She certainly hoped he did.
‘What Gereon Rath knows is what you’re supposed to be telling us,’ Scheer said. ‘You needn’t fear for your life. We aren’t going to harm a hair on your head. We won’t have to. Of course, we won’t shy away from it if need be, but we’re counting on your good sense. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to make a fool of yourself, and risk your career.’ He tried to smile, but didn’t manage quite so well as Tornow. ‘You won’t be getting much sleep in the next few hours. That can make people rather talkative, you know.’
It didn’t sound like they were going to release her any time soon.
109
Rath parked the Buick in Ritterstrasse, pulled his hat down and turned up the collar of his coat despite the warm weather. Only now did he approach Luisenufer. There were no suspicious vehicles near the courtyard entrance and the coast seemed clear. The yard was deserted, as always on a Sunday. What if they’ve laid a trap? he thought, stepping into the dim stairwell. What if they’re waiting for you in your flat? He took the Walther out of its holster, released the safety catch and hoped he didn’t run into Frau Liebig or her husband from upstairs.
He turned the key slowly, quietly, and stormed into the flat, weapon drawn, pointing the Walther into every room. Nothing. Whoever had been here was gone.
Rath had guessed what awaited him, but was still surprised at the havoc. It was worse than Spenerstrasse. Half his tableware lay shattered on the kitchen floor, books and papers fluttered on the floor. Flowerpots were tipped over and in pieces, the wardrobe was completely empty, and his mattress had been sliced open, along with his favourite chair. But they had saved the worst for the living room.
They had cleared out his record cabinet.
A great many of his records were broken, including some that were irreplaceable, having been sent over from the States by his brother Severin. The bastards would pay for this; Tornow and whoever else was in cahoots with him!
He tidied as best he could, found a cup that was still intact and put water on for coffee. He had to collect Kirie from the Lennartzes in half an hour, and could use a shot of caffeine to help him think things through.
Two hours later, Rath was parked in Spenerstrasse again. Dusk was falling as he rang on Irmgard Brettschneider’s door for the second time that day. Beforehand he had taken another look inside Charly’s flat, but nothing had changed.
The neighbour who had so often regarded him suspiciously, but never exchanged a word with him, now stared as though he were an apparition.
‘What can I do for you?’ she asked.
‘Good evening, Frau Brettschneider. Would you mind doing me a favour?’
She gazed at him as if he were asking for a cup of flour and two eggs, and Rath realised now would be a good time to reach for his police identification. He took the document out of his jacket and held it under her nose.
‘Rath, CID,’ he said. ‘It concerns Fräulein Ritter. She was seen leaving her flat this afternoon in the company of several men.’
‘Has she… Is she…’ Irmgard Brettschneider struggled to find the right words. ‘Is it prostitution?’ she asked finally. Rath didn’t know whether to laugh or vent his rage on this careworn woman with the overactive imagination.
‘Please! Fräulein Ritter is a judicial clerk.’
Frau Brettschneider gave a confused nod. ‘Of course, of course. I just thought… with the police in the building. So…’
‘It is possible that Fräulein Ritter was the victim of a kidnapping,’ he said.
Brettschneider looked horrified. ‘Those nice men? You must be mistaken.’
‘You saw them?’
‘Through the peephole,’ she said, apologetically. ‘Two well-dressed men. An older man, and a younger man.’
‘Would you recognise them if you saw a photograph?’
She hunched her shoulders. ‘I think so. Do I need to go to the station?’
‘That won’t be necessary for the time being. May I come in?’
She gazed into the stairwell, nodded and stepped aside. He entered the flat and she closed the door behind them, leading him into a meticulously tidy living room. A tea table with two chairs stood by the window overlooking Spenerstrasse. He could see his Buick at the corner. He sat and took a photograph from Tornow’s personal file, which had been passed to his office by Warrants.
‘That’s a police officer,’ Brettschneider said as she looked at the image which showed Sebastian Tornow under a shako wearing his best smile. ‘I thought this was a kidnapping.’
‘Was this man present?’
She nodded. ‘In plainclothes, not uniform.’
‘Undercover operation. Do you see?’ He gave her a conspiratorial smile and she nodded.
‘Are you… Is that why you’re in Fräulein Ritter’s flat from time to time?’ she asked. ‘Are you undercover as well?’
He nodded. ‘Keep it between us.’
‘Why should she have been kidnapped?’
‘I can’t talk about that.’ Rath lowered his voice. ‘Official secrets.’
Irmgard Brettschneider gave an eager nod. ‘I won’t say a thing, Inspector!’ She was beginning to flourish; she ought to have been a secret agent. ‘I have a number plate too,’ she whispered, as if her flat was being bugged. ‘I always take down the registration of whoever parks outside. You never know. It was a black sedan. I can’t give you the make, I’m afraid, I’m not so good with cars. But I do have the registration if that would help?’
Rath nodded, wondering how often Frau Brettschneider must have watched him coming and going, in the stairwell, perhaps even on the street outside.
‘That would be a great help.’
It was dark when he parked on Luisenufer, right outside the house this time. He had spent over two hours at the Castle trying everything to get into Road Traffic, but it was all locked on a Sunday, like most offices at headquarters. He didn’t dare use official channels and call in the division chief or the public prosecutor. What, after all, could he tell them?
He stepped inside the smoky hallway, hoping that Charly might have returned; that she had spent the last few hours waiting for him while he prowled around the station and her flat. Only when he stood at the kitchen door did he realise what was confusing him about the smoke. It didn’t smell of Junos. In fact, it didn’t smell of cigarettes.
It smelled of cigars.
Thus he was less surprised than he might have been, as he entered the kitchen and saw Johann Marlow with a cigar between his teeth, tickling the back of Kirie’s head. The dog didn’t appear to have moved since Rath had left the flat. On a second chair sat Liang. Two more men in summer coats stood by the dresser.
Marlow looked up. ‘There was no one here when we rang the bell, so we took the liberty of letting ourselves in.’
‘I see you’ve made yourselves at home.’
‘As far as we could, but it’s not exactly tidy in here.’
‘It was the men who killed Hugo Lenz,’ he said. ‘They got wind that I’m onto them.’ He took the photograph of Tornow from his jacket and laid it on the table. ‘Sebastian Tornow. The other one’s already dead. A Sergeant Major Jochen Kuschke.’
‘Respect,’ Marlow said. He looked at the two men by the dresser and said: ‘You could take a leaf out of this man’s book.’
‘So far, there’s no official investigation against Tornow. The evidence is pretty thin, and I’ve only just discovered he’s responsible for the whole thing. Clearly, he’s trying to provoke conflict in the underworld. He probably killed Rudi Höller too.’
Marlow nodded thoughtfully. It suited him that police headquarters still didn’t know. ‘Where might I find this Tornow?’ he asked.