The corpse still wore the same horrified expression as yesterday morning, but it was paler now, the area around the mouth a deeper shade of blue. The doctor gripped the ashen face and turned it to one side. Using his index finger, he gestured towards a point on the neck around which a small, bluish dot had formed.
‘See?’ Karthaus asked. Rath nodded, tempted for an instant to lean over the man’s neck to get a better view, only to listen to his stomach’s advice and trust in the doctor’s words. ‘A puncture site,’ Karthaus continued. ‘The injection was administered intravenously.’
‘What kind of injection?’
‘He didn’t get it from a doctor, anyway. I’ve already checked. Perhaps he was a morphine addict.’ The doctor drew on his cigarette. ‘Though it’s hardly common for morphine addicts to inject through the jugular vein. You’d need a mirror, for starters. Besides… if our man here was a morphine addict there’d have to be additional puncture sites. But this is the only one.’
‘Are you saying that someone administered the injection for him?’
‘Everything points that way. Which means we have evidence of external violence after all.’
‘A lethal injection?’
‘Hopefully a blood analysis will reveal all.’
‘So the man didn’t drown!’ Rath didn’t always need to be right, but he savoured it here.
‘It’s difficult to know for sure.’
‘I thought you had completed the autopsy?’
Karthaus nodded. ‘The man had water in his lungs. So much, in fact, that it’s inconceivable it entered post-mortem. So far, so typical for a victim of drowning. Nevertheless, the level of water aspiration wasn’t nearly extreme enough to lead to fatal hypoxia.’
‘You’ll have to break that down for me, Doctor. I’m no medic, and my Latin isn’t up to much either.’
‘Hypoxia is derived from the Greek. It denotes a lack of oxygen. Hypoxia as a result of extreme water aspiration is what we would vulgarly term “drowning”.’ Karthaus looked at Rath like a stern teacher. ‘I suspect, however, that although our man was in danger of drowning, he actually died of respiratory failure. Moments beforehand.’
‘What are you saying? Did he drown or didn’t he?’
‘He drowned a little bit. He definitely inhaled water, a most unpleasant experience, but, most likely, he didn’t die as a result. In other words: he stopped breathing before he could drown.’
‘Because he was administered poison…’ Karthaus shrugged. ‘But we’re definitely talking murder.’
‘We’re definitely talking foul play.’
‘And here, poor fool, with all my lore, I stand…’
‘I see you know your Goethe, at least.’
‘Believe it or not, I graduated high school.’
Karthaus gave a nod of acknowledgement. ‘Then no doubt you’ll appreciate the value of patience. Once we have the results of the blood analysis, we’ll know the cause of death, I’d almost bet on it. This much I can tell you already: we’re dealing with a very peculiar case.’
Rath looked at the corpse, the horror in its face. Who had it in for Herbert Lamkau, and why had they tried to drown him, after they’d already administered a lethal injection? ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ he said. ‘Be in touch when you know more.’ Rath had reached the door when he turned around. ‘There was one more thing…’ Karthaus raised his eyebrows. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have any aspirin?’
Half an hour later, Rath and Kirie climbed the U-Bahn steps to Potsdamer Platz. The stone figures lining the dome of Haus Vaterland made it seem like a neon-signed Roman temple. The enormous complex was the first thing visitors saw as they emerged above ground; only then did the train station and its surrounding buildings come into sight. Things were already happening on the wide perron outside the main entrance. People were actually queuing to be parted from their cash. For the most part they looked like assistant bookkeepers from Königs Wusterhausen out for a wild weekend in the big city – or whatever passed for a wild weekend in their eyes.
Rath ignored the provincials and circled the building. At the goods entrance a few men were unloading sacks of potatoes. Rath observed them for a moment, before strolling inside with Kirie in tow. The left-hand lift was still out of service; the potato men, at least, were only using the right. Rath had almost reached the stairwell when a cry came from behind.
‘Hey! What’re you doing here? Do I know you?’
Rath recognised the uniform of the Berlin Security Corps. So, they kept watch during the day too. The guard eyed his identification suspiciously.
‘CID?’
Rath nodded. ‘The murder, yesterday.’
The word ‘murder’ didn’t seem to have any impact. ‘What is it you want?’
‘To have another look at the crime scene.’
‘Did you call in advance?’
‘CID never calls in advance.’
The guard looked sour, but waved him through.
Rath climbed the steps, pausing to look outside the lifts on every floor. Kirie was nosing everywhere, but experience taught him to ignore her. Though Bouviers were usually excellent sniffer dogs, Kirie had proved herself to be an exception. On the third floor he came across a man in overalls crouched outside the open door of the lift shaft, screwdriver in hand. Rath surveyed him for a moment, then spoke. ‘Is it faulty?’ he asked, offering a cigarette. The man accepted gratefully, and Rath gave him a light.
‘The door,’ the man said, inhaling deeply. ‘Why d’you ask?’ He had a Berlin accent.
Rath lit an Overstolz and showed his badge. The engineer didn’t seem surprised. ‘Were you present when the corpse was found yesterday?’
‘No, that was Siegmann.’
‘Is he here?’
‘No, he’s on nights this week.’
‘What’s wrong with the door? Herr Siegmann didn’t mention anything about it.’
‘Only came to our attention this morning, when someone tried to get out here and it jammed. Most people ride straight up to the kitchen.’
‘The door’s jammed?’
‘Some idiot flicked the emergency switch,’ the man said. ‘Exactly between the two floors. Then forced the door instead of calling for assistance. Metal’s buckled as a result. It doesn’t close properly any more.’
‘That’s the lift where the corpse was found, isn’t it?’
The engineer shrugged. ‘Could be, but that’s no excuse.’
‘But you’re saying someone climbed out of this car? Where the corpse was found?’
A light came on in the man’s head. ‘You mean…’
‘It could be how the killer escaped. Have you touched anything?’
‘No, but I will. Wouldn’t get much done otherwise.’
‘Then take a break. See if there’s anything else on your list. The elevator door here needs to be examined.’
The engineer seemed to take things as they came, and shrugged his shoulders. ‘You’ll need to secure this though,’ he said. ‘So that no one falls into the shaft on me.’
‘How about you take care of that until my colleagues arrive? Now, where can I find a telephone?’
‘Back that way. The waiters have a common room. I can’t be standing around here forever, I…’
Rath ignored his protests and went through the door. At the end of a row of lockers, in front of which four or five men were getting changed, hung a wall telephone. Rath showed a waiter in full regalia his badge, but the man pretended he hadn’t seen him. Clearly he was used to ignoring people but, then again, so was Rath. He pressed the hook down until the connection was interrupted. The waiter was about to protest, but swallowed his words when he saw Rath’s face.
Despite ED only operating a skeletal staff on Sundays, he was assigned two men straightaway.