So, shortly after two o’clock, Rath climbed the stairs to Section 1A. The Political Police and CID were separated by a single floor, but it was rare for Rath’s colleagues to stray up here. CID didn’t think much of the Politicals, and the Politicals didn’t think much of CID. The two departments had been locked in mutual antipathy for as long as anyone could remember.
He knocked on the door assigned him by Gennat, not knowing if Gräf had already reported for duty since, after ducking out of lunch together, he had driven back to Charlottenburg to collect Roddeck’s manuscript. That, too, was part of the Wosniak file being compiled by Erika Voss. Reaching Carmerstrasse he had considered calling Charly in G, but thought better of it. It was strange being alone in the flat after this morning. Soon his guilty conscience would steal a march on his pride – but not yet. Rudolf Braschwitz was in charge of the task force established by Göring on the night of the fire.
‘In essence the Reichstag task force comprises only four officers,’ Braschwitz said, ‘and that’s how it will stay. Nonetheless, your support will be vital in carrying out accompanying measures.’
‘Accompanying measures?’
‘The question of whether there is a Communist conspiracy underlying the attack and, if so, how far does it reach.’ Braschwitz leaned over a handwritten duty roster. ‘I’ll be assigning you to Detective Zientek. He’ll fill you in. I see you have plenty of interrogation experience. That’s good.’ He wrote down the name and office number.
Paper in hand, Rath scoured around for the correct office, feeling like Kaspar Hauser searching for home. At least working for the Political Police he wouldn’t have to do any overtime, or so he thought.
‘Gear yourself up for duty on Sunday,’ Detective Zientek said, no sooner than Rath introduced himself.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Braschwitz didn’t mention anything about that.’
‘I’d be glad to make things more formal if you wish. Take Saturday night off. It isn’t so important.’
Erwin Zientek struck Rath as unpleasant, confirming all his preconceptions about the Political Police. Even his face, with its thin moustache and balding head, was apt somehow. The man was as smarmy as an insurance agent.
‘We have hundreds of Communists in custody, if not thousands,’ Zientek continued. ‘They all need to be interrogated. As a CID officer you’ll know how an interrogation works.’
Of course I fucking do. ‘But Sunday’s polling day!’ It was also Rath’s birthday, but he wasn’t about to get started on that.
‘Precisely.’ Zientek winked as if letting him in on a secret. ‘The polling stations open at eight. Cast your vote and get yourself down to Alex. No use in complaining, everyone else is on duty too. Braschwitz won’t be making any exceptions and, believe me, we’ll need every man. You’ll see.’
30
They had been interrogating these youths for days, directing the full force of the state on a bunch of kids for – what? An isolated piece of graffiti. On two occasions now Charly had sat facing boys, one seventeen, the other nineteen, apparently members of the Red Rats, who’d found their way to police headquarters via some SA basement. Charly had left the questioning to Karin van Almsick, preferring to transcribe, but even that was too much. Was she, Charly, too soft for police work? Was this even police work? She couldn’t get them out of her mind. Worse than the bruises and blood-encrusted wounds were the empty eyes gazing back.
After each interrogation, Karin van Almsick would make for the tea kitchen as if nothing had happened, gossiping about her latest admirer, a dashing SA auxiliary officer, and salivating over the new Germany. Charly had to be careful not to send her cup flying…
‘What do you think?’ Karin asked. ‘Is it an administrative headache? How long would it take?’
‘How long would what take?’
‘Changing my surname.’
‘You just have to say ‘yes’ in front of the registrar and bang: your husband’s name will be yours.’
‘That’s one way, I suppose, though Rudi hasn’t asked me yet. I just want to get rid of this van as soon as possible.’
‘Come again?’
‘The van in my name. It’s what I’ve been saying this whole time. I want to be Almsick, not van Almsick.’
‘Why? You’ve nothing to be ashamed about. Dutch settlers have contributed just as much to Prussia’s rise as the Huguenots, Jews, Poles, Salzburgers, and all the rest.’
‘I don’t have anything against the Dutch.’ She gawped at Charly. ‘Still, I’d prefer if you… Look, if you need to use my surname, just call me Karin Almsick, all right?’
‘But why?’ Charly was losing patience.
‘Why do you think? Because of van der Lubbe, of course.’
Charly couldn’t believe it. Karin was actually being serious. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. Why, oh Lord, must you punish me with this woman? With that she reached a decision. The Ritter family had provided generations of loyal service to the Kingdom and Free State of Prussia, never once missing a day of work. As for feigning illness to do so… Her father would be turning in his grave, but this was no longer his Prussia or hers. The land of her forebears was being transformed into something she couldn’t abide.
‘I don’t feel good. Must have caught something on the night of the fire.’
‘It can happen at this time of year. I have a sore throat myself.’
‘We can’t both succumb…’
‘I’ll be OK. Tea helps, but if you don’t feel well, you should rest. It’s no good you giving us all the lurgy.’
‘Can you can manage the rest of the day without me?’
Karin nodded. ‘I’ll ask Wieking for a stenographer.’
There, you’ve sunk so low that a stenographer can take your place.
She’d have been better off staying with Gennat in Homicide. Even as a stenographer she’d been able to perform meaningful work there. More meaningful than anything she’d done since. She took her leave.
Emerging onto Grunerstrasse, in front of the vast brick building that was police headquarters, she lit a Juno and took a deep breath. Weekend! She wouldn’t have to set foot here again until Monday. Sunday was polling day. She was pinning her hopes on the Nazis haemorrhaging more votes, and this farcical episode with Hitler as Chancellor drawing to a close. The prospect of a working majority in the new parliament might be a distant dream, but if the brownshirts continued their downward spiral, Hindenburg would surely withdraw his confidence in the loudmouth ‘Bohemian private’. Better to have a man like Papen or Schleicher installed as Chancellor; but best of all someone who might put the brakes on the SA, who now behaved as if they owned the city.
The world might seem more normal on Monday, and she could enjoy her job again. She might even be able to put up with Karin, with or without the van.
The S-Bahn was more or less deserted as she took her seat. She gazed out of the window as the train rolled out of Alexanderplatz, thinking back to the morning and realising she had gone too far. She had more or less called Gereon an idiot, but how could he be so naive? Granted, she shouldn’t have said certain things, but he shouldn’t have flounced out of the flat like a petulant child. She couldn’t help but smile. They were each as pig-headed as the other, which made any reconciliation needlessly fraught. She’d hoped he might call to apologise, but he hadn’t been in touch.