’
‘Indeed, indeed,’ von Gaben sniffed. ‘But she understood.’
‘What else did you argue about, you and Rudi?’
‘What else? Just the party. That was enough. God knows I tried to argue him out if it, but he was firm. And the more I argued, the worse he got. You know how the young are.’
‘Is that so? But then I’m confused. Your wife...’
‘What about my wife?’
This contradicted what the baroness had said. Trautmann switched tack.
‘Your wife wrote to her son – I take it from your reaction you didn’t know about this?’
‘My reaction? Oh yes, I see you noticed I was angry. I was keen to break off all contact, so I’m afraid I forbade her from writing to him. Seems mighty ogrish now, doesn’t it?’
‘So you have no idea why he wrote to her?’
‘No.’
‘Or where he was living?’
‘No, kommissar. My wife kept it from me. I did not know where he was living, or that he wrote to her, or why. Am I or my wife under suspicion?’
‘If you could tell us your whereabouts this evening it would help rule you out. Officially, you understand.’
There was a loud banging on the door. A plainclothesman from the third floor barrelled in.
‘There you are sir,’ he said to Trautmann, his lungs wheezing. ‘Had the devil of a job finding you. Been over half the Alex, I have.’
He took a moment to gulp at the air.
‘Well?’ Trautmann said. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s Fleischer, sir. We’ve found him.’
Berlin Burning Page 4
