‘This man is enjoying church asylum, and, as long as I’m priest around here, won’t be surrendered to any secular justice system.’
Rath could almost have laughed if the situation wasn’t so serious.
‘Who says?’
‘I do. Johannes Warszawski.’
‘We’re not living in the Middle Ages!’
‘Ecclesia iure asyli gaudet ita ut rei, qui ad illam confugerint, inde non sint extrahendi, nisi necessitas urgeat, sine assensu Ordinarii, vel saltem rectoris ecclesiae,’ Priest Warszawski declaimed.
That went beyond Rath’s knowledge of Latin. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘From the Codex Iuris Canonici. It means something like no one who seeks asylum in my church can be made to go with people like you. At least not without picking a fight with me first.’
‘What does church law say about priests striking police officers with incense canisters?’
‘You’re a police officer?’ Warszawski showed no contrition, despite this revelation. ‘You don’t behave like one.’
‘He’s telling the truth,’ Goldstein said, taking up residence on a church pew.
Rath could do without his support. He ignored the Yank.
‘This man is a murderer,’ he said, struggling to his feet. ‘He stabbed someone to death in Humboldthain and is alleged to have shot two criminals.’
‘He’s no murderer,’ the priest said. ‘He’s simply wanted for murder. He’s told me everything. That you and your fellow officers are wrongly pursuing him.’
‘You believe him?’
‘Yes, I believe him.’ Coming from the priest, the words didn’t seem so naive. Perhaps because Rath shared his opinion. All the same, Goldstein was still a contract killer, who killed at the behest of an American criminal organisation. At least that’s what they said over there.
‘Joseph Flegenheimer vouched for this man,’ the priest said. ‘That’s enough for me.’
‘How does a Catholic priest know an orthodox Jew?’
‘I’m an old friend of Joseph’s. You can have a good old-fashioned ding-dong with him about questions of faith.’
‘You can have a good old-fashioned ding-dong with most Jews,’ Goldstein said.
‘You’re one to talk,’ Rath said, holding his head.
‘You weren’t exactly pussy-footing about either, but that bump there,’ Goldstein pointed towards Rath’s head, ‘is from the priest.’
‘You only have yourselves to blame,’ the priest said. ‘There are two things that I won’t tolerate in my church: one, that someone who’s sought the protection of the Holy Church should be surrendered to the state’s henchmen…’ That was directed at Rath. ‘…and, two, that blood should be spilled here.’ That was directed at Goldstein.
The pair nodded like a couple of candidates for confirmation.
‘Where’s Marion, by the way?’ Rath asked.
‘Long gone. There’s a rear exit,’ Goldstein said. ‘You should have come in a different car, Detective. Marion recognised the Buick.’
‘You should have gone with her.’
‘I couldn’t have known you’d sniff around the whole building. Besides, it’s about time we spoke in private, away from the prying eyes of your colleagues.’
Priest Warszawski understood. He got up and took the battered old incense burner back inside the sacristy.
Rath took a seat on the pew next to Goldstein. Despite everything he was alleged to have done, he couldn’t help but warm to the man. ‘What is there to talk about that can’t be discussed in an interrogation room at police headquarters?’
‘A whole lot of things. I hope you have time.’
Rath looked at his watch. ‘Not really. I’m already running late.’
‘Then I’ll keep it brief. Firstly: I did beat up those bastards in the park. They were trying to pummel an old man. I even shot one of them in the foot. It was dumb luck; the gun just went off.’ Goldstein looked at him, as if trying to gauge whether or not Rath believed him. ‘Secondly, I didn’t kill anyone, simple as that.’
‘That was the abridged version?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that why you kept quiet about what you did in New York?’
‘What I’ve done in the States is none of your business.’ Goldstein gave him an angry stare. ‘The only thing you can charge me with here is illegal possession of firearms, but you can’t even prove that.’ The gangster laughed. ‘Pastor Warszawski has the Remington. That was his one condition, before he unfolded the camp bed.’
Rath looked at his watch. He should have been with Charly long ago. He knew how much she despised lateness, and there was no way he could explain that he and Abraham Goldstein had fought in a church and afterwards settled down for a nice chat.
‘You’re aware that the old man you helped is the only person who can exonerate you?’ Goldstein shrugged. ‘Take me to him. Do you know where he lives?’
‘Of course. I walked him home. His name is Teitelbaum. Simon Teitelbaum. I don’t think he’s been here long. At least, he doesn’t behave like it.’
‘He didn’t want to tell me his name,’ Rath said. He took another glance at his watch and stood up. ‘I really do have to go now.’
‘Why should I trust you not to have the church here besieged by your Warrants unit?’
Rath shrugged. ‘I’m Catholic.’
‘The same goes for the Irish in Brooklyn, but I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them.’
‘You trust the Italians, if I’ve understood your file. They’re Catholic, aren’t they?’
‘Trust isn’t a matter of religious affiliation.’
‘Let’s make a deal. Isn’t that what you say in the States?’ Goldstein looked surprised. ‘I’ll promise to leave you alone until you’ve taken me to this witness, if you promise me something in return.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘That you don’t ship out on the next boat to the States.’
‘If only it were that simple,’ Goldstein laughed. ‘You see, that’s one of things I wanted to talk to you about but, sadly, you don’t have time.’
107
What a beautiful Sunday, Alex thought as she stepped onto the pedestrian bridge across the Spree. For the first time since Benny’s death, she felt like she was getting back on top of things, and not just because last night had passed off without a hitch. The bags, weighed down with coins, were so heavy that she and Vicky almost hadn’t got them through the window. No, Alex felt good because she was finally fixing everything she had neglected so for long. Soon everything would be back on track, above all her life and Vicky’s.
She had even purchased a ticket for the S-Bahn journey to Bellevue. She couldn’t run the risk of being caught fare-dodging again, not now. Besides, money was no longer a concern at twenty pfennigs a pop. They hadn’t got three thousand marks out of the Wertheim registers, but it was well over two, and she’d never earned that much stealing watches with Benny. She should have thought of it sooner, but her reluctance to break into Wertheim prevented her. She was through with this city now, with Wertheim too. The store owed her this parting gift for all the misery her dismissal had caused.
She reached the junction at Spenerstrasse, feeling nervous and not knowing what to say to Charlotte, the court woman. Secretly, Alex hoped she wouldn’t be home. She could slip the envelope with the hundred and fifty marks and the little note she had written through the letterbox, and the matter would be resolved.
With a queasy feeling in her stomach she climbed the stairs and, for a moment, stood outside the door to the flat before pressing the bell. Nothing. She pressed again and laid her ear against the wooden door. Nothing doing inside. A noise made her spin around. The door opposite had opened and in the frame stood an elderly lady in her Sunday best.