‘ . . .which you found in the dead man’s bloodstream.’
‘Right. The interesting thing is that it is currently being trialled in modern medicine for use during surgical procedures . . .’
‘A poison?’
‘ . . .as a muscle relaxant during operations on the abdomen and thorax. Believe it or not, by loosening the muscles, tubocurarine makes a number of subsequent procedures possible. You just have to administer the correct dose. And, of course, monitor the patient’s breathing.’
‘Then our dead man was given an incorrect dose.’
‘Difficult to say, but since we are searching for a cause of death, and, despite the symptoms, drowning can be ruled out, I would say our man died as a result of respiratory paralysis.’
Rath nodded thoughtfully. ‘That means someone thrust a syringe into Lamkau’s jugular vein, which first put him out of action, then killed him.’
Karthaus nodded.
‘And while all this was going on,’ Rath continued, ‘this same someone tried to drown the poor bastard? That doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Maybe he only tortured him. Water torture has been used since the Spanish Inquisition. The guilty party believes they are drowning and suffers mortal terror.’
‘How does it work?’
‘The tormenta de toca? First the guilty party is held fast, then a cloth is placed over their mouth and nose while water is poured over it.’
‘How much water?’
‘A few litres are enough. You just have to make sure the cloth stays wet. The gag reflex takes care of the rest.’
‘You’re frighteningly well informed, Doctor. Should I be concerned?’
Karthaus was unmoved. ‘The history of criminal interrogation is fascinating stuff. Particularly from a medical standpoint.’
‘I see.’ Rath resisted the urge to shake his head. With his gaunt figure and sunken cheeks, Karthaus really did give him the creeps. He felt more at home with the easy-going Dr Schwartz and his macabre humour. ‘Something I don’t understand . . . Torture is about extracting information from your victim. Why would you administer an anaesthetic beforehand? A lethal one at that?’
‘Anaesthetic isn’t quite right,’ Karthaus said. ‘Tubocurarine doesn’t act as an analgesic. It paralyses your musculature, but you remain fully conscious and sensitive to pain. Even if you can’t move, can’t even speak, in fact.’
Rath gave a shudder. ‘I just hope something like that doesn’t happen in theatre.’
‘You’ll laugh,’ Karthaus said, making a deadly serious face, ‘but it already has. Unfortunately the patients couldn’t say anything during the procedure, because they were completely paralysed at the time.’
‘Knock it off, Doctor. Lucky for me I’ve never had to go under the knife.’
‘No invasive procedure is devoid of risk, a fact any colleague will confirm.’ Karthaus shrugged again. ‘At least I can open up my clients with peace of mind.’
There was no trace of irony in the doctor’s voice.
9
He was too late, damn it! Had he learned of Lamkau’s death sooner, none of this would have happened, but they hadn’t telephoned him until this morning. They must be going out of their minds in Treuburg, but what else could he do? The green Opel arrived just as he was about to drop in on the widow to offer his condolences. You could tell the pair who got out were cops from a hundred metres, so he had continued down Ordensmeisterstrasse as if it were part of his beat, inwardly cursing the bastards as he went.
With any luck they wouldn’t find anything, but he couldn’t be sure. After all, these were Gennat’s boys, homicide detectives from Alex. The kind that didn’t miss a thing.
Goddamn it!
He’d wait until the cops had disappeared then take a look himself. Perhaps Lamkau had managed to hide the book. If he was smart he’d have chucked it long ago. Still, he couldn’t be that clever, otherwise he’d have survived all this. Whatever this was. They still weren’t sure, even if the death notices were plain enough. Somebody knew; the question was, who?
There was movement on the other side of the road. The cops were returning to the Opel, laden with cardboard boxes. It was exactly as he’d feared. They were taking everything back to Alex to sift at their leisure.
‘Why can’t Rath look at this himself,’ he heard one say. ‘What are we, bookkeepers now?’
‘That’s clearly what the widow thought. It felt like she expected us to put her papers in order.’
