15
Rath sat on the worn green sofa in Gennat’s office before a veritable mountain of cakes, contemplating a slice of nutcake whose dryness more than compensated for its lack of size. Gennat helped himself to a slice of gooseberry tart as his secretary, Trudchen Steiner, entered with a pot of freshly brewed coffee. Rath gratefully accepted.
‘That was some performance you gave this morning,’ Gennat said, skewering a slice of tart with his cake fork. Rath had provided an update on the Vaterland case, as the investigation had been dubbed internally, and Buddha was particularly impressed by the results of the blood analysis. ‘Have you made any progress with your search for this Indian arrow poison?’
‘Fräulein Ritter is on top of it. So far we’ve been able to rule out hospitals, university institutes, and all known South American researchers in Berlin. Fräulein Ritter has suggested that with the help of Narcotics we now focus our attentions on illegal sources of supply.’
‘How is she getting on? Are you satisfied?’
‘Very.’ Rath hurriedly swallowed his cake. ‘Fräulein Ritter is a quick and reliable worker.’
‘Isn’t she just? She’d be a real asset to A Division. Sadly I can only loan her from Superintendent Wieking on a case-by-case basis.’ He shook his head. ‘I suppose I should be glad there is a women’s CID at all.’
‘Besides the sequence of events,’ Rath continued, ‘the thing that concerns us most is motive. With that, we’re back to the thousand marks found on the victim.’
‘Still no explanation?’
‘The Vaterland accounts aren’t settled in cash. Gräf and Lange are currently in the process of reconstructing Herbert Lamkau’s final rounds. We still don’t know why he decided to make his deliveries in person on the morning in question.’
‘But you have your suspicions?’
‘It’s possible the money was intended as a bribe for someone in Haus Vaterland, one of the buyers perhaps. Lamkau was in danger of losing his most important client, but above all his reputation. Supplying Kempinski… is like being a purveyor to the court.’
‘So, where’s the motive? The recipient of a bribe would hardly have recourse to murder.’
‘Perhaps it was blackmail.’
‘Then why was the money still in Lamkau’s overalls?’
‘There are some inconsistencies that need ironing out,’ Rath said. ‘It’s clear there were some shady deals going on behind the scenes at Haus Vaterland. Perhaps there still are. It’s conceivable they could be linked to Lamkau’s death.’ He replaced his plate on the table. ‘We can also safely assume that Lamkau’s killer was still in the building when the police arrived, meaning it’s someone already on our list of names. We’ve had no luck with the interrogations so far, but…’
Having only just dealt with his nutcake, Rath looked on in horror as Gennat now shovelled a slice of Sachertorte onto his plate.
‘Thank you, Sir,’ he said, failing to preface the line with a ‘no’.
‘Please continue.’
‘Since we are dealing with a limited group of people, it might be worthwhile checking the employees in question for specialist medical knowledge, acquired before their time at Haus Vaterland, or outside of work. With the Red Cross or wherever.’
‘Because of the deadly injection, you mean?’
Rath nodded. ‘According to Dr Karthaus it isn’t at all easy to inject through the jugular vein. And how many people know their way around tubocurarine?’ He picked up a forkful of Sachertorte and decided to repeat his request for reinforcements. ‘What I could imagine in this situation, Sir, is an undercover operation. We could smuggle someone into Haus Vaterland to keep an eye on our suspects.’
To Rath’s delight, Gennat nodded. ‘Good idea.’
‘I’m glad you think so, Sir.’ Rath was still balancing cake on his fork. ‘Perhaps you could spare me a colleague or two…’
‘I’m afraid staffing issues won’t allow that.’
‘The problem is,’ Rath said, ‘that both Lange and Gräf – and myself too, of course – have already visited Haus Vaterland in our capacity as CID officers, and would be recognised immediately. Quite apart from the fact that we lack the knowledge and skills to work in a commercial kitchen.’
‘Detective Roeder used a fake beard to avoid being recognised.’
‘Detective Roeder is no longer with the police force.’
Erwin Roeder had quit his post a few years back to pursue a career as an author. The sort of costumes favoured by the self-proclaimed ‘arch investigator’ would barely have passed muster at the Cologne Carnival.
‘You’re right,’ Gennat said. ‘A fake beard would be no good to us here.’
‘You’re certain there’s nothing you can do? A single officer would be enough. Couldn’t you pull some strings with the other departments?’
‘I’ve already given you Fräulein Ritter. That’s the best I can do.’ Gennat sounded unusually short. Rath chose to focus on his cake. ‘And when I think about it,’ Buddha continued, ‘she could be just what you need. Am I right in thinking that so far Charly’s been confined to desk duty?’
Rath was still working his way through his Sachertorte, and was happy to stay quiet for the time being. This wasn’t how he’d pictured things, but Gennat seemed set on the idea.
‘A woman would create the least suspicion,’ Buddha said. ‘No one would imagine they were dealing with a police officer. Besides, Charly has worked undercover before. Very successfully I might add.’
‘If at great personal risk.’
‘There’s always personal risk, but Fräulein Ritter can look after herself. It was you that suggested an undercover operation in the first place!’
True, Rath thought, but only because I needed more men.
‘Yes, but…’
‘But what? Go away and have a think about how you’re going to smuggle her into Haus Vaterland. The operation is hereby approved.’
Rath wondered what Charly might say when he suggested she apply for one of the positions in Haus Vaterland, but he could see from Gennat’s face that there would be no going back. Buddha reached for the tray of cakes, skilfully dismembering a second slice of gooseberry tart while Rath made further inroads into his Sachertorte. It was an unwritten rule that you should always finish your plate in Buddha’s office; he was said to view leftovers as an insult.
‘There was something else I wanted to discuss,’ Gennat said. ‘Something just between us. It concerns the possibility that we might be dealing with a serial killer.’
The phrase ‘serial killer’ made Rath sit bolt upright. The press were already breathing down his neck about the Phantom murders, and he could do without such scrutiny here. Serial killer. Gennat himself had coined the phrase, and usually it spelled trouble. The papers were quick to strike when investigations stalled, citing police incompetence and sowing fear among the population, which could all too quickly get out of hand.
Buddha gestured towards the table with his fork, on top of which lay a journal. Rath recognised the cover of the Kriminalistische Monatshefte, a periodical for which Gennat wrote now and again, most recently about Peter Kürten, the Vampire of Düsseldorf, a serial killer who had eventually fallen into police hands by chance.