Gennat was right. They had no proof, only clues that would never stick in court, and would have to be patient.
As luck would have it Rath wasn’t alone in guarding a secret. Charly hadn’t said a word about this black she’d eaten lunch with on Monday. Rath thought he’d heard colleagues gossiping about it in the canteen, but the whispering died as soon as he entered the room. Even so, he was certain he’d caught the word black, and the scorn and pity in the eyes of colleagues. He’d tried not to think about it, remembering Hella Rickert in Masuria. There was no way he’d be telling Charly about Hella, it was none of her business. He wondered if that was why she’d failed to mention…
His jealousy grew by the day. Rarely had he slept with Charly so often as in recent times, and it was starting to feel as if he were doing it to possess her, that she might belong to him and no one else.
Who was this black, and why hadn’t she said anything about him? He’d briefly considered hiring a private detective, only to abandon the idea, since it would mean yielding to his jealousy. Besides, Berlin sleuths were a notoriously shady bunch.
Meanwhile, normal service had resumed in A Division. Charly had been recalled at exactly the right time and didn’t complain, simply got on with it. Clearly she was on good terms with her office colleague, and no one in G seemed to envy her having spent three weeks in Homicide.
Three times this week he had eaten lunch with her in the canteen, introducing her as my fiancée, Fräulein Ritter, and enjoyed being seen together at last.
Perhaps it was jealousy that bound him to her, but he didn’t care. Already they were living a kind of trial marriage, sitting together in the evenings, listening to the radio or records, and talking about work. As well as keeping their own secrets. Perhaps that, too, was part of married life. He tried to make peace with the idea, however difficult he found it.
On Sunday they would cast their vote together, as he’d promised they would. He still didn’t know where to put his cross. The whole thing seemed pretty pointless. At the end of the day, it’d be Hindenburg who had the final say on the identity of his chancellor, and perhaps it was better that way. The Nazis were beneath the old man; there was no way he’d let one of them run the country.
Rath’s sole wish was that Nazi and Communist votes might tumble, reducing the frequency of street battles. Perhaps the new government would ban the SA and SS again, so that life in Berlin and elsewhere in Prussia might return halfway to normal. That way the police wouldn’t have to keep hearing about how they had lost control.
With all these questions running through his mind, one refused to let go: who in the hell was this black man?
Perhaps on polling Sunday he’d casually steer conversation onto the Nazis and their asinine racism. Were there even black Germans? It was a legitimate question, surely?
He put the thought to one side and concentrated on the file in front of him. He’d spent much of the week trying to write down everything that had happened in Masuria. He hated drudge work like this, but at last the report was ready for Böhm. Hopefully it wouldn’t be thrown back in his face.
Perhaps Böhm was no longer here. Most colleagues had finished for the weekend. Charly had said her goodbyes about an hour ago, after arranging to go shopping with Greta. Or was she meeting… Again his thoughts turned to the black man, sitting with her at the window table in Aschinger.
The telephone rang, the call he’d been waiting for all week. ‘Kowalski. I see you’re racking up overtime, just like me.’
‘I’ve been spending a lot of time with my colleagues in Robbery Division.’
‘And?’
‘This university break-in from October ’30…’ He paused, as if to make sure no one was listening. ‘Nothing was ever proved, but my colleagues are certain it was Marczewski’s gang. Their prints are all over it.’
‘Marczewski?’
‘It’s how the gang’s still known, though the boss has been in Berlin a few years now.’
‘Polish-Paule.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘That’s what we call him here. He took over a Ringverein. Clearly a major player where bootlegging’s concerned.’
‘There’s an informant. I showed him the photo you sent, and he recognised the man.’
‘And?’ Rath felt his hunting instinct awaken.
‘He says not only did this man buy the stuff from the clinic, he ordered the theft himself; knew exactly where the drugs could be found.’
‘Interesting.’
‘It wasn’t the only job he gave Marczewski’s men either. He wanted a new passport, as well as the addresses of four Treuburgers who’d moved away.’
‘Let me guess: these four men are no longer with us?’
‘You got it.’
‘Did these gang members know they were handing a killer his victims on a plate?’
‘The informant denies it, but that lot would sell their grandmothers. Polakowski must have laid down thousands of marks – just like that, enough to make any hood go weak at the knees. Only thing I’m wondering is how a fugitive could have so much cash.’
‘His jail-friend was a bank robber, wasn’t he? It’s probably from his stash. Thank you, Kowalski. Excellent work.’
‘Thank you, Sir, anytime, but there’s one more thing. Our informant saved the best until last…’
‘Go on.’
‘He was there again.’
‘Who?’
‘Polakowski paid another visit to Marczewski’s gang last Sunday. He needed more tubocurarine, and he got it.’
Wilhelm Böhm was still at his desk, but dressed in his hat and coat and speaking on the telephone. ‘Keep your eyes open. He’ll be back soon enough.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Rath asked.
‘Our colleagues from Danzig. They’ve lost Gustav Wengler, somewhere in the covered market.’
Rath placed a thick file on Böhm’s desk. ‘Apropos Wengler,’ he said. ‘My Masurian operation. Here’s the report.’
‘Finally.’ Böhm reached across and opened it. ‘About time.’ There was no such thing as a friendly thank you from Wilhelm Böhm.
‘I think you’ll find it’s pretty comprehensive.’ Rath was unsure whether or not he should report Kowalski’s call.
Böhm looked up from skimming the file. ‘Was there something else, Inspector?’
‘Yes and no.’
Böhm furrowed his brow.
‘Polakowski,’ Rath said. ‘I think he’s in Treuburg, waiting for Gustav Wengler.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Just a feeling.’
‘Why not check if this feeling has any substance, and get in touch with the local police? A man like Polakowski should stick out like a sore thumb.’
‘With respect, Sir, I don’t trust the police in Treuburg.’ Rath gestured towards his report. ‘As far as I’m concerned, Chief Constable Grigat’s perfectly capable of killing Polakowski himself.’
‘A police officer who kills?’
‘No doubt he’d dress it up as self-defence, or say Polakowski was trying to escape. Grigat and Wengler are in cahoots, and it’s not in Wengler’s interests that Polakowski should fall into police hands, the sole witness in an age-old homicide case.’
‘A mass murderer, besides.’
‘That doesn’t mean vigilante justice should prevail.’
‘Hmm.’ Böhm rubbed his chin.
‘What sort of impression does it make if Berlin asks for assistance on the basis of a feeling?
‘Yet you expect me to green-light an expensive operation on precisely the same grounds?’
‘It’s the weekend,’ Rath said. ‘It could always be an unofficial trip.’