Rath disappeared inside the rear building and climbed the stairs. Pausing in front of a door on the first floor, he gave a careful knock. He waited a moment, and when still nothing happened, knocked again, violently this time. ‘Police! Open at once.’
Someone clattered about inside, and seconds later the door edged open to reveal Reinhold Gräf.
‘Gereon!’ The detective, hair still wet, and clad in a bathrobe, seemed more irritated than surprised. ‘Has something happened?’
‘Social call. Not interrupting, am I?’
‘I was in the bath, but come on in.’ Gräf opened the door wide. ‘Make yourself at home. Shouldn’t be too tricky.’
Rath followed Gräf into the kitchen where the detective placed a kettle on the stove. ‘Coffee?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t had breakfast yet.’
‘Wouldn’t say no.’ Rath took off his hat and hovered in the doorway. Gräf fetched the coffee grinder from the same cupboard Rath had once used. ‘Take a seat,’ he said, without turning around.
Rath remained standing. ‘How was it this morning then?’
Gräf continued pouring coffee beans.
‘Sorry I had to leave you alone like that . . .but it really was important.’
Gräf looked at him and turned the crank. For a moment the only sound was the crunching of the grinder. ‘If that’s an official apology consider it accepted.’
Rath fetched two cups and saucers from the cupboard and placed them on the table, while Gräf busied himself with the kettle and filter. For a moment he tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. He sat at the table and waited for Gräf to join him. The coffee dripped through the filter into the pot.
‘You really left us in the lurch this morning, you know that?’ Gräf said. ‘And don’t give me who’s in charge. You’re the one who turned up late to the crime scene. Do you realise how many times I tried to reach you, just to save your skin from Böhm and the rest? Well, more fool me. Because when you do show up it seems you’ve got nothing better to do than piss straight off again.’
Rath nodded without contrition. He had apologised already. Gräf stood up, took the filter from the pot and poured. It was even more watery than usual, but Rath chose to be diplomatic and took an Overstolz from his case. ‘I thought I could make amends by shouting you a beer in the Dreieck.’
‘You’re on standby.’ Gräf shovelled spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his coffee. ‘And I’ve got night shift at the Castle.’
Rath looked at his watch. ‘In three hours.’
‘Exactly. I don’t want to turn up drunk.’
‘One beer. You can use the opportunity to tell me what happened this morning.’
‘Gereon, you already reek of booze. Technically you’re on duty.’
‘It was only a cognac,’ Rath lied. ‘Just now, after lunch.’
Gräf took a few sips of coffee. ‘OK, one beer won’t hurt.’
‘Not if I say it won’t.’ Rath grinned. ‘Remember who’s in charge.’
‘Didn’t I just warn you about that?’
A short time later the pair sat at the counter of the still deserted Nasse Dreieck, probably the smallest and most triangular-shaped bar in Berlin. Before them stood two beer glasses. Kirie had found a spot by their feet, Schorsch, the landlord, having automatically laid out a bowl of water. He had started tapping out the beer before his patrons even ordered, albeit on this occasion the pair declined the schnapps chaser. They clinked glasses. Gräf’s mood seemed to be gradually improving. ‘Then let me get you up to speed,’ he said, wiping foam from his mouth.
‘I’m the one who has to brief our superiors, after all.’
‘The written report’s already in the works. Lange and I were going to take care of the rest this evening.’
‘Good. Then give me the abridged version. Did ED find anything?’
‘Nothing’s confirmed at this stage,’ Gräf said. ‘There’s no sign of a struggle, or of any violence; in fact there’s no sign whatsoever of foul play. Though there’s nothing to point to a natural death either.’
‘We’ll just have to wait for the autopsy then.’ Rath took another sip of coffee. ‘What do you make of Karthaus’s suspicion? That the man drowned, I mean.’
‘I think he could be right, even if it sounds a little strange. His hair was wet.’
‘I didn’t notice.’
‘Because you were so late. Take a look at Lange’s photos and . . .see for yourself.’
‘Wet hair.’ Rath shrugged. ‘So what? It was raining last night.’
