Fritze had sticky-out ears that glistened red in the rising sun, and freckles on his nose.
‘Then good luck, Fritze, and thank you.’
She marched off in the direction of the Volkspark and the Märchenbrunnen, but realised after a few metres that he was following her. ‘What do you want?’
He tilted his head like a dog. ‘Breakfast?’
Now she thought of it, she hadn’t eaten for two days. ‘You’re a funny one, aren’t you? Where shall we go? Kranzler or Josty?’
‘Bolle!’
She didn’t realise what he meant until they were strolling along a deserted Winsstrasse, scooping up freshly delivered milk bottles. They could still see the Bolle truck at the end of the street, over by the gasworks.
‘The early bird drinks the milk,’ Fritze grinned under his milk moustache, after they’d drained the bottles in a bush by the Immanuelkirche.
Not so daft after all, the little squirt. You couldn’t eat milk, but it filled you up. She decided to take him to the Märchenbrunnen after all. There was hardly a soul around at this hour, certainly no young people.
‘Do you know Fanny?’ she asked. ‘Or Kotze?’
‘Who?’
‘They meet here sometimes, along with the rest.’
‘Nah.’
They sat by Puss-in-Boots and the miller’s son on the perimeter wall and waited. Fritze kicked stones against the wall and occasionally into the water beyond. She was finding him increasingly irritating, but said nothing. Her bad temper had more to do with waiting in vain for the Märchenbrunnen posse.
After a while he said, ‘I don’t think your friends are coming.’ He tilted his head like a dog again. ‘What are we going to do now?’
‘How should I know. I’m not your mother.’
Fritze winced as if he had been dealt a blow.
29
Rath wakened to the scent of coffee wafting through the apartment. The bed beside him lay empty, but from the kitchen he heard pots and pans clattering. He didn’t need long in the bathroom, and less than ten minutes later was fixing his tie in front of the mirror. ‘Good morning,’ he said as he entered the dining room, planting a kiss on Charly’s cheek and taking his place at the breakfast table. She poured coffee. ‘Thank you.’
‘Late one yesterday,’ she said.
‘Overtime.’
‘What kind of overtime?’
The type that involved chatting to Johann Marlow in the back of his Adler sedan while Liang chauffeured them across town?
‘Are you moonlighting as a reader now?’ she asked. ‘Or publishing your war memoirs under a pseudonym?’
He had left the proofs on the living room table. ‘New development in the Wosniak case. A man’s appeared, and I don’t know if he’s crazy, or holds the key to the whole thing.’ He told her about Roddeck and, as always when they discussed police work, she listened with interest.
‘Sounds like Böhm’s lumped you with a pretty thankless task.’
‘Actually, Böhm knows nothing about it.’
Charly saw red. ‘Don’t you ever learn? Going it alone, again. You need to…’
‘How can I tell him when he’s nowhere to be found? He was summoned by the commissioner yesterday morning. I haven’t seen him since.’
‘That doesn’t sound good.’
‘You can say that again. It’s never a good sign when the commissioner’s involved.’
‘Well, you’d know.’
‘All it takes is one bad decision. Böhm’s no saint. He doesn’t always play by the rules.’
‘I never said he did.’
‘At least I’ve never been escorted to make my report by two auxiliary officers.’
‘Come again?’
‘Two SA officers took him away. It was almost like they were arresting him.’
‘You never thought he might have been summoned for political reasons?’
Rath laughed out loud.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Nothing. It’s just… Political reasons? Böhm’s no Communist. Breaches of duty, they said. Multiple breaches of duty. He’s done something wrong, and now he has to take the rap. You just can’t bear to see your hero knocked off his pedestal.’
Charly shook her head in that arrogant way he couldn’t stand. ‘Haven’t you noticed that things have changed in the last few weeks? Even at police headquarters?’
‘Our commissioner’s a Nazi. So what? When the Social Democrats were in charge, the commissioners were Social Democrats. As far as that role’s concerned, being a good police officer has always taken a back seat to party membership.’
‘Grzesinski was a good commissioner. Even if he had his SPD membership to thank for his appointment.’
‘Friederike Wieking is a good police officer too, despite what you might think about her politics.’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Nazi, Social Democrat, it doesn’t matter. The main thing is to be a good police officer.’
She looked at him wide-eyed. ‘How can you be so blinkered?’
‘What?’
‘Blinkered! Have you ever thought there might be a difference between the Nazis and the Social Democrats?’
‘Of course there’s a difference, but from a politically neutral perspective it doesn’t matter.’
‘Gereon, stop talking before I get seriously annoyed.’
‘Goddamn politics! Now I remember why I hate it so much. It only causes arguments.’
‘Maybe you should take a little time to think before you say anything else on the matter.’ She placed her napkin on the table. ‘Despising politics while spouting such nonsense shows an unhealthy mix of arrogance and ignorance!’
‘Well, thank you for the masterclass on arrogance, Fräulein Doktor! That’s the way to show a college drop-out!’
‘Just because you dropped out doesn’t mean you’re barred from thinking!’
‘And just because you finished your degree doesn’t give you the right to treat me like an idiot!’
‘Then stop acting like one. Where are you going?’
Rath grabbed Kirie by the collar and yanked her into the corridor, took lead, hat and coat from the hook, and slammed the door behind him. Allowing Kirie to jump into the Buick ahead of him, he pulled out of his space with squealing tyres.
Driving to work alone was getting to be a habit. Alone with Kirie, who seemed content now that she had reclaimed the passenger seat. As they reached the Landwehr canal, Rath realised he’d forgotten the manuscript, which must still be on the living room table, but resisted the impulse to turn around. He couldn’t have her thinking he was backing down.
‘Stupid woman!’ Kirie turned her head in astonishment. ‘I wasn’t talking about you,’ he said, ruffling her fur. ‘You understand me.’
Couldn’t they all just leave him in peace: Charly with her political problems, Roddeck with his meddling demands for police protection, the press with their articles, Böhm with his trench dagger, Gräf with his queer Nazi, and not least Marlow with his latest incitement to ruin.
‘SA auxiliary officers have arrested one of my men,’ Dr M. had said in the back of the sedan, ‘and no one knows where he’s been taken.’
‘Auxiliary forces are only authorised to make an arrest in the company of a regular police officer.’
‘I’m afraid the SA couldn’t care less. The fact is, Long Leo was arrested, and it’s been three days since anyone saw him.’ Marlow pressed a sheet of paper into Rath’s hand.
‘Leopold Juretzka. One of Berolina’s?’
‘The new head, as a matter of fact. Smart guy.’
‘Not smart enough to evade capture.’
‘The SA had no grounds for bringing him in. Dr Kohn hasn’t even established where they’re holding him.’