‘Well, more fool her.’
They heaved the boxes into the car and went back inside, accompanied by the sound of the great mutt Lamkau had acquired after Wawerka’s death. For a moment he was tempted to take a look, but the car was parked in the courtyard next to the delivery vans, and would be visible from the office. Besides, the cur would sound the alarm. He resolved to stay where he was, in the shadow of an advertising pillar. The men emerged several more times to load boxes before driving off.
He briefly considered going inside to the widow, even if it was no longer necessary. The two officers had been kind enough to say where the documents were headed.
10
Erika Voss was still waiting to finish for the day. Through the open door Rath could see Lange’s and Gräf’s desks were already deserted, in their place were around a dozen cardboard boxes full of files. ‘Detective Gräf said to tell you that examining the Lamkau accounts proved trickier than expected,’ she explained. ‘They seized a number of papers instead.’
Rath nodded and hung up his hat. Kirie pitter-pattered towards him and sniffed his hands.
‘And a lady telephoned a few moments ago,’ she continued, looking at a sheet of paper. ‘From G Division.’
‘Very good,’ Rath intoned casually. ‘Did she say what it was about?’
‘No. She said she’d call back.’
‘Any news from ED?’
‘Afraid not. Herr Kronberg says the report will be ready for tomorrow.’
With that, Erika Voss was gone. Rath gazed after her. Under normal circumstances, he’d have accompanied her, perhaps even driven her home, but the prospect of his deserted, oversized flat filled him with dread.
He went into the office and heaved one of the boxes onto his desk. Didn’t look like company papers. The overzealous Gräf appeared to have purged Herbert Lamkau’s private desk. Or perhaps it was the equally overzealous Lange. Kirie pattered over and let Rath ruffle her fur as he sifted through the contents. A few letters, a passport with a few foreign stamps, mainly Poland and the Free City of Danzig. A thick black notebook, containing endless columns of figures he couldn’t make head or tail of, and, right at the bottom, a pile of gazettes. Alkohol, read the title on the first, General Magazine for the Spirit, Korn and Compressed Yeast Industries. Official Organ of the German Association of Brewing and Distilling. Another was called the Spirit Industry Magazine, Mouthpiece of the Association of Spirit Manufacturers in Germany. Rath shook his head. What a country to be a boffin!
There didn’t seem to be anything else private in the remaining boxes. A glance was enough to tell Rath it wasn’t just the last few months his colleagues had seized, but several financial years. The widow Lamkau would have her work cut out.
He was about to light a cigarette and look at some of the more recent files, when there was a tentative knock at the door. Kirie sprang to her feet and pricked up her ears. Perhaps it was Kronberg, here to share some of ED’s findings. Ever since his wife had died, Kronberg, too, was prone to working overtime. ‘Yes!’ he said.
The door slowly opened and a young woman appeared in the outer office. Kirie made a beeline for her. ‘Superintendent Gennat sent me, Sir.’
Rath couldn’t believe his eyes. She gazed at the floor like a convent girl, but perhaps it was only to conceal her grin. ‘Truth be told,’ the convent girl continued, ‘I’m not due to report until tomorrow morning, but I thought I’d come and introduce myself. To save you from alarm.’
He couldn’t hel
p it. The moment he’d seen who it was, he’d felt a tingling sensation. ‘Let’s have a look at you then. Unfortunately the others have already called it a night.’
‘Unfortunately?’ She closed the door behind her and stepped inside, gaze still firmly fixed on the floor. Gently, he took her chin and tilted it upwards so that she was finally looking him in the eye. Then he kissed her, and felt her kiss him back. ‘But Sir,’ she said.
The fact that she was still in character only aroused him more.
‘Why don’t you come into my office,’ he said sternly, observing her for a moment from behind before following. He shooed Kirie into the outer office, where she sulkily lay in her basket. Once inside he closed the door and they looked at each other. It seemed she could read his mind.