‘He’d have looked different. His shoulders were wet too, but the rest of him was dry.’
‘So, what’s your theory?’
‘On how you can drown in a lift? I don’t have one. The red cloth’s a puzzle too.’
‘Red cloth?’
Gräf gave him a look of mild reproach, and Rath made a conciliatory gesture with his hands.
‘All right, all right! I’ll look at the photos.’
‘The cloth was hanging from the wire mesh cart with the crates of schnapps. It’s with ED now.’
‘A Communist flag?’
‘More like a handkerchief. We’ll see.’
Before Gräf could say anything, Schorsch had placed the next round of beers on the counter.
‘You really think it’s possible to drown in a lift?’ Rath asked.
‘I don’t think anything. The cause of death is a total mystery. If he really did drown, it’ll only deepen.’
‘Perhaps someone just dumped him there.’
‘Using Lamkau’s van?’ Gräf shook his head. ‘No, everything points against it. Besides, the perpetrator could hardly have made it past the guard with a corpse.’ Schorsch placed a third round on the counter and cleared away the empties. ‘That’s enough now,’ Gräf said.
‘One more,’ said Rath. ‘Rinse your mouth out with a little Odol and the smell will be gone.’
‘Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.’
Rath raised his glass. ‘You have to set an example for young Lange, you know.’
Gräf did likewise. ‘The way you set an example for me?’
‘Has Lange informed the next of kin?’
‘The man left behind a widow,’ said Gräf. ‘The Lamkaus live next to their offices, out in Tempelhof.’
‘How many employees?’
‘A dozen, I’d say.’
‘So, why did the boss make the delivery himself?’
‘That isn’t the only question. I’ve summoned the most important witnesses to the Castle for Monday morning.’ Gräf drained his glass and set it to one side. ‘It wasn’t much good having that director milling about – his men weren’t exactly forthcoming in his presence. I think we’ll get more from an interrogation.’ He slid off his bar stool. ‘Perhaps we’ll know then why Lamkau was carrying an envelope containing a thousand marks.’
‘A thousand marks?’
‘In his overalls.’
Rath was about to say something, but, seeing Gräf’s face, decided against it.
‘ED have it,’ the detective continued. ‘They’re testing for fingerprints.’
‘What’s he doing with a tidy sum like that?’
Gräf shrugged.
‘Well,’ Rath said. ‘At least we know one thing . . .’
‘Which is . . .’
‘We can rule out robbery homicide.’
5
The brass plate on the brick wall bore the inscription Berlin University Institute of Forensic Medicine, while a stationary mortuary car prepared visitors for what lay inside. At the external staircase the queasy feeling in Rath’s stomach returned; hardly the ideal basis on which to enter the morgue, whose chilly catacombs concealed a range of unappetising surprises.
It had been Dr Karthaus who roused him. He had stupidly kept drinking yesterday evening after Gräf left for his night shift, staying on for a few beers in the Dreieck, before taking a taxi home. Arriving there, he was forced to admit
that he was still too sober to bear a deserted apartment, especially now that Charly had been and gone. He had dutifully telephoned headquarters at Alex to inform them where he could be reached for the next few hours, before leaving Kirie in the care of the night porter. In the Ku’damm he had abandoned himself to the swing of the Kakadu bar and its well-stocked shelves, resisted the advances of an adventuresome blonde, and tried hard not to think of Charly, which, of course, was easier said than done. The cocktails, at any rate, had served their purpose, rendering him insensible enough to return home well after midnight and find sleep at last.
Until he was awoken by the telephone.
‘There’s something I’d like to show you,’ Karthaus had said, summoning him to Hannoversche Strasse for two o’clock.
Rath fed the dog, but neglected to feed himself, drinking a coffee and showering before setting off with Kirie. Only when he stepped outside did he realise that his car was still parked in Kreuzberg, and started down Hardenbergstrasse towards Bahnhof Zoo.
It wasn’t quite two when they reached the morgue. Recognising them, the porter took Kirie’s lead, using a bite of his salami sandwich to bring her to heel. ‘Doctor’s waiting downstairs,’ he said, waving Rath through to the cellar, where the pathologists processed their corpses.
