‘Your husband’s from East Prussia, isn’t he?’
She nodded. ‘A Tilsiter. He always joked about that. Tilsiter cheese, you know?’ She smiled, but with the memory came the tears.
He waited until she had composed herself and finished dabbing her face with a lily-white handkerchief. ‘And Marggrabowa?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Does the name Marggrabowa mean anything to you?’
‘You mean Treuburg?’
‘It’s where your husband learned to drive.’
‘That’s right. He lived there for a few years before moving to Berlin. Worked for the Mathée Korn distillery. Somewhere out near Luisenhöhe.’
‘They’re the ones that make Luisenbrand, aren’t they? The label your company distributes.’
‘Bärenfang too. It’s an East Prussian specialty.’
‘So, your husband still had links to his former employer?’
‘We retained the sole distribution rights for Berlin and Brandenburg. It’s a pretty lucrative business.’
‘Might your husband’s death change all that?’
‘I hope not.’ She gave him a look of reproach. ‘Your colleagues seized all our company files from the last few years. I hope they’re returned soon, so we can continue as before.’
‘Who would take charge? You claim you don’t have any idea.’
‘I’ve advertised. I’m looking for a managing director. Besides which, Director Wengler has promised to help.’
‘Director Wengler?’
‘He owns the Luisenhöhe estate. As well as the distillery.’
Rath made a note of the name. ‘Back to Marggrabowa, Frau Lamkau…’
‘You mean, Treuburg…’
‘Whatever. I suspect your husband knew Herr Wawerka from his time there. Are you sure he never mentioned the name to you? When he spoke about the old days for instance?’
‘I’ve told you already. He never mentioned him.’
‘Was Wawerka an old colleague, perhaps? From the distillery?’
‘Inspector, I don’t know. Can’t the police find that sort of thing out for themselves?’
‘Funnily enough, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.’
Edith Lamkau was taken aback by her own hostility, and adopted a more reasonable tone. ‘What is it about this Wawerka?’ she asked. ‘Why’s it so important if Herbert knew him or not?’
‘If I could tell you that, Frau Lamkau,’ Rath said, ‘it would be a major step forward.’
He left her blank-faced and goggle-eyed, and returned to the Castle. He had been hoping Edith Lamkau might remember something when confronted with the magic word ‘Marggrabowa’. Well, too bad.
Before setting out for Tempelhof he had telephoned the police in Treuburg, with equally disappointing results. Wawerka had kept a low profile in his former home town, low enough not to appear anywhere on file. The same went for Herbert Lamkau, who had learned to drive in the same Masurian district capital where Hans Wawerka had spent his formative years. That didn’t prove a thing, of course, but Rath would eat his hat if the two victims hadn’t known each other.
Erika Voss had a whole stack of messages for him when he returned to the office. ‘Superintendent Gennat wishes to speak with you urgently,’ she said, looking at her notes. ‘Then Detective Gräf telephoned about this drugs business, and Fräulein Ritter has also been in touch.’
‘Cadet Ritter,’ Rath corrected, as he hung up his hat.
Erika Voss made as if she hadn’t heard, blowing strands of blonde hair from her eyes. ‘Oh,’ she continued. ‘ED want you to call them back. I didn’t note that one down. They only telephoned just now.’
‘Well, you can’t say I’m not in demand. What did Fräulein Ritter want?’
‘Cadet Ritter would like to meet in order to submit her report. She can’t telephone too often, she said, otherwise people will start taking notice.’
‘She shouldn’t be telephoning so often anyway. Tell her that next time. I’ll call her tonight at home. What about Detective Gräf?’
‘No luck so far. He thinks he’ll be through the list by tonight. Should he and Assistant Detective Lange return to the office after that?’
‘Of course – unless they’ve requested holiday leave.’
He went through to his office and sat by the telephone. ‘Could you put me through to ED,’ he called through the door. ‘After that I’ll need the Mathée distillery in or just outside Treuburg, Masuria.’
Erika Voss did as bidden and moments later Rath had ED on the line. Kronberg took the call himself.
‘Inspector, that was quick. I have something for you.’
‘The written report on the evidence from Haus Vater-land?’
‘With you early tomorrow morning. We’ve got a lot on right now, what with the Phantom…’
‘That’s fine.’
‘No, it concerns the death notices you submitted yesterday,’ the ED chief said, not without a hint of pride. ‘We know which newspapers they’re from.’
‘Excellent. Fire away.’
‘So…’ Kronberg began, as ponderous as ever. Rath could picture him at the other end of the line donning his reading glasses and painstakingly unfolding a sheet of paper. ‘The Simoneit death notice is from the Volkszeitung für die Ost- und Westprignitz, from 14th May this year. The paper is published in…’
‘…let me guess: Wittenberge,’ Rath said. He couldn’t stand the ED chief’s long-windedness. ‘And no doubt the Wawerka death notice comes from a Dortmund paper.’
‘Correct. The Dortmund paper, in fact. Die Dortmunder Zeitung. From 2nd April.’
He made a note.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Many thanks.’
‘The letters in which the death notices were contained, on the other hand,’ Kronberg began, and Rath could tell by his voice that he had saved something special for last. ‘Were both dispatched from Berlin.’
‘Meaning the person who sent them lives here?’
‘That’s a possibility. The other possibility is that he wants us to think he lives there.’
‘If he’s that clever. Have you taken any fingerprints?’
‘We found a few on the envelopes, but they’re not clean. My men are still comparing; though I don’t hold out much hope.’
‘What about the prints from Haus Vaterland? Any luck there?’
‘We’ve managed to account for most. They’re either from staff or the deceased.’
‘Which staff?’
‘A good dozen. You’ll find the names in the report.’
‘It would be good if I could have it soon.’
‘Listen, Inspector, we only got the sheets on Monday. Almost fifty of them. We’re not miracle workers, you know.’
‘It’s just that we’re under a little pressure here, Herr Kronberg. The killer could strike again at any time.’
No sooner had he hung up than Erika Voss poked her blonde head around the door. ‘Do you have the number for the distillery?’ he asked. She nodded. ‘Then put me through, please.’
‘Gladly, Inspector, but perhaps you should wait a little.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s… while you were on the telephone… Superintendent Gennat has been in touch again.’
‘And?’
‘I think you’d better head over…’
He looked at her face and knew she was right.
25
There was no cake, which ought to have given Rath pause, but, aside from that, everything was as normaclass="underline" he sat on the green sofa, Gennat in his armchair, and Trudchen Steiner poured the coffee.