‘We can’t,’ she said, even before he leaned over and kissed her on the nape of the neck, the point that always made her grow weak. Her heavy breathing gave the lie to her protest. ‘Not here!’
‘You are a CID cadet, Fräulein Ritter, and I am your training officer.’
She sighed when he kissed her again. ‘Gereon, cut it out!’
He turned her around and looked at her. ‘For once, will you just do as I say. At least while we’re on the job!’
‘Yes, Sir!’
‘In the upper desk drawer is a key. Take it and lock the door. Just in case.’
She did as bidden. ‘And now, Sir?’
He had already pulled the curtains. He carefully unbuttoned her blouse, kissing the soft skin above her clavicle, working his way slowly down, button by button. Charly breathed heavily and sighed. ‘I’d forgotten how much you enjoy delayed gratification,’ she said.
‘Only up to a point,’ he said.
He surveyed her as she stood before him and decided that point had been reached.
11
He stood outside the police station and gazed up at the offices of Homicide, whose corridors he had visited years before. A crowd of officers left the building, signalling the end of the day shift. He remained in the shadow of the railway arches until the two men emerged. Keeping a low profile was easy in the throng at Alexanderplatz, and he was certain they hadn’t recognised him. They probably hadn’t even seen him.
He smoked a cigarette before leaving his post, knowing that he could enter the building without passing the porter’s lodge. There was no one in the atrium save for two uniform cops at the gate. You just had to say hello and look as if you had business and no one took any notice. He strode determinedly towards the stairwell and climbed the stone steps to the first floor, reaching the glass door on which the word HOMICIDE was printed.
There wasn’t a soul up here, the clatter of typewriters had long since faded. After passing a line of names and doors, including that of the famous Gennat, he found the one he had been searching for.
Detective Inspector Gereon Rath.
He felt for the picklock in his pocket, which he had fetched from Kreuzberg, and looked around. The corridor was still empty. He listened at the door. Silence.
Then out of the corner of his eye he saw movement. The glass door opened, and a reflection flitted briefly in the corridor, a slender young woman. He turned away from the door and continued down the corridor, trying not to move too quickly, resisting the temptation to turn around. There was no way she could have seen him standing outside the door, she was just some dim-witted secretary doing overtime. He saw a toilet and went inside. The stalls appeared to be empty. He opened one, bolted the lock and sat on the toilet seat, listening to the drip of a tap and what he thought was the sound of a door closing. For a long time there was silence, but still he waited before venturing outside.
The corridor was empty. He had no idea whose secretary it was, but hoped it wasn’t Detective Inspector Rath’s. That he, of all people, should be doing overtime . . .but no, or his colleagues would never have left when they did. No one reacted when he knocked, and he was about to remove the picklock from his pocket when he realised the door was unlocked. He replaced the false key, knocked a second time and, when still no one answered, opened the door.
The outer office was deserted, but just then he caught sight of the black dog looking at him, head tilted to one side. The thing had probably been staring at him this whole time, curiously, guilelessly, neither growling nor gnashing its teeth. He beat an orderly retreat, realising he’d made the right choice when, before he’d even closed the door, the cur issued two short, loud barks.
He looked around but no one had entered the corridor in the meantime. Everyone had finished save for the late shift; the late shift and those imbeciles still clocking up overtime, like Detective Inspector Rath.
What a stroke of luck he hadn’t bumped into him, only his mutt – who couldn’t speak.
The incident had him break out in a sweat. On the way out he took the stairwell at the opposite end of the corridor to avoid crossing Homicide again.
At least now he knew where to look.
12
‘You still haven’t given me a response,’ Rath said, as they shared an Overstolz. ‘Or was that it just now?’
He pulled back the curtains and allowed daylight into the office, not knowing how long they had lain skin to skin on his ‘overtime’ sofa, dreaming and out of breath. Kirie had barked once or twice, fetching them back to reality, reminding Rath that she was waiting for him outside. They put on the rest of their clothes.
‘You seduced me, you cad,’ she said, taking a drag on the cigarette.
