‘Please excuse the interruption, Sir. I have someone on the line who simply won’t let go. It’s at least the fifth time he’s called. He’s even threatened to stop by in person if you refuse to speak to him.’
‘Please tell me it isn’t our Baron von Roddeck.’
‘No.’ Rath was relieved, if only for a fraction of a second. ‘A Herr Frank,’ Erika Voss continued. ‘Neue Preussische Zeitung. I don’t know what more I can say to him.’
‘I hope you didn’t tell him I’ve been seconded to the Politicals.’
‘Of course not.’
‘Patch him through to Detective Zientek’s office, extension…’
‘I have the number.’
‘Great. There in ten seconds.’
‘Important call,’ he said to Zientek, shrugging his shoulders apologetically. ‘Back in a moment.’
Zientek scowled, but said nothing.
The telephone was already ringing by the time Rath entered the detective’s office. ‘Rath, CID,’ he said.
‘Frank, Neue Preussische Zeitung. You’re a hard man to get hold of, Inspector.’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘That’s why I’m calling. I wondered if you had anything new to report?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Serialisation of Märzgefallene begins next week. We’ve been promoting it daily, as perhaps you’ve seen. I wanted to ask how things were progressing with the investigation, on behalf of Lieutenant von Roddeck.’
‘Why doesn’t Roddeck get in touch himself?’
‘Like I say, you’re a hard man to reach. Lieutenant von Roddeck is surprised not to have been summoned for a second interview.’
‘I have his novel, don’t I? The details are all inside.’
‘You have a lead on Captain Engel?’
‘I’m afraid it isn’t that simple. The man will almost certainly have assumed a new identity. If, that is, Herr Roddeck’s suspicions are correct, and he survived the war.’
‘You’re casting doubt on the word of a Prussian lieutenant?’
‘Lieutenant Roddeck has merely voiced a suspicion, and so long as we have nothing concrete to go on, we will continue to pursue all avenues. Your mysterious phantom, a man who was actually declared dead, isn’t top of our list.’
‘Inspector, I must say this is most unsatisfactory.’
‘I’m