Rath kept his eyes on the floor; the black-and-white checked pattern had a soothing effect on his stomach. Stepping through the large swing doors into the autopsy room, he spied Dr Karthaus at his table in the corner, a steaming cup of coffee placed alongside a file.
Karthaus looked up from his notes and furrowed his brow. ‘Inspector! You’re unusually punctual today.’
‘Dead on time.’
The doctor folded his glasses and lit a cigarette. Rath fumbled for an Overstolz, but realised he had left them at home. He stole a glance at the Manoli cigarettes on the desk, but the doctor stood up and led him to a trolley where the contours of a human body could be discerned through a cotton sheet. ‘Take a look,’ Karthaus said, yanking the sheet to the side almost violently. ‘There’s something you have to see.’
The corpse still wore the same horrified expression as yesterday morning, but it was paler now, the area around the mouth a deeper shade of blue. The doctor gripped the ashen face and turned it to one side. Using his index finger, he gestured towards a point on the neck around which a small, bluish dot had formed.
‘See?’ Karthaus asked. Rath nodded, tempted for an instant to lean over the man’s neck to get a better view, only to listen to his stomach’s advice and trust in the doctor’s words. ‘A puncture site,’ Karthaus continued. ‘The injection was administered intravenously.’
‘What kind of injection?’
‘He didn’t get it from a doctor, anyway. I’ve already checked. Perhaps he was a morphine addict.’ The doctor drew on his cigarette. ‘Though it’s hardly common for morphine addicts to inject through the jugular vein. You’d need a mirror, for starters. Besides . . .if our man here was a morphine addict there’d have to be additional puncture sites. But this is the only one.’
‘Are you saying that someone administered the injection for him?’
‘Everything points that way. Which means we have evidence of external violence after all.’
‘A lethal injection?’
‘Hopefully a blood analysis will reveal all.’
‘So the man didn’t drown!’ Rath didn’t always need to be right, but he savoured it here.
‘It’s difficult to know for sure.’
‘I thought you had completed the autopsy?’
Karthaus nodded. ‘The man had water in his lungs. So much, in fact, that it’s inconceivable it entered post-mortem. So far, so typical for a victim of drowning. Nevertheless, the level of water aspiration wasn’t nearly extreme enough to lead to fatal hypoxia.’
‘You’ll have to break that down for me, Doctor. I’m no medic, and my Latin isn’t up to much either.’
‘Hypoxia is derived from the Greek. It denotes a lack of oxygen. Hypoxia as a result of extreme water aspiration is what we would vulgarly term “drowning”.’ Karthaus looked at Rath like a stern teacher. ‘I suspect, however, that although our man was in danger of drowning, he actually died of respiratory failure. Moments beforehand.’
‘What are you saying? Did he drown or didn’t he?’
‘He drowned a little bit. He definitely inhaled water, a most unpleasant experience, but, most likely, he didn’t die as a result. In other words: he stopped breathing before he could drown.’
‘Because he was administered poison . . .’ Karthaus shrugged. ‘But we’re definitely talking murder.’
‘We’re definitely talking foul play.’
‘And here, poor fool, with all my lore, I stand . . .’
‘I see you know your Goethe, at least.’
‘Believe it or not, I graduated high school.’
Karthaus gave a nod of acknowledgement. ‘Then no doubt you’ll appreciate the value of patience. Once we have the results of the blood analysis, we’ll know the cause of death, I’d almost bet on it. This much I can tell you already: we’re dealing with a very peculiar case.’
Rath looked at the corpse, the horror in its face. Who had it in for Herbert Lamkau, and why had they tried to drown him, after they’d already administered a lethal injection? ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ he said. ‘Be in touch when you know more.’ Rath had reached the door when he turned around. ‘There was one more thing . . .’ Karthaus raised his eyebrows. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have any aspirin?’
