It was stuffy in the glass booth, a real greenhouse. Rath lifted the receiver and put in a ten-pfennig coin when a face on the other side of the street justified his choice of observation post. In the meantime the operator spoke on the line.
Rath automatically reeled off the number: ‘STEPHAN 1701 please.’ At the same time he kept an eye on the pretty lady turning into Mühlenstrasse. She must have got off the tram, and it couldn’t be a coincidence that she was hanging around here. He followed her with his eyes until she disappeared from his field of vision. He opened the door of the booth to watch as she made for the church. A slightly scratchy voice announced itself on the line.
‘Yes.’
He was a little taken aback. He hadn’t been expecting to get someone on the line so quickly, after all the failed attempts yesterday and the day before. Back inside the booth, he closed the door, muffling the noise from the street. ‘Who am I speaking to, please?’ he asked. This idiotic custom of answering the telephone without saying your name! Just like Charly!
‘Who am I speaking to?’
The subscriber refused to be intimidated. Damn it, Rath wasn’t prepared for this. He had hoped whoever it was would give their name, so that he could hang up and take care of everything else through the civil register. Perhaps the name might turn up in the files of the Berlin Police…
‘I find it incredibly rude not to give your name,’ he said. He couldn’t think of anything more intelligent to say.
‘Gereon?’ the voice at the other end said, and Rath felt something like an electric shock pass down his spine. It was no coincidence that the voice had felt familiar from the moment he first heard it. ‘Is that you?’
He hung up with his mind racing. He lifted the receiver a second time and waited for the operator. ‘Operator,’ he said. ‘Would you be so kind as to repeat the number you just connected me with? I’m not sure I gave you the right one.’
‘STEPHAN 1701,’ a mildly irritated voice said. Rath looked down at the scrap of paper he had used to write the number. There was no doubt. The telephone number provided by Christine Möller, which concealed the man who almost certainly had Red Hugo on his conscience, had been answered by a colleague.
103
Charly paced around her flat like a tiger in a cage. Even at breakfast she hadn’t been able to sit still. She simply didn’t know what to do. Telephone Lange on a Sunday? Or Gennat? It was unlikely to be a problem, but she wasn’t sure it was urgent enough. Gereon’s misgivings had driven her so dotty that she no longer quite believed what she had seen in the Hansaviertel. Had there actually been a uniform cop? And had he really looked like Gereon’s new colleague? She was furious with him. He could never back her, not even this one time. He always had to play devil’s advocate!
She knew how sensitive it was to accuse a colleague of murder. Because that was what it boiled down to. He couldn’t be a harmless witness if it was the same man who had ransacked Kuschke’s flat.
Damn it! She’d have felt happier with Gereon onside. Just with him being there at all.
She could always resume her search for Alex, but there was too much going on inside her mind since she had seen Sebastian Tornow smile and experienced her moment of insight.
The telephone rang.
Perhaps it was Gereon? Despite her rage she was happy to call it quits. It was all getting too much for her, and she could use him by her side. Then why, she asked herself, did you send him packing yesterday evening, you silly goose? She had wanted to borrow money off him, too, since Maltritz would be back tomorrow for the rent. Very well. If he wanted a reconciliation he could have it. Just not right this minute…
Come on, don’t be childish, don’t keep him in suspense. He’s already called five times. She lifted the receiver. ‘Yes?’
‘Charlotte Ritter?’ It wasn’t Gereon’s voice.
‘Speaking.’ In the same instant she wondered whether it was wise to confirm her identity. ‘Who is it, please?’
‘I’d like to speak to Gereon Rath.’
‘He isn’t here.’
‘Then please excuse the interruption.’
‘No problem,’ she said, but the caller had already hung up.
104
Rath slammed his fist down and swore. Engaged! Did she have to be on the phone at precisely this moment? He hung up and the ten-pfennig piece jangled onto the change slot.
Marion Bosetzky had disappeared inside the church, and he was still standing in this telephone booth trying to reach Charly. He had to speak to her, now, as soon as possible, quarrel or no. He couldn’t help thinking back to last night ever since he had heard Tornow’s voice on the line. It didn’t make any sense, but something here was rotten. His argument from yesterday resurfaced: Tornow hasn’t been in uniform for almost two weeks now. But that wasn’t true. There was a day last week when Sebastian Tornow had been in uniform, even if he was still a long way from the Hansavierteclass="underline" Schönholz Cemetery in Pankow, at Emil Kuhfeld’s funeral.
He took the ten-pfennig piece from the coin return and put it back in the slot. Hopefully she wasn’t speaking to the grinning man, or else this could take forever. Keeping the church portal in view he gave the number. Still no sign of Marion Bosetzky, illegal nightclub dancer, chambermaid and gangster’s moll. At last, the dial tone! Charly picked up.
‘Yes?’
Well, of course, she never gave her name, unless she was at work. Now he remembered why he found it so annoying. ‘Charly,’ he said quickly. ‘Gereon here. I hope you’re not still mad.’
‘Gereon! I… what a coincidence. I was just…’
‘Listen,’ he interrupted. ‘I’m in a rush. I’m sorry about yesterday. I’m a total imbecile.’
‘You’ve finally realised?’
‘Listen,’ he said again. ‘I need to know exactly when you saw Tornow in the Hansaviertel. What day? What time?’
‘Wednesday about half past twelve.’
A fit! The funeral started at eleven, at which point he had said goodbye to Tornow. After that he hadn’t seen him. The cemetery was right next to the S-Bahn. Changing once or twice, it would take no longer than half an hour, forty-five minutes, to get to Tiergarten.
‘I think it really was Tornow you saw in the Hansaviertel,’ he said. ‘Something’s not right. It’s just possible he had something to do with Red Hugo’s death too, and Rudi the Rat.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Two gangsters. Right now I’ve got something else to take care of, but I can be at yours in an hour. Wait for me there.’
‘But…’
‘Just wait. An hour tops. Then we can get something to eat, and I’ll tell you everything.’
He hung up, left the cramped, stuffy booth and walked quickly towards the church. On the way he debated how he could provide Charly with a plausible explanation for his knowledge of the Hugo Lenz case. Under no circumstances could she discover that he was working for Johann Marlow. He thought about Henning and Czerwinski. Unlike him, Plisch and Plum were actually involved in the case, and Charly knew that the three of them often worked together. Whether she believed him or not was of secondary importance. What mattered now was that they pooled their knowledge of Kuschke, Lenz and Höller.
Things here could be tied up quickly. Once he had Marion Bosetzky, everything else would follow. If need be, he could always cuff her and take her back to the station. After all, why shouldn’t an inspector just stumble upon a woman who had been the object of a police search warrant for more than a week? Perhaps it would be enough to lean on her a little so that she led him to Goldstein’s current pied-à-terre. In that case he’d save his handcuffs for the Yank and let Marion go. Both would earn him points in Gennat’s eyes, although the Goldstein variant was clearly preferable. Something like that could make him quite a name at the Castle, especially since the man had twice given him the slip.