‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
‘You’re the boss.’
Rath clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You’ll be fine. Maybe it was all just an accident. There’s no evidence of foul play.’
‘I know,’ Gräf said, ‘but it’s a mystery. Karthaus says the man drowned.’
‘Perhaps he’s simply mistaken.’
There was a knock on the door. A man in a light summer suit stepped confidently into the room, took a quick look around, and made a beeline for Rath.
‘Inspector? They told me I’d find you here. Fleischer’s the name. I’m the director.’ They shook hands. ‘Good that you’re here at last. I hope you won’t keep my men much longer. We’re well behind schedule. Maintenance is unmanned, the central kitchen’s deserted, and our first customers will soon be arriving…’
‘My colleague here will inform you which members of staff we’re finished with,’ Rath said, gesturing discreetly towards Gräf. ‘Now, please accept my apologies, but I have another case to take care of…’
The director looked annoyed, but before he could say anything Rath had lifted his hat and was gone.
Quarter of an hour later Rath emerged from his Buick on Carmerstrasse, free of the guilty conscience that had accompanied his departure from Haus Vaterland. For the first time since returning to live in Charlottenburg, it felt as if he were coming home. He only had to think of who was waiting inside. They would be spending the weekend together again at last.
The area around Steinplatz was a decent part of town: solidly upper middle class, with most buildings possessing a service entrance, and he had rented the modern apartment primarily because of its size. He opened the heavy front door and stepped into bright limestone and glossy marble. No wonder Charly was impressed; she liked the flat, he had seen it in her eyes. It was twice as big as his old place in Kreuzberg, with plenty of room for two – and perhaps more.
Climbing the five carpeted steps to the entrance hall he heard the pitter-patter of doggie paws, and two short barks, and sensed that something was amiss. Kirie’s black head peered around the corner of the counter, while the porter looked, embarrassed, over the marble top.
‘What’s the matter, Bergner?’ Rath asked, even though he had already guessed.
The porter cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid the young lady… had to leave. She asked me to look after the dog.’
Bergner loosened the lead from Kirie’s collar and Rath accepted the dog’s wet greeting.
‘Did she say where she was going?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
Rath’s thoughts were already elsewhere as he made towards the lift with Kirie.
Charly’s scent hung in the air, making the flat seem that much emptier than before. Kirie was unperturbed, pitter-pattering towards her basket and curling into a ball. Rath sometimes wondered how much sleep a dog could take. Standing at one of the big windows, he looked out, seeing nothing, but aiming a kick at one of the heavy armchairs. Out of anger or disappointment? He couldn’t say.
She had cleared the breakfast things and left a handwritten note.
Forgive me, Gereon,
but I just couldn’t wait any longer. I held firm for an hour, but the longer I sat with Kirie in your lovely new home, the more I realised that after so long abroad I first needed to spend some time in Spenerstrasse, in my own apartment – especially since a new chapter awaits on Monday.
Your friendly porter helped me with my luggage and agreed to take charge of Kirie. He seems pretty well versed in that regard, with the dog, I mean.
Now here I am scribbling these lines. My taxi’s already waiting below. As for your question, and the ring… Please don’t be angry that I couldn’t give you an immediate reply. I was very touched by your proposal (after all the years we’ve known each other!) but such an important question demands a considered response, and, having just stepped off the train after ten months in Paris, I felt as if everything was moving too fast. Our long-awaited reunion, a new apartment and a marriage proposal, all in the space of a single morning – even for a girl from Moabit that’s too much at once.
I suggest that we find a more convenient time and place for me to respond. Already I can tell you it isn’t a simple case of ‘yes’ or ‘no’. There are a few questions I’d like to ask you in return.
I know it isn’t exactly romantic, but there’s nothing worse than an overly hasty decision when so much is at stake. I’ve already had to break off one engagement, as you know, and the last thing I need is a repeat performance.
No hard feelings. Sending hugs.
He folded the letter and went into the bedroom. The first thing he noticed was that the bed had been straightened. The ring lay on the bedside table. What did it mean? Did the fact that she hadn’t taken it constitute a response? He picked it up and examined it. What was he supposed to do now? Take it to their next meeting, await her response and – perhaps – slip it on her finger? No expert in such matters, he wiped the accursed thing with the tail of his jacket and placed it in his inside pocket, where it seemed destined to see out its days.
He unfolded the letter again, and tried to understand. How did she feel about him? No matter how often he read it, he was none the wiser. He couldn’t help thinking back to the moment he had seen her on the platform. To that moment of shock, of being afraid he had lost her, or at least the person he remembered. Until he caught the scent of her hair and skin, and felt his whole body being drawn towards her. He knew she had felt the same way, at least when he’d shown her the flat.
The business with the champagne glass was a crackpot idea. Who on earth had talked him into it? Paul? A colleague from the Castle? Perhaps it was the stupid engagement ring that had driven her away, rather than his lingering too long at the crime scene.
Seeing himself in the mirrored doors of the liquor cabinet he realised he still hadn’t taken off his hat. He hung it on the hook and, in the drawing room, chose a record from the pile he had arranged in advance. He put on Ellington’s Mood Indigo, one of the many discs Severin had sent over from the States in the last few months. He had wanted to play it for her; for them both. The record player was a brand new Telefunken radiogramophone, but that hardly seemed to matter now.
He took the bottle of cognac from the cabinet, along with a glass, and sat in one of the armchairs. The truth was he had bought them for her, after she had pointed out a similar set in the display window of some exclusive furniture store on Tauentzienstrasse. That was back in the days before Paris, with her departure already hanging in the air. At least the chairs were comfortable, even if they didn’t look it. He sniffed at the balloon glass and listened to the music, the sad melody of the trumpets, the earthy warmth of the clarinets.
The smell of the cognac soothed him almost more than the music. How he had longed for this moment – even before she had gone away. And now, Herr Rath? It isn’t even lunchtime, and you’re sitting here pouring yourself a cognac just to get through the day.
4
A restless whimpering roused him from sleep. He opened his eyes to see Kirie wagging her tail. She took a few steps towards the door and turned. Rath sat up. He must have nodded off. An empty cognac glass lay overturned on the carpet. By now Duke Ellington spun inaudibly, the needle striking the groove again and again with a soft, rhythmical crackle.
It was almost two o’clock and the dog urgently needed walking. Rath struggled out of the armchair, shovelled a few handfuls of cold water onto his face and fetched the lead. Kirie positively dragged him outside, down the external staircase and to the first shrub in Carmerstrasse, where she eyed him gratefully as she went about her business. Rath took her for a little stroll across Steinplatz and realised his stomach was rumbling. He found a seat on the terrace of a hotel that modestly termed itself Pension, and ordered a beer and a snack. Though the portion was small there were still some leftovers for Kirie, who patiently awaited her chance. Sitting afterwards with a black coffee and a cognac to accompany the obligatory cigarette, Rath knew once and for all that he wouldn’t be heading back to his flat. He called the waiter over and paid, bundled Kirie into the car and drove out to Moabit.