‘But old Schmalz was a pensioner and not even part of the chain any more,’ his wife offered.
‘Hard to say. How many policemen do I know who still feel like policemen after retirement?’
‘Dear God,’ she interrupted him, ‘you’re not going to-’
‘No, I won’t. Perhaps Schmalz senior was one of those who still thought of himself as being in service. What I mean is there needn’t be a motive for murder in the classical sense here. The murderer is simply the instrument without a motive, and whoever had the motive wasn’t necessarily thinking about murder. That’s the effect, and indeed the purpose, of commanding hierarchies. We know that in the police, too, and in the army.’
‘Do you think more could be done if old Schmalz were still alive?’
‘Well, to begin with, Herr Self wouldn’t have got as far. He wouldn’t have found out at all about Schmalz’s injury, wouldn’t have looked in the hangar, and certainly wouldn’t have found the murder vehicle. All traces would have been removed long before. But, all right, let’s imagine we’d come by this knowledge in a different way. No, I don’t think we’d have got anything out of old Schmalz. He must have been a tough old nut.’
‘I can’t just accept this, Rudolf. Listening to you, the only person you can get in this chain of command is the last link. And the others are all supposedly innocent?’
‘Whether they’re innocent is one question and whether you can get them is another. Look, Reni, I don’t know of course whether something really went wrong, or whether it’s not the case that the chain was so well-oiled that everyone knew what was meant without it being spoken out loud. But if it was oiled like that, it certainly can’t be proved.’
‘Should Herr Self be advised to talk to one of the big cheeses at the RCW? To get a sense of how that person conducts himself?’
‘So far as prosecution goes, that won’t help either. But you’re right, it’s the only remaining thing he can do.’
It was good to watch the pair of them, in this question-and-answer game, making sense of what I was too groggy to work out for myself. So what was left for me was a talk with Korten.
Frau Nägelsbach made some verbena tea and we talked about art. Nägelsbach told me what appealed to him in his reproduction of Praying Hands. He found the usual sculpture reproductions no less sickly sweet than I. And that very fact made him want to achieve the sublime sobriety of Dürer’s original through the rigorous simplicity of the matches.
As I left he promised to check up on the licence plate of Schmalz’s Citroën.
The note for Brigitte was still hanging on the door. When I was lying in bed she called. ‘Are you feeling better? Sorry I couldn’t come round to see you again. I just didn’t manage it. How’s your weekend looking? Do you think you’ll feel up to coming to dinner tomorrow?’ Something wasn’t right. Her cheerfulness sounded forced.
22 Tea in the loggia
On Saturday morning I found one message from Nägelsbach on the answering machine and one from Korten. The number on the licence plate on old Schmalz’s Citroën had been allotted to a Heidelberg postal worker for his VW Beetle five years ago. Presumably the licence plate I saw originated from this scrapped predecessor. Korten asked whether I wouldn’t like to visit them in Ludolf-Krehl-Strasse. I should call him back.
‘My dear Self, good to hear you. This afternoon, tea in the loggia? You whipped up quite a storm for us, I hear. And you sound as though you have a cold. It doesn’t surprise me, ha ha. Your level of fitness, I’m full of respect.’
At four o’clock I was in Ludolf-Krehl-Strasse. For Inge, if it was still Inge, I had brought an autumn bouquet. I marvelled at the entrance gate, the video camera, and the intercom system. It consisted of a telephone receiver on a long cable that the chauffeur could pick up and pass on to the good ladies and gentlemen in the rear. Just as I wanted to sit back in my car with the receiver I heard Korten with the tortured patience you use for a naughty child. ‘Don’t be silly, Self! The cable car is on its way for you.’
On the ride up I had a view from Neuenheim over the Rhine plain to the Palatinate Forest. It was a clear day and I could make out the chimneys of the RCW. Their white smoke merged innocently with the blue sky.
Korten, in cords, checked shirt, and a casual cardigan, greeted me heartily. Two dachshunds were leaping around him. ‘I’ve had a table set in the loggia, it won’t be too cold for you, will it? You can always have one of my cardigans, Helga knits me one after the other.’
We stood enjoying the view. ‘Is that your church down there?’
‘The Johanneskirche? No, we belong to the Friedenskirche parish in Handschuhsheim. I’ve become an Elder. Nice job.’
Helga came with a coffee pot and I unloaded my flowers. I’d only known Inge fleetingly and didn’t know whether she’d died, divorced, or simply left. Helga, new wife or new lover, resembled her. The same cheerfulness, the same false modesty, the same delight over my bouquet. She stayed to have a first slice of apple cake with us. Then: ‘You men certainly want to talk among yourselves.’ As was right and proper we contradicted her. And as was right and proper she went anyway.
‘May I have another slice of apple cake? It’s delicious.’
Korten leant back in his armchair. ‘I am sure you had good reason for frightening security on Thursday evening. If you don’t mind I’d like to know what it was. I was the one who recently introduced you to the Works, if you like, and I’m the one to get all the puzzled looks when your escapades became known.’
‘How well did you know Schmalz senior? A personal message from you was read out at his funeral.’
‘You weren’t looking for the answer to that question in the shed. But fine, I knew him better and liked him better than all the other men in security. Back in the dark years we grew close to some of the simple employees in a way that is no longer possible today.’
‘He killed Mischkey. And in the hangar I found proof, the thing that killed him.’
‘Old Schmalz? He wouldn’t hurt a fly. What are you talking yourself into, my dear Self.’
Without mentioning Judith or going into detail, I reported what had happened. ‘And if you ask me what any of this has to do with me then I’ll remind you of our last talk. I ask you to go gently on Mischkey and shortly afterwards he’s dead.’
‘And where do you see a reason, a motive, for such action on the part of old Schmalz?’
‘We can come back to that in a minute. First I’d like to know if you have any questions about the order of events.’
Korten got up and prowled back and forth heavily. ‘Why didn’t you call me first thing yesterday morning? Then we might still have discovered something more about what went on in Schmalz’s hangar. Now it’s too late. It was planned for weeks – yesterday the building complex, along with the old hangar, was demolished. That was also the reason I spoke to old Schmalz myself four weeks ago. We had a little schnapps and I tried to break the news to him that we, unfortunately, couldn’t keep the old hangar, nor his apartment.’
‘You were round at Schmalz senior’s?’
‘No, I asked him to come and see me. Naturally I don’t usually deliver such messages. But he’s always reminded me of the old days. And you know how sentimental I am deep down.’
‘And what happened to the delivery van?’
‘No idea. The son will have taken care of it. But once again, where do you see a motive?’