Kalli considered a moment. ‘Better keep it to yourself. You shouldn’t spread that sort of story around; the cops won’t stand for it.’ He stood up so unexpectedly that Alex gave a start. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I don’t want things to be awkward between us.’
She followed him back into the shop where he pulled a lever on the cash register. The drawer sprang open with a loud pling. He fumbled a brown note out and passed it across the counter. ‘Here! Because it’s you, and because of the business with Benny.’
‘A twenty?’ she said. Werner von Siemens was staring back at her. ‘You can’t be serious. You gave us more for the junk from Tietz!’
‘I’m doing you a favour. No one else will take it off you. Not after everything that’s happened. Do you know how hot it is? It’ll probably get me into trouble, but since it’s you…’ He waved the twenty. ‘Come on, take the money and that’ll be that.’
Twenty marks. Kalli would probably get that much for a single watch when he sold it on, and there were at least fifty in the bag. On the other hand, he was right. If he didn’t take the watches she’d have to sit on them. She swallowed her rage, took the twenty and sneaked a peek inside Kalli’s cash register. It was full. Maybe she could get the money due to her by other means. She stuffed the note into her jacket, and saw Kalli looking on in satisfaction. She wasn’t finished with him yet.
‘One more thing,’ Kalli said, grinning like a hyena as Alex reached the door. ‘I really don’t need any more trouble with the police. So… do me favour and don’t show your face around here for a while.’
We’ll see about that you arsehole, Alex thought and nodded, we’ll see about that.
5
Rath stood before a half-naked man, which so confused him he was no longer certain he was in the right place, although reception had given him exactly this room number. The man had an extremely muscular upper body which he seemed to enjoy showing off. Naked save for a hotel towel wrapped around his waist, he looked at least as surprised as Rath himself. He had clearly been expecting someone else, someone whom it was OK to meet clad only in a towel and with hair still wet from the shower. Had he already been accosted by one of the whores at Friedrichstrasse station, or did he have a girlfriend in Berlin?
Hand in front of his mouth, Rath gave a slight cough, an irritating habit in embarrassing or unpleasant situations that had been drummed into him as a child. Somehow he couldn’t rid himself of it, even if it made him feel like a butler who has surprised his master in the throes of lovemaking.
‘Abraham Goldstein?’
‘Gold-sstiehn.’
The man in the towel didn’t look dangerous exactly. He appeared athletic, and there was an ironic glint in his eyes, as if he didn’t take life entirely seriously.
Rath flashed his badge. ‘German police. May I come in, Sir?’
Goldstein stepped to one side and opened the door fully. Rath entered and looked around. The suite was elegantly arranged: damask wallpaper, mahogany furniture, soft carpets, and roughly four or five times bigger than the four-mark-fifty room Rath had taken some two years before. Probably five times as expensive too. At least.
Rath cleared his throat, continuing in English: ‘Well, Mister Goldstein, I have to inform you that the German police are legitimated to…’
Goldstein, lifting a packet of cigarettes from the table, interrupted. ‘I was hoping you were room service.’
Rath was surprised. The man spoke almost accent-free German, sounding nothing like the American tourists who seemed to chew, rather than speak, the language. ‘I’m afraid I must disappoint you there,’ he said. ‘I come bearing neither food nor drink.’
Goldstein placed a cigarette between his lips and offered the carton to Rath. Was this bribery or could he accept? Camel read the inscription, and Rath was too curious about American cigarettes to turn him down. Goldstein gave him a light.
‘So, Officer,’ the American said, ‘what brings you to me?’
‘Inspector,’ Rath corrected. ‘Inspector Rath.’ He almost added Homicide, as was his custom, but realised, just in time, that he was here in a different capacity. ‘You speak German?’
‘Thanks to my mother.’ Goldstein shrugged. ‘So, please explain what the Berlin Police wants from me.’
‘Fundamentally it wants the same from you as it does from anyone else: that you behave yourself accordingly in our city.’
Goldstein exhaled smoke through his nostrils, the smile at the corner of his mouth having suddenly disappeared. ‘Do you make this request of everyone, or is it just Americans?’
‘You are one of the chosen few. I hope you appreciate the honour.’
‘Speaking of behavioural codes, I’m just out of the shower. You’ll permit me to get dressed? Take a seat.’ Goldstein disappeared into the adjoining room.
Rath remained standing, keeping an eye on the bedroom window through the half-open door. He wasn’t expecting a bolt for freedom, and he certainly wasn’t expecting Goldstein to shoot his way out of trouble, but he decided, nevertheless, to unfasten his shoulder holster and take out his service weapon, a Walther PP, issued as a replacement for his Mauser the year before. He released the safety catch and placed it, together with his right hand, in his coat pocket. Just in case. Smoking with his left hand felt a little unusual, but it was fine.
He had just stubbed out the Camel when Goldstein reappeared in a thin, light-grey summer suit. Rath kept his hand tight on the pistol, finger poised over the trigger, but the American seemed determined to keep things peaceful.
‘So, here I am. Won’t you have a seat? You haven’t even taken off your hat.’
‘I prefer to stand.’
‘I don’t know what you’ve heard about me or my country, but rest assured you can take your hand out of your pocket. I’m unarmed.’ Rath felt like a schoolboy who hadn’t concealed his crib sheet properly. ‘You still haven’t told me the purpose of your visit,’ Goldstein said, lighting a cigarette. This time Rath declined.
‘I’d like to ask a few questions, that’s all.’
‘You do like keeping people in suspense. Ask away.’
‘You are Abraham Goldstein from New York?’
‘Williamsburg. It’s part of Brooklyn.’
‘Why are you in Berlin, Mister Goldstein?’
‘Why don’t you look in the guest register at reception?’
‘I want to hear it from you.’
‘I’m a tourist, exploring Germany’s beautiful capital city.’
‘There are no other reasons for your visit?’
‘Such as?’
‘Perhaps you’ve been hired to kill someone.’
Goldstein, who had just taken a drag on his cigarette, looked as if he had misheard. ‘I beg your pardon? You have too much imagination, Officer.’
‘You’ve been implicated in five separate murder investigations in your home country.’
‘Yet I’m standing here before you now. What does that tell you?’
‘That you have a good lawyer.’ Rath opened the brown briefcase and removed an ink pad and fingerprinting sheet.
Goldstein stared at the form with the ten consecutively numbered boxes. ‘What the hell is that?’ he asked, switching to English.
Well, my arrogant friend, Rath thought, it seems as if we’ve thrown you after all. ‘Herr Abraham Goldstein,’ he said, formal as a bailiff, ‘the Berlin police commissioner has invested in me the power to take your fingerprints. Perhaps we should sit down…’
‘Do you behave like this with every foreigner?’
Rath opened the ink pad’s metal lid. ‘No.’
‘To what do I owe the honour then?’