‘I thought it was you who seduced me.’
‘Then we’re equally culpable.’
‘Agreed, Your Honour. Now, how about that response?’
She took another drag and passed him the Overstolz. ‘Not now,’ she said. ‘And not here.’
‘I know a nice restaurant in Friedrichstadt.’ He could have eaten a horse.
‘Gereon,’ she said. ‘Not now.’
‘Then when?’
‘Soon. Right now I don’t have the time.’
He looked at his watch. ‘At nine, then? Ten?’
‘You’re incorrigible!’ She gazed out of the window, as if her appointments diary was hovering in the sky above the court building. ‘Ten’s too late, but nine should be fine.’ She smiled.
‘Splendid, then let’s go to Femina. Make sure you put on your dance dress.’
‘Then I really do have to go.’ She grabbed the cigarette for a final drag. ‘I’m late enough as it is.’ She kissed him, giving him an angry look. ‘You and your delayed gratification.’
With that she turned the key. No sooner had she opened the door than Kirie came bounding in. ‘You two ought to wait a while,’ she said. ‘Late as it is, I don’t want to risk being seen together at the Castle.’
‘Well, don’t be upset if Kirie takes it personally.’
She shrugged and left. He gazed after her pensively, and only when he saw that Kirie wore a similar expression did he break into a grin. Half an hour later, after taking Kirie for a short walk in Tiergarten, he was back in Carmerstrasse, albeit much earlier than planned. He felt almost indecently cheerful as he marched up the steps with Kirie in tow.
‘Evening, Bergner,’ he said in passing.
‘Evening, Herr Rath.’
He relished the porter’s greeting, which sounded a little like Evening, Herr Kriminalrat. Evening, Superintendent. For the first time in a long time he caught himself thinking about rank and promotion as he took the lift up. Superintendent might be a distant dream, but by now detective chief inspector was surely overdue. It felt like forever since he had been in breach of his duties – at least, it would feel like forever to his superiors. His status as husband and, hopefully, family man, could significantly increase his chances of promotion. Assuming Charly said ‘yes’, it wouldn’t hurt to make their engagement public in the Castle as soon as possible. Perhaps they might even persuade Gennat to act as witness . . .
Arriving upstairs, he slung his hat on the hook and let Kirie off the lead. He went into th
e living room, opened a window, lit a cigarette and gazed out. The fresh summer breeze and evening atmosphere only improved his mood further. For once he felt at peace with the world.
The telephone rang. Was it Charly already? He still had to get changed.
‘Apparatebau Rath, Rath am Apparat,’ he answered, rolling his ‘r’s’ and stressing his ‘t’s’.
‘Are you ever going to grow up?’
‘Paul?’
Paul Wittkamp was Rath’s oldest friend, the only one left from his Cologne days. When he’d moved to Berlin, nearly all his supposed friends had turned their backs on him. In truth it had started even before that, when the Cologne press were hounding him and his colleagues began avoiding him in the canteen; when his fiancée, a good match from an equally good Cologne house, broke off their engagement. Only Paul had stayed loyal. Since then Rath had met a great many people in Berlin, but Paul remained his one, true friend, even if they only saw each other once in a blue moon.
‘Fräulein Heller left a note saying a Herr Rath from Berlin had been in touch.’
‘I need your advice.’
‘There was me thinking you needed a best man. She’s back now, isn’t she?’
Paul had already made Charly’s acquaintance. In fact, it was he who’d urged Rath to marry her, over two years ago. Since then the prospect of their marriage came up at every turn.
‘We Prussians are slow on the draw.’
‘Funny, I’d never realised. How long is it now?’
‘You know very well.’ Rath was pleased Paul couldn’t see his grin. ‘Things might be moving quicker on that front than you think, but right now what I need is your professional advice.’
‘Do you want me to recommend a wine? I’m afraid Wittkamp don’t supply bachelors with burgeoning drink problems.’
The Fatherland Files Page 9
