‘Any news from ED?’
‘Afraid not. Herr Kronberg says the report will be ready for tomorrow.’
With that, Erika Voss was gone. Rath gazed after her. Under normal circumstances, he’d have accompanied her, perhaps even driven her home, but the prospect of his deserted, oversized flat filled him with dread.
He went into the office and heaved one of the boxes onto his desk. Didn’t look like company papers. The overzealous Gräf appeared to have purged Herbert Lamkau’s private desk. Or perhaps it was the equally overzealous Lange. Kirie pattered over and let Rath ruffle her fur as he sifted through the contents. A few letters, a passport with a few foreign stamps, mainly Poland and the Free City of Danzig. A thick black notebook, containing endless columns of figures he couldn’t make head or tail of, and, right at the bottom, a pile of gazettes. Alkohol, read the title on the first, General Magazine for the Spirit, Korn and Compressed Yeast Industries. Official Organ of the German Association of Brewing and Distilling. Another was called the Spirit Industry Magazine, Mouthpiece of the Association of Spirit Manufacturers in Germany. Rath shook his head. What a country to be a boffin!
There didn’t seem to be anything else private in the remaining boxes. A glance was enough to tell Rath it wasn’t just the last few months his colleagues had seized, but several financial years. The widow Lamkau would have her work cut out.
He was about to light a cigarette and look at some of the more recent files, when there was a tentative knock at the door. Kirie sprang to her feet and pricked up her ears. Perhaps it was Kronberg, here to share some of ED’s findings. Ever since his wife had died, Kronberg, too, was prone to working overtime. ‘Yes!’ he said.
The door slowly opened and a young woman appeared in the outer office. Kirie made a beeline for her. ‘Superintendent Gennat sent me, Sir.’
Rath couldn’t believe his eyes. She gazed at the floor like a convent girl, but perhaps it was only to conceal her grin. ‘Truth be told,’ the convent girl continued, ‘I’m not due to report until tomorrow morning, but I thought I’d come and introduce myself. To save you from alarm.’
He couldn’t help it. The moment he’d seen who it was, he’d felt a tingling sensation. ‘Let’s have a look at you then. Unfortunately the others have already called it a night.’
‘Unfortunately?’ She closed the door behind her and stepped inside, gaze still firmly fixed on the floor. Gently, he took her chin and tilted it upwards so that she was finally looking him in the eye. Then he kissed her, and felt her kiss him back. ‘But Sir,’ she said.
The fact that she was still in character only aroused him more.
‘Why don’t you come into my office,’ he said sternly, observing her for a moment from behind before following. He shooed Kirie into the outer office, where she sulkily lay in her basket. Once inside he closed the door and they looked at each other. It seemed she could read his mind.
‘We can’t,’ she said, even before he leaned over and kissed her on the nape of the neck, the point that always made her grow weak. Her heavy breathing gave the lie to her protest. ‘Not here!’
‘You are a CID cadet, Fräulein Ritter, and I am your training officer.’
She sighed when he kissed her again. ‘Gereon, cut it out!’
He turned her around and looked at her. ‘For once, will you just do as I say. At least while we’re on the job!’
‘Yes, Sir!’
‘In the upper desk drawer is a key. Take it and lock the door. Just in case.’
She did as bidden. ‘And now, Sir?’
He had already pulled the curtains. He carefully unbuttoned her blouse, kissing the soft skin above her clavicle, working his way slowly down, button by button. Charly breathed heavily and sighed. ‘I’d forgotten how much you enjoy delayed gratification,’ she said.
‘Only up to a point,’ he said.
He surveyed her as she stood before him and decided that point had been reached.
11
He stood outside the police station and gazed up at the offices of Homicide, whose corridors he had visited years before. A crowd of officers left the building, signalling the end of the day shift. He remained in the shadow of the railway arches until the two men emerged. Keeping a low profile was easy in the throng at Alexanderplatz, and he was certain they hadn’t recognised him. They probably hadn’t even seen him.
He smoked a cigarette before leaving his post, knowing that he could enter the building without passing the porter’s lodge. There was no one in the atrium save for two uniform cops at the gate. You just had to say hello and look as if you had business and no one took any notice. He strode determinedly towards the stairwell and climbed the stone steps to the first floor, reaching the glass door on which the word HOMICIDE was printed.
There wasn’t a soul up here, the clatter of typewriters had long since faded. After passing a line of names and doors, including that of the famous Gennat, he found the one he had been searching for.
Detective Inspector Gereon Rath.
He felt for the picklock in his pocket, which he had fetched from Kreuzberg, and looked around. The corridor was still empty. He listened at the door. Silence.
Then out of the corner of his eye he saw movement. The glass door opened, and a reflection flitted briefly in the corridor, a slender young woman. He turned away from the door and continued down the corridor, trying not to move too quickly, resisting the temptation to turn around. There was no way she could have seen him standing outside the door, she was just some dim-witted secretary doing overtime. He saw a toilet and went inside. The stalls appeared to be empty. He opened one, bolted the lock and sat on the toilet seat, listening to the drip of a tap and what he thought was the sound of a door closing. For a long time there was silence, but still he waited before venturing outside.
The corridor was empty. He had no idea whose secretary it was, but hoped it wasn’t Detective Inspector Rath’s. That he, of all people, should be doing overtime… but no, or his colleagues would never have left when they did. No one reacted when he knocked, and he was about to remove the picklock from his pocket when he realised the door was unlocked. He replaced the false key, knocked a second time and, when still no one answered, opened the door.
The outer office was deserted, but just then he caught sight of the black dog looking at him, head tilted to one side. The thing had probably been staring at him this whole time, curiously, guilelessly, neither growling nor gnashing its teeth. He beat an orderly retreat, realising he’d made the right choice when, before he’d even closed the door, the cur issued two short, loud barks.
He looked around but no one had entered the corridor in the meantime. Everyone had finished save for the late shift; the late shift and those imbeciles still clocking up overtime, like Detective Inspector Rath.
What a stroke of luck he hadn’t bumped into him, only his mutt – who couldn’t speak.
The incident had him break out in a sweat. On the way out he took the stairwell at the opposite end of the corridor to avoid crossing Homicide again.
At least now he knew where to look.
12
‘You still haven’t given me a response,’ Rath said, as they shared an Overstolz. ‘Or was that it just now?’
He pulled back the curtains and allowed daylight into the office, not knowing how long they had lain skin to skin on his ‘overtime’ sofa, dreaming and out of breath. Kirie had barked once or twice, fetching them back to reality, reminding Rath that she was waiting for him outside. They put on the rest of their clothes.