‘Beg to report: First Sergeant Reuter, 16th precinct, Vossstrasse. We were notified of the corpse by telephone at approximately four thirty-two this morning. I examined the site in person and promptly informed Homicide.’
‘Anything so far?’
‘Nothing, Inspector, only that…’
‘Detective,’ Gräf said. ‘The inspector’s on his way.’
‘Beg to report: no findings, Detective, other than that the man is dead.’
‘So, where’s the corpse?’
‘Up there.’
‘On the roof?’
‘In the goods elevator. Fourth floor. Or third. It got stuck.’
Gräf looked around. To the left were two plain metal elevator doors. To the right was a concrete staircase leading up.
‘We haven’t allowed anyone to use the elevators,’ the cop said. ‘On account of Forensics.’
‘Very good,’ Gräf said. Such a precaution was by no means a given with Uniform, even though Gennat never tired of lecturing its troops on the fundamentals of modern police work. ‘Have there been any issues as a result?’
‘Only with the pathologist. When he realised he had to take the stairs.’
‘Are there no passenger lifts?’
‘Any number, but not back here. Towards the front of the building, in the central hall.’
Gräf sighed and nodded in the direction of the stenographer who, having just joined, was now shaking out her umbrella. ‘We need to take the stairs, Fräulein Temme,’ he said, and opened the door. He just had time to see Lange finally prise open the boot before starting the trek up to the fourth floor.
A handful of men gazed at them as they emerged from the stairwell. Alongside the uniform cop standing watch was a guard from the Berlin Security Corps; next to him, a man easily identifiable as a chef; then a worker in overalls; and, finally, a wiry, elegantly dressed gentleman whose sand-coloured summer suit bore dark flecks of rain. In the space of a few quick glances, Gräf acquired an overview: behind him the door to the stairwell, on the wall to his left two windows, and on the wall opposite the two elevator doors. The left-hand door was open, revealing a gloomy shaft and a thick wire rope from which the car hung. Being jammed, only the upper two-thirds were visible. The light in the car was still on, illuminating a large pile of plywood crates of schnapps that stood on a wire mesh cart. The name Mathée Luisenbrand was branded in ornate lettering on the wood.
Der schmeckt, Gräf thought, removing his identification. Tastes good. ‘So, tell me what happened,’ he said.
Before the cop or anyone else could speak, the man in the suit jumped in. His unkempt hair was testament to the fact that he had been rudely awakened.
‘I just can’t explain it, Inspector, it’s all so…’
‘Detective,’ Gräf corrected. ‘The inspector will be here soon.’
‘Fleischer, Director Richard Fleischer.’ The man in the suit proffered a hand. ‘I’m in charge of Haus Vaterland.’
‘I see.’
‘I hope we can handle this unfortunate incident with discretion, Detective. Not to say, speed. We open in a few hours and…’
‘We’ll see,’ Gräf said.
Director Fleischer looked vexed. He wasn’t used to being interrupted, and certainly not twice in quick succession.
‘All of our elevators,’ Fleischer continued, ‘even the freight elevators and dumbwaiters are regularly serviced. The last time was three months ago. After all, we have seventeen lifts in our building and simply cannot allow…’
‘Your freight elevator jammed though, didn’t it?’
Fleischer seemed offended. ‘As you can no doubt see for yourself, but that isn’t what killed Herr Lamkau.’
‘Why don’t you leave the detective work to us? Is the dead man known to you?’
‘He’s one of our suppliers.’
Gräf nodded, and gazed towards the elevator car, in which a shadow was moving. Suddenly a lean figure in a white coat appeared next to the schnapps, and a blonde, neatly parted head of hair poked its way out of the car. Although Dr Karthaus measured almost six foot three, it was impossible to make out more than his head and shoulders.
‘Well, if it isn’t the Berlin Criminal Police.’ Karthaus’s words rang metallic and hollow from the shaft.
‘Dr Karthaus! How is it you always get here before us?’
‘I wouldn’t complain if I were you. Just be glad it’s me who’s on duty. Dr Schwartz would have refused to climb in here. At his age, he probably wouldn’t have managed either.’
‘Well,’ Gräf said. ‘This job makes no allowances for age.’
‘You’re right there,’ Karthaus said. ‘Still, I’d rather be working than standing here twiddling my thumbs.’
Gräf went over and peered inside the car. The dead man lay next to his delivery, and was dressed in light-grey shopkeeper’s overalls. His face was pale, with blue lips. Above him a red cloth was tied to the wire mesh, its material sodden. The hair, too, was glistening wet, likewise the man’s shoulders, where his overalls had taken on a dark-grey hue. There was evidence of a puddle by his head, its remains now trickling out towards the corner of the elevator.
‘Been in the rain, has he?’
The pathologist shrugged. ‘You’ll have to ask Forensics. Let’s hope they’re here soon.’
‘They’re on their way.’
‘Where’s our inspector?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Gräf said, gesturing towards the door, where the tip of a camera tripod had emerged from the stairwell. ‘First, Lange here will take some photographs. After that you can attend to the corpse.’
Placing the camera and tripod on his shoulders, Lange gazed around curiously. Gräf nodded towards the elevator, and the assistant detective understood.
‘Good morning, Doctor,’ Lange said, lowering the heavy device into the elevator car. ‘Could I pass that over to you?’
Gräf returned to the witnesses. ‘Who found the dead man?’
The chef raised his hand like a schoolboy. ‘I did, Detective.’
‘Herr Unger is one of our head chefs,’ prompted Fleischer.
Gräf was growing frustrated by the man’s constant interruptions. ‘Where were you when the corpse was discovered, Herr Direktor?’
‘Me?’ Fleischer hesitated. ‘At home of course. Why do you ask?’
‘I’m just surprised that a man like you should be here in person at this time.’
‘A dead body has been found! I was notified by security, as you would expect, and immediately made my way over.’
‘In that case I commend you,’ Gräf said, giving a nod of acknowledgement. ‘Still, I assume these men were actually on site when the corpse was discovered.’
Guard, chef and worker’s-overalls nodded as one.
‘Right. Then I’ll question you three first. Is there somewhere more private we can talk?’
‘You… ah… you could use my office,’ Fleischer said.
‘Good idea. Does it have a telephone?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then please show me and Fräulein Temme here the way, and round up all those present when the corpse was discovered.’
Fleischer nodded and started off. ‘If you would follow me. It’s two floors down.’
There was a flash from the elevator. Lange had started taking photographs. Gräf sighed. All he had to do now was find out where the hell Gereon Rath was hiding, then perhaps the day might be salvaged after all.
2
Dawn shimmered grey-blue through the glass roof, displacing the tired light of the electric bulbs. Voices murmured, policemen whistled, the tannoy scratched. The big station clock showed twenty-three minutes past five, and Rath had the feeling that most people were just as tired as him – in spite of the noise they were making. After two cups of black coffee he still felt outside of himself, as if he were hovering above the station observing his body’s movements. A tall, dark-haired man in a light-grey summer suit and hat, carrying a platform ticket in one hand and a bouquet of flowers and a red dog lead in the other. A tired man passing through the barrier, with an equally sleepy-looking dog in tow.