‘That wasn’t what we agreed! They were supposed to end up behind bars. No one said anything about killing them.’
‘What was supposed to happen is none of your concern. The boy died. It was an accident.’
‘It was no accident, it was murder. I’ve got witnesses. I know reporters who’d pay a pretty penny for a story like that. Police officer murders minor!’
The momentary silence at the end of the line confirmed what Kalli knew already. Alex must have been telling the truth.
‘You’ve had your money, now you’re out.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t enough.’
The voice was silent for a moment. ‘Let’s talk about that,’ it said meekly, as if assailed by a guilty conscience. ‘Where shall we meet?’
‘Meet? You must be joking. I’ll call you.’ With that, Kalli hung up. There was still time to decide how much to ask for, and how it should be delivered.
If he had known the consequences of that brief telephone conversation, he’d have closed his shop for a few weeks and driven to his brother’s place in the country. Instead, he was tightly bound in the backroom of his own shop, cursing the day he had ratted on Alex and Benny for a few measly pennies. All because they had become a nuisance to Berolina: two street urchins who had grown too big for their boots, cleaning out the city’s department stores, making the fuzz jumpy and forcing prices down. Berolina was a more important business partner than Alex and Benny. A few years in the can wouldn’t do them any harm, Kalli had thought.
‘I’ve never known you so quiet, Kalli. Normally you’d talk the hind leg off a donkey. Or do you need a telephone to speak? You should have bought yourself one, then you wouldn’t have to traipse all the way to the S-Bahn station.’
The voice was now directly behind him, just as calm as it had been on the telephone but a thousand times more threatening.
‘Your friend here smashes my face in if I say anything. Is this a new police tactic?’
‘The police are experimenting with new tactics, but I’m not about to discuss them with you. I assume you know why I’m here.’
‘My telephone call just now?’ Kalli shook his head indignantly, as if in denial of this whole scene, this whole situation. ‘It was just a little fun.’
‘I didn’t hear you laughing.’
‘I’m not about to rat anyone out. I’ve never blabbed. Ask anyone in the neighbourhood.’
‘You’re joking, aren’t you? Should I be laughing?’
‘Those two brats. That was different. They were criminals. I’ve got no intention of talking, believe me. I’d be getting myself into all kinds of trouble.’
It took a moment for the voice to respond. ‘Do you know what?’ it said. ‘I actually believe you. You won’t go to the papers, I’m one hundred percent sure of that.’
Kalli felt almost euphoric. ‘No, I won’t. Absolutely not. I don’t even know anyone there.’
Stephan fell silent again, and Kalli felt as uneasy as he had at the start of the conversation. ‘What else do you want from me?’ he asked. ‘Untie me. I’m thirsty.’
‘One last thing, then you can have something to drink.’ By the sound of his voice, Stephan must have been back by the door. ‘You mentioned a witness. Give me a name, and you’ll be rid of me. My friend here too.’
Kalli gazed confused at the cop, who had got up from the sofa again and started looking at the photos on the wall.
‘You meant the other boy, didn’t you?’ the man at the door continued. ‘The one who escaped. Did he come here? Try to make some money? Is he the one who’s been spreading these tall tales?’
They didn’t know Alex was a girl. Stupid cops, so full of their own importance! Kalli would’ve liked nothing more than to laugh out loud, but was prevented by the feeling of helplessness growing inside of him. Why didn’t they untie him? It wasn’t as if he was going to scarper!
‘The other boy?’ he said, shrugging his shoulders – so far as he could with his hands tied. ‘No, he hasn’t been here. He probably knows not to show his face.’
‘Why is it I don’t believe you?’ Though Kalli couldn’t see him, he was certain that Stephan was shaking his head. ‘Not that it matters. Just tell me where I can find the boy. That’s all I need to know.’
‘No idea. I don’t know the brats myself. They only sold me stuff that one time. It’s not as if they left a forwarding address.’
The man behind him said nothing more. The cop, however, ceased looking at the photo and moved towards the record player, dropping the tone arm on the record so that it made a hideous sound as it jumped up and down, before locating the groove. The bastard! Destroying his records! And so damn loud! Finally the cop found the volume control. Only, he didn’t turn it down, as Kalli had expected, but up, until it couldn’t go any higher. Adieu, mein kleiner Gardeoffizier, adieu, adieu… Kalli had never heard Richard Tauber sing so loud. The cop drew nearer and grinned.
8
With its tooting cars and rumbling buses, the cacophony on Stresemannstrasse was a thousand times preferable than the soporific murmur in the hotel hall. Behind the trees on Askanischer Platz the brick colossus of Anhalter Bahnhof rose into the grey-blue sky.
Rath crossed over, keeping the two stairways that led onto the street in view. One of them was right outside the hotel, the second by the southeast corner of the station. They weren’t steps down to the U-Bahn station, but exits from the pedestrian tunnel, which connected the Excelsior with Anhalter Bahnhof. The tunnel was the hotel’s pride and joy. No brochure omitted it, and Goldstein had discovered it on his very first day… well, good for him, but luckily Rath had stationed Gräf there.
He was wondering where Goldstein might have got to, when he emerged from the ground on Möckernstrasse, right by the station. The Yank was wearing the same outfit as before, a light, sand-coloured suit, matching hat and pale trenchcoat. Having reached the top of the stairs, he came to a halt and looked around. Rath made no attempt to conceal himself. If Goldstein saw him he would perhaps give up and return to the hotel.
The American was already making for the taxi stand outside the station when Gräf emerged, a little out of breath, searching for his target. Rath intercepted him.
‘Looks like our man’s about to take a taxi,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay on him, you go back to the hotel. Plisch and Plum will take over in just under an hour.’
Gräf nodded and made an about-turn.
When Rath turned to face the taxi stand, Goldstein was gone. At the same moment, a premium-class taxi detached itself from the line and rolled towards Stresemannstrasse, where a number of cabs were filtering into the moving traffic. Rath made out a sand-coloured hat in the backseat; indeed, thought for a moment that Goldstein had briefly raised his hand, as if waving.
He made a note of the taxi number and sprinted for his car, which was parked by the station. By the time he’d started it, Goldstein’s taxi was turning onto Stresemannstrasse, going towards Potsdamer Platz. Rath overtook an Opel looking for a parking spot and followed the taxi. He had a vehicle in his sights without quite knowing if it was Goldstein’s taxi or not and, metre by metre, was drawing nearer. At Potsdamer Platz they stopped at a red light. Rath was so close he could read the number: 7685.
The light jumped to green, and on they went down Bellevuestrasse, across Kemperplatz and into Tiergartenstrasse. Rath stayed with them until, just as he decided that the American must be heading for the west, the taxi turned right, without indicating, towards the Grosse Stern. Goldstein had seen him.