‘With respect, Sir, things can get as nasty as you like, but discretion demands that I remain silent. All I’ll say is that it has to do with Dettmann’s behaviour towards a female colleague.’
‘There aren’t too many ladies in our Division, and Fräulein Ritter is more than capable of looking after herself without you playing her knight in shining armour. This is about Charly, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t want to speak about it.’
‘My dear Rath, this is fatally reminiscent of another episode. When our old friend Herr Brenner wound up in hospital…’
‘Those were false certificates. Brenner was never in hospital.’
‘Be that as it may, but when you beat him up, and survived the subsequent disciplinary proceedings with no more than a slap on the wrist… that was about a female colleague, too, wasn’t it?’ Rath fell silent. ‘Inspector, your private life has nothing to do with me. Except when it impinges upon your performance at work.’
‘I… I wa… I wanted to make it public. But at the same time, I didn’t want this colleague to suffer any consequences.’ He gazed uncertainly in Gennat’s direction, but Buddha appeared to have regained his equilibrium. ‘I…’ Rath cleared his throat. ‘Fräulein Ritter and I have been… engaged… for two days now.’
Gennat actually seemed to be smiling. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes were laughing. He stretched out his oversized paws. ‘Well, then, congratulations,’ he said. ‘My compliments, Inspector.’
‘Thank you, Sir.’ Rath shook the chief’s hand, surprised at how easy it had been. The only person he felt guilty about was Charly. They had intended to wait…
‘Then Herr Dettmann besmirched the honour of your bride-to-be. In what way?’
‘With respect, Sir, if Fräulein Ritter hasn’t discussed the matter with you, I’d prefer to respect her confidence. I’ve already said too much.’
‘All right, all right. I won’t insist further. Did anyone witness the incident in Dettmann’s office?’
‘It was just us, Sir.’
Gennat nodded. ‘With any luck, you’ll be able to bypass disciplinary proceedings. Perhaps it really was your clumsiness that made a mess of the report.’
The hint of a smile flickered across Rath’s face, but he managed to suppress it, in favour of time-honoured grateful humility. ‘Thank you, Sir.’
‘I wouldn’t be too hasty. Dettmann isn’t your only problem. The powers-that-be take a dim view of privately involved colleagues operating as part of the same department.’
‘I’d like to stress again how important it is that Fräulein Ritter doesn’t suffer any professional disadvantage. I know how much she enjoys working in Homicide, and I…’
‘Don’t worry about Fräulein Ritter. She won’t suffer any consequences on your behalf. Heaven forbid. No, Charly will continue to work on the Vaterland case until it’s resolved. I’m glad that G Division has placed her at our disposal.’ Gennat shook his head. ‘In fact, I have a different solution in mind. One that might help defuse the tension with Inspector Dettmann.’
26
No matter how hard she scrubbed she couldn’t get rid of the accursed onion smell. Every bone in her body ached and her eyes were puffy and swollen. My God, what a sight she was!
She couldn’t go to Carmerstrasse looking like this, not with her onion hands, and her hair and clothes still reeking of dripping. You’ve got a lot to learn, Charlotte Ritter, she thought, if you’re serious about this marriage business. You have to be able to let your husband see you like this.
But then was she – serious about this marriage business?
Despite saying ‘yes’ to his proposal, she still wasn’t sure. She didn’t see how it could fit with the life she envisioned. The truth was, she wasn’t entirely clear what kind of life that was, only that she wanted to do things differently from her mother, who had stayed at home and been unhappy. She knew that much – and that she wanted to work. As well as having children, and a home. The trouble was, no one could tell her how to go about it.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Will you be out soon? I need to use the bathroom too.’
‘Be done in a few hours…’
The door opened, and Greta poked her head inside. ‘What’s the matter, my little kitchen fairy? Have you turned into a pumpkin?’ Charly held out her dripping wet hands. Greta sniffed and pulled a face. ‘Have you tried toothpaste?’ she asked.
‘Bad breath isn’t the problem.’
‘No, seriously. Give ’em here.’ Greta took Charly’s hands, squeezed Chlorodont on them, and rubbed her palms together. ‘Ancient remedy – you’d know if you’d ever chopped onions here.’
Charly rinsed the toothpaste sludge with tap water. Her hands now smelled of mint, but no longer of onion. She gazed in the mirror; her eyes were starting to look normal again too.
She wondered if Gereon would even be home. She had tried the office again in the afternoon, but only reached his secretary, with whom, of course, she couldn’t leave a message. From everything Erika Voss had said, it sounded as if he were out pursuing a fresh lead, but Charly couldn’t be sure. Perhaps that was the point.
Despite itching to leave work, she had accepted the black waiter’s invitation and called into the Wild West Bar on her way home. Mohamed Husen, the African cowboy, was delighted, and stood her a Luisenbrand.
‘That’s the stuff,’ she said, placing a hand over her glass when he made to top her up. ‘Doesn’t taste very American, mind.’
‘If this really were America, there wouldn’t be any bourbon either. In fact there wouldn’t be any alcohol at all. It’s illegal over there.’ Husen gestured discreetly towards a band of unruly drinkers. ‘That’s why the Yanks love it here so much. They drink anything, Korn, vodka, brandy. The main thing’s the alcohol content. If you ask me, Prohibition’s only made people want to drink more.’
‘I’m surprised you have any time for me.’
‘I’m taking my cigarette break inside.’ He took out his cigarette case and offered one to Charly, who accepted.
Mohamed Husen seemed pretty well informed, having been at Haus Vaterland two years now. He even knew there had been issues with the Luisenbrand. The Yanks in the Wild West Bar hadn’t noticed, but Riedel, the spirits buyer, who often took a glass here, had discreetly raised the alarm, upon which the waiters had proceeded to gather up all offending bottles. Three of the seven in the Wild West Bar alone were tainted. All in all, around two dozen held cheap hooch instead of high-end schnapps.
The patrons in the Wild West Bar kept looking furtively in their direction. At first Charly thought that she was imagining it, and ascribed the feeling to the paranoia that affected agents during a covert operation. But she wasn’t imagining anything, the explanation was sitting next to her at the bar. She couldn’t be sure if it was Husen’s exotic appearance or his cowboy outfit, or the simple fact that a German girl was sharing a table with a black.
Mohamed Husen didn’t turn a hair. He was probably used to it, Charly thought, examining her tired face in the mirror and fixing her lipstick. Either way, if they spoke again they’d have to go somewhere else. They were simply too conspicuous in the Wild West Bar. If the waiters here started gossiping, the rumours would soon reach the central kitchen, and Charly would be out of a job.
Sitting, at last, in a taxi to Gereon’s flat in Charlottenburg, she considered what she could actually tell him about Haus Vaterland. That she had met a black man in the Wild West Bar and attracted the attention of everyone inside? No, it would be enough to tell him about the tainted Luisenbrand. She asked the driver to stop in Carmerstrasse and paid as she got out. She gazed down the street towards Steinplatz, and looked at the house fronts. It still didn’t feel like home, but she was looking forward to seeing Gereon and Kirie and spending the evening together.