‘Detective Gräf has his hands full with the city’s homeless shelters. We still haven’t found anyone who can identify Heinrich Wosniak.’
‘Nothing from the morgue?’
‘Nothing, and in three days they’ll have to remove him from the showroom. That’s when the deadline expires.’
Rath gazed at the report in despair. ‘How am I supposed to manage this alone? Can’t you give me anyone?’
‘What do you think? They’re all out hunting for Communists. Be glad there are three of us working the case.’ He looked at Rath. ‘You have a secretary, don’t you? Why don’t you see if she’s game, if you can’t manage on your own!’
16
Rath had cajoled two hours’ overtime out of Erika Voss, and now knew just about everything it was possible to know about trench daggers, despite never owning one as a youthful recruit.
After finishing for the day he dropped her off in Wörther Strasse, and headed home in a funk. Police work could be such a drag. Stepping out of the lift in Carmerstrasse, he was greeted by the unfamiliar odour of hot food and remembered that he had skipped lunch. Kirie was even hungrier, pulling on her lead and sniffing everywhere as she dragged him to the front door. He removed her lead, and she pitter-pattered into the kitchen while he set down his bag and hung his hat and coat on the stand.
‘I’m home,’ he called. ‘Sorry for being late.’
Charly appeared in the kitchen door, looking a little frantic, a stained white apron tied around her waist. ‘There you are. I’ll get the potato dumplings on.’
‘You… cooked?’ Usually, if something warm landed on their plates, it was the work of their housekeeper, Lina, a young Silesian who came by twice a week. Most days they ate lunch in the canteen or at Aschinger, with a cold meal in the evenings.
‘Sauerbraten,’ Charly said. ‘Rhineland-style.’
‘What have I done to deserve this?’
‘Nothing. This is your welcome home meal.’
She vanished inside the kitchen where Rath heard pans clattering and the sound of cursing. He made straight for the living room to put on a record, Ellington’s Clouds in My Heart, and fetched the bottle of cognac from the cupboard. Just when he had poured himself a drink she reappeared.
‘Want one?’ he asked.
‘Maybe after dinner.’
‘I had a lousy day.’ Somehow he felt the need to justify himself. Since living with Charly he had seldom reached for the bottle, but after a day like today…
‘Catch many Communists?’
‘Not a single one. I’m one of the few who isn’t working for the Political Police. They put me with Böhm.’
‘So that’s why…’ she said, indicating the bottle.
‘Very funny.’
‘Paul called.’
He looked at her in her ill-fitting apron and, all at once, realised how much he loved her. The pangs of conscience were intense. Wilde Hilde. The night in Paul’s office. ‘What did he want?’
‘The usual. To warn me off.’
She was being ironic. Even so, he had to clear his throat. ‘Some witness.’
‘Why don’t you call him back? I assume he didn’t just want to flirt with me, though I could be wrong.’
Despite his guilty conscience, he felt a stab of jealousy. He waited for Charly to return to the kitchen before reaching for the telephone. No one home, so he tried Sudermanstrasse.
‘Wittkamp Wines.’
‘Chapeau, Herr Wittkamp. Working overtime so soon after your Carnival-induced coma?’
‘Ash Wednesday usually marks the end. Mind you, some don’t make it that far.’ Paul seemed annoyed. ‘When I opened my office again this morning it looked a little worse for wear.’
‘Sorry.’
‘And then my postbox… There wasn’t just business mail, but a letter from a certain Hildegard Sprenger. She writes that she’d like to see me again, the night we spent together was so wonderful. I’ll spare you the rest, shall I?’
Pots and pans clattered in the kitchen. Kirie had been chased out and looked at him from where she lay in front of the radiogramophone.
‘I tried to call, but I was ordered back to Berlin.’
‘Your sense of duty knows no bounds.’
‘I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t know what got into me that night.’
‘I thought you got into someone else?’
‘Fräulein Sprenger was one of the Mickey Mouses.’
‘You don’t have to explain. She was here just now, minus the ears.’
‘Come again?’
‘She stopped by the office. Seemed surprised to see me behind the desk. For a while she thought you were my partner, until I told her you didn’t sell wine.’
‘What else did you tell her?’
‘Not your name and address anyway.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You might have said you were spoken for! If not before your night of passion, then at the very least after it.’
‘There was no time. I never thought I’d see her again.’
‘Is that why you made yourself scarce on Tuesday night?’
‘I’ve told you already. I had to leave – on duty. You wouldn’t believe how many times I tried to call.’
‘Well, here I am.’
‘I owe you an explanation, but I can’t talk now. There’s no way Charly can hear of this and…’
‘That would top it all, wouldn’t it, if Charly got hurt? I’m your friend, Gereon, and there’s plenty I can ignore, but don’t ever treat her like this again! She doesn’t deserve it. And if you can’t manage that, then don’t marry her.’
‘You’re right.’
‘I’m serious! If you ever do anything like this again, you can consider our friendship over.’
Rath couldn’t think of a worse threat.
Charly poked her head around the door. ‘I don’t want to interrupt, but dinner is ready.’
He turned away as his eyes flooded with tears. Idiot, he thought. Feeling sorry for yourself, are you, because you’re such a prick? He cleared the lump in his throat before continuing. ‘I’ll call you, Paul,’ he said, his voice still hoarse.
Charly had laid the table as if for a formal dinner. Serviettes, wine glasses, knives and forks were set neatly alongside the plates. All that was missing was a lighted candle.
‘Charly, I love you,’ he said.
She looked at him, and raised her eyebrows. ‘And all it took was your favourite meal.’
The beef cut easily and smelled as if Frieda had prepared it. Sadly it didn’t taste quite so good. Too sour, for Rhenish tastes, at least, and the seasoning was bland.
‘Good,’ he said, chewing contentedly.
The dumplings and red cabbage weren’t bad at all.
‘More sauce?’
‘No thank you.’
‘It could do with a little salt,’ she said.
‘Now that you mention it.’
‘Any news on Hannah Singer?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘I thought you were working with Böhm?’
‘The crazy fugitive?’ He shook his head. ‘No, Warrants have bigger fish to fry. We have a new lead anyway, an old comrade. Someone Wosniak knew from the war.’
‘If Hannah had nothing to do with his death, then why did she scarper?’
‘Why do crazy people flee asylums? The same reason they catch flies and mistake their toothbrush for their dog.’
‘She isn’t crazy. She’s just… disturbed. I think they packed her off to Dalldorf because they couldn’t explain what she did. Perhaps she can’t either.’
‘Eight people on her conscience, and you’re telling me she can’t explain why? That’s pretty much the definition of insane.’
A quarrel was brewing, but he didn’t want to spoil their reunion meal when she had gone to so much effort. It wasn’t Sauerbraten Rhineland style, but with a little salt it tasted just fine. He helped himself to more.