Half an hour later, Rath and Kirie climbed the U-Bahn steps to Potsdamer Platz. The stone figures lining the dome of Haus Vaterland made it seem like a neon-signed Roman temple. The enormous complex was the first thing visitors saw as they emerged above ground; only then did the train station and its surrounding buildings come into sight. Things were already happening on the wide perron outside the main entrance. People were actually queuing to be parted from their cash. For the most part they looked like assistant bookkeepers from Königs Wusterhausen out for a wild weekend in the big city – or whatever passed for a wild weekend in their eyes.
Rath ignored the provincials and circled the building. At the goods entrance a few men were unloading sacks of potatoes. Rath observed them for a moment, before strolling inside with Kirie in tow. The left-hand lift was still out of service; the potato men, at least, were only using the right. Rath had almost reached the stairwell when a cry came from behind.
‘Hey! What’re you doing here? Do I know you?’
Rath recognised the uniform of the Berlin Security Corps. So, they kept watch during the day too. The guard eyed his identification suspiciously.
‘CID?’
Rath nodded. ‘The murder, yesterday.’
The word ‘murder’ didn’t seem to have any impact. ‘What is it you want?’
‘To have another look at the crime scene.’
‘Did you call in advance?’
‘CID never calls in advance.’
The guard looked sour, but waved him through.
Rath climbed the steps, pausing to look outside the lifts on every floor. Kirie was nosing everywhere, but experience taught him to ignore her. Though Bouviers were usually excellent sniffer dogs, Kirie had proved herself to be an exception. On the third floor he came across a man in overalls crouched outside the open door of the lift shaft, screwdriver in hand. Rath surveyed him for a moment, then spoke. ‘Is it faulty?’ he asked, offering a cigarette. The man accepted gratefully, and Rath gave him a light.
‘The door,’ the man said, inhaling deeply. ‘Why d’you ask?’ He had a Berlin accent.
Rath lit an Overstolz and showed his badge. The engineer didn’t seem surprised. ‘Were you present when the corpse was found yesterday?’
‘No, that was Siegmann.’
‘Is he here?’
‘No, he’s on nights this week.’
‘What’s wrong with the door? Herr Siegmann didn’t mention anything about it.’
‘The door’s jammed?’
‘Some idiot flicked the emergency switch,’ the man said. ‘Exactly between the two floors. Then forced the door instead of calling for assistance. Metal’s buckled as a result. It doesn’t close properly any more.’
‘That’s the lift where the corpse was found, isn’t it?’
The engineer shrugged. ‘Could be, but that’s no excuse.’
‘But you’re saying someone climbed out of this car? Where the corpse was found?’
A light came on in the man’s head. ‘You mean . . .’
‘It could be how the killer escaped. Have you touched anything?’
‘No, but I will. Wouldn’t get much done otherwise.’
‘Then take a break. See if there’s anything else on your list. The elevator door here needs to be examined.’
The engineer seemed to take things as they came, and shrugged his shoulders. ‘You’ll need to secure this though,’ he said. ‘So that no one falls into the shaft on me.’
‘How about you take care of that until my colleagues arrive? Now, where can I find a telephone?’
‘Back that way. The waiters have a common room. I can’t be standing around here forever, I . . .’
Rath ignored his protests and went through the door. At the end of a row of lockers, in front of which four or five men were getting changed, hung a wall telephone. Rath showed a waiter in full regalia his badge, but the man pretended he hadn’t seen him. Clearly he was used to ignoring people but, then again, so was Rath. He pressed the hook down until the connection was interrupted. The waiter was about to protest, but swallowed his words when he saw Rath’s face.
Despite ED only operating a skeletal staff on Sundays, he was assigned two men straightaway.
The engineer appeared relieved when Rath re-emerged. ‘Can I get back to work now?’ he asked.
‘Be my guest. So long as you don’t touch this elevator.’
The man toddled off and Rath lit another cigarette. His gaze fell on two narrow, high windows that looked onto the outside. One of them was slightly ajar. Kirie followed as he went across. He took out a handkerchief and opened the window fully. Outside was a kind of balcony, a walkway with a stone balustrade that lined the building.
The Fatherland Files Page 5
