‘It doesn’t have to be anything special,’ Rath said out loud. ‘Or original.’
‘You won’t find anything original at Tietz.’ The blond man next to him looked sceptical. ‘All of this will be worn a thousand times over in the next few days.’
Laughter lines formed under the elegant brim of the man’s felt hat. Paul smiled with his whole face, and looked on the world’s daily madness with a kind of fundamental, ironic detachment. Rath and Paul Wittkamp had been friends since childhood, since the Rath family had moved out to Klettenberg just before the war. Even if they didn’t see much of one another these days, a single glance was all it took to reconnect. For now, in front of a shelf of false noses.
Ostermann was replaced by Die Monacos. Der treue Husar blasted from the loud speakers.
‘The main thing is that no one should recognise me,’ Rath said.
‘Now, now,’ Paul wagged his index finger. ‘Behave yourself. You’ll soon be a married man.’
‘With the emphasis on “soon”,’ Rath said, reaching for the biggest rubber nose he could find. ‘Let’s celebrate Carnival first, like in the old days.’
He didn’t say why he really wanted to remain incognito during the festivities: that he was still afraid of being seen in Cologne by one of LeClerk’s reporters, and that it might all start again. The headlines back then, after the fatal incident in Neusser Strasse, had cut much deeper than he would admit even to Paul. Only in Berlin had he regained his equilibrium.
He examined the rubber nose, a real hooter complete with thick, black glasses and false moustache. Without further ado he held the disguise in front of his face.
‘How do I look?’
‘With a black hat and black frock coat you could be straight out of the pages of Der Stürmer.’
Rath glanced in the nearest mirror. He really did look like an anti-Semitic caricature, like one of the Isidor sketches Der Angriff had used to denigrate former Berlin Deputy Commissioner Bernhard Weiss.
‘You think I’ll cop it from the SA?’
Paul shrugged. ‘More likely from a Jew who thinks you’re making fun of him.’
‘There are thousands of these noses,’ Rath said. ‘Who knows how many people will be wearing them. But if I go for a red-and-white striped hat I’ll just look like an idiot.’
‘Do what you like, Gereon. But one thing’s for sure: with a get-up like that there’s no chance of you turning any heads. At least I won’t have to keep an eye on you.’
‘So, that’s what you had in mind?’
‘What kind of best man would allow his groom to stray from the path of virtue at this late stage?’
‘Do I look like I’m planning to?’
Paul laughed out loud. ‘Not with that nose!’ He clapped Rath on the shoulder. ‘Now for heaven’s sake go and pay for it, then we can head to mine and rummage through the dressing-up box. Or do you still want to go to Cords?’
‘No, I’ve had enough of department stores for one day.’
They had been traipsing through the shops all morning on the look-out for wedding rings, before striking lucky at a jeweller’s in Hohe Strasse, where they commissioned two simple but elegant rings which Paul would collect en route to the wedding in Berlin. There would be no risk of Charly seeing them before the big day.
Rath hadn’t skimped on cost, partly to ease his conscience. Even if he didn’t like to admit it, his trip to Cologne was a kind of escape from Berlin, from everyday life, from Charly. After months of toing and froing they had set a date, and the closer it came the more uncomfortable he felt. Paul’s invitation to spend Carnival together had been heaven-sent, especially with Gennat badgering him to use some of his overtime.
At the Schildergasse exit, Rath thought he spied a familiar face, but it took a moment for the penny to drop: ten years ago, when the Cologne Police was still under the supervision of the British occupying forces, a pickpocket, one of his first arrests. Schürmann, Eduard Schürmann, known as ‘Two-Finger Ede’. Apparently his three-year sentence had done nothing to rehabilitate him – not if his current overfamiliarity with a stout, bowler-hatted gentleman was anything to go by.
‘See you outside.’ Rath pressed his shopping into Paul’s hands and burst onto the street. Despite losing Ede’s brown hat for a time, he kept the fat man in his sights. The victim didn’t seem to have noticed anything, and Rath had no choice but to jostle past him to grab hold of Ede’s shoulder.
‘Aren’t you getting a little old for this?’
Eduard Schürmann froze and turned around. He was hiding something black behind his back.
‘Do we know each other?’
‘I see old habits die hard.’ Rath gave a friendly smile. ‘Still targeting the fatties, then?’
Ede’s face turned a shade paler. ‘Inspector,’ he attempted to smile. ‘Didn’t recognise you there. I heard you’d moved on to better things.’
‘Like you? No jack today, or was I too quick for you?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Jack Crook. You should hand it over. The wallet you just lifted. Unless you want to pay a visit to the big building next to Cords Department Store.’ Rath pointed towards the tower of Police Headquarters, which rose dark and menacing into the grey sky around Schildergasse.
‘That’s all in the past, Inspector. I’m a watchmaker these days.’ Schürmann had a strong Cologne accent.
‘You’re telling me you’ve taken up a trade?’
‘It’s true, Inspector, I was sent down, and I deserved it. But in Klingelpütz I decided to become a better man. I’ve got my own little shop. Here.’ He handed Rath a business card. ‘I’ve gone straight. Just ask my wife.’
Rath looked at the card, momentarily confused.
E. Schürmann, Watchmaker
Unter Krahnenbäumen/Ecke Eigelstein
‘Ede Schürmann,’ he said. ‘The name doesn’t exactly inspire trust. Nor does the address…’
‘Call me Eduard, it sounds more respectable… and people by the railway station need watches, too.’
Meantime Paul had caught up. ‘What’s the matter? Do you need a hand?’
Rath pointed towards the fat man, whose bowler hat was moving further and further away in the milling mass on Schildergasse. ‘Stop that man over there. The fat one with the bowler.’
‘Has he committed a crime?’
‘The opposite. He’s the victim.’
Paul looked from Rath to Ede and back, as if waiting for an explanation. When none came he shrugged his shoulders and set off.
‘My friend will detain the man you robbed,’ Rath said to Ede. ‘And I’ll return his wallet.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Hand me the wallet and all is forgotten. Or how about the two of us stop in at Krebsgasse for a full body search.’
‘I really don’t know what…’ Schürmann hesitated and looked at the ground. ‘You mean this wallet?’
A black wallet lay on the pavement, closer to Rath’s feet than Ede’s. Ede made a move to pick it up but Rath got there first. The leather was still soft and warm, as if someone had been holding it in their hand. Rath opened it, finding a little change, a ten and a twenty-mark note, a few trading stamps, and, in the side pocket, an identification card of the sort the Brits had introduced during the occupation. The fat man had been a few pounds lighter in 1923. Wilhelm Klefisch, it said underneath the photograph.
‘Someone must have lost it. No wonder in this crowd…’