‘Wengler, you can’t! I’ll have you for this.’
‘You think you’re going to survive?’ He aimed the pistol at Rath. ‘First I’m going to shoot the Polack, then I’m going to shoot you. Afterwards we’ll cook up a nice story about how you tried to save me, but died a hero’s death. Poor Grigat sustained a blow to the head during the struggle, of course, but will testify to my version of events. A police witness always looks good.’
‘I’m warning you, Wengler. My colleagues will be here any moment.’
Wengler laughed. ‘Even you don’t believe that. The way Grigat tells it, you’d rather run from your colleagues than keep them informed.’ Suddenly his laughter died, and he gazed over the barrel with an ice-cold expression. ‘Any more and you’ll be first to go.’
‘Wengler, you wretched…’
Creature, Rath was about to say, but he ran out of time. He heard a whirring sound, then a noise that sounded like a fence post being driven into a quagmire. A shot struck his shoulder and threw him backwards looking up. Gustav Wengler stood as before, Luger smoking in his hand. In his neck was a long, thin arrow.
Wengler dropped the pistol and reached with both hands for his throat, gasping for air as he tried to remove the shaft. The next arrow struck him in the left eye and it was as if he had been snap-frozen. He stared rigidly towards the lake, at a thick shrub on the other side of the little bay, before tilting like a tree slowly torn from its roots, falling sideways into the water and landing on his back.
Rath sat up, only now aware of the pain in his shoulder. Wengler’s lifeless body lay in the shallows. Two arrows, one in his throat, one in his left eye, protruded like solitary reeds.
99
Again Rath sat on Ernst Gennat’s green armchair, only this time things were more serious. This was no dirty trick. A man had died during a police operation, and not just any man but a Treuburg luminary, whose obituary served as a moving tribute to national pathos everywhere.
On the day that ought to have been his greatest triumph; the day on which nationalist forces saw an unparalleled upsurge in his beloved Treuburg, Gustav Wengler, philanthropist sans pareil, died in a hail of Berlin Police bullets.
Rath was familiar with this kind of tone. He had endured similar in Cologne, and eventually been forced to leave. He didn’t care what they wrote about him in Treuburg, but Erich Grigat was more than making up for it, despite the counter statement issued to the Treuburger Zeitung by Berlin Police Headquarters, refuting the paper’s more outrageous claims. The police constable was still on sick leave, recovering from a serious head injury with relatives in Elbing, and had already put in for a transfer.
It was probably for the best, even if Editor Ziegler wouldn’t be able to preserve Gustav Wengler’s reputation forever. Maria Cofalka’s death was being investigated. Königsberg CID had a Homicide unit on site, which included Anton Kowalski, and, by their last telephone conversation, it was only a matter of time before the deceased Wengler was implicated by one of Fabeck’s troop. At least here, it seemed time was working in justice’s favour. Each SA man that sat in custody was a victory for public security. Since the vote the brownshirts had stepped up their brutal and often fatal assaults. The surge in Nazi votes promised anything but stability.
Gennat glanced at Rath’s report and shook his head. ‘Well I never.’ The superintendent gestured towards his sling. ‘How’s the shoulder?’
‘Fine, thank you. Bandage comes off next week.’
The blood-soaked bandage and sling that held his arm steady made a wretched impression, but had been a great help in mollifying Charly. Confined to his bed by doctor’s orders, he had been moved by her concern. So much so that he’d almost forgotten about the pain.
‘I still don’t understand why you took Chief Constable Grigat’s service pistol.’
‘To arm myself. Mine was with Polish border officers in Wirsitz. I knew Polakowski couldn’t be far away.’
Gennat raised his eyebrows. ‘Yet it was Gustav Wengler who was shot!’
‘That was self-defence, as I’ve already explained to police in Lyck and Gumbinnen. As well as your good self.’
‘You know how we like to hear things again and again. What I’m interested in, is how this situation came about.’ Gennat leafed through Rath’s report. ‘You went down to the lake alone, leaving the police constable up in the forest, unarmed…’
‘That’s correct, Sir.’
‘There you came upon Jakub Polakowski…’
‘…who was lying in wait for Gustav Wengler. There was a blackmail letter in Wengler’s car.’
That much was true. Perhaps Polakowski had drawn inspiration from Riedel and Unger, of whose endeavours in Haus Vaterland he must surely have been aware. At any rate, he had threatened to expose Gustav Wengler not only as a moonshiner, but a killer to boot. Having tortured every one of Wengler’s trusted allies to death, there was no doubting what he knew. Even so, he didn’t want simply to destroy Wengler’s reputation, built as it was on lies. He wanted to destroy the man entirely.
‘Then,’ Gennat continued. ‘You were about to arrest Polakowski…’
‘Correct. There was a warrant out. An alleged mass murderer…’
‘A warrant that is still current, since apparently you let this alleged mass murderer escape.’
‘I’m sorry, Sir.’ A little contrition couldn’t hurt.
‘Back to the lake: you were keeping Polakowski in check with Grigat’s Luger…’
‘Everything was under control until Gustav Wengler appeared.’
‘It was he who felled Grigat from behind, up in the forest…’
‘That’s what we assume, Sir.’
‘Why? If Wengler had the police in his pocket, as you’ve always maintained?’
‘That was an error. Chief Constable Grigat is a loyal representative of the Prussian police force, a man of integrity.’
‘Wengler threatened you with a pistol?’
‘Yes, Sir. He meant to kill Polakowski. I’d interfered with his trap. I instructed him to lay down his weapon.’
‘An instruction he refused to carry out.’
Rath took a drag on his cigarette. ‘As you can see from the report, he then demanded that I lay aside my weapon. That’s when I informed him that he, too, was under arrest: that he had knowingly sanctioned the death of his former associates, including that of his brother, and was responsible for the deaths of Maria Cofalka and Dietrich Assmann.’
‘Which was enough to make him shoot.’
Rath’s left shoulder hurt. ‘Clearly.’ He stubbed out his cigarette with his right hand. ‘I didn’t think that was in any doubt.’
Gennat again glanced at the file. ‘I can understand your first shot,’ he said. ‘A classic case of self-defence, but why did you shoot Wengler in the eye after you’d immobilised him with a shot to the neck?’
‘I don’t know, Sir. I pulled down on the trigger twice. I realise it was an error, but it happened. Perhaps it was a reflex after Wengler hit me, mortal terror, whatever… in situations like that you don’t always think clearly. You react…’
‘But you should. Think. It’s what police officers are trained to do. Especially before using their weapons; before having recourse to fire!’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘The weapon used to shoot you… could it have been a Luger too? Our colleagues were unable to trace the bullet.’
‘I don’t know, Sir. It’s possible.’
‘Your wound would suggest as much.’ Gennat sighed. ‘Shame we don’t have it.’
‘Yes, Sir.’ Rath appeared contrite again. ‘I’m sorry I let Polakowski give me the slip, but he threatened me with Wengler’s gun, which he had claimed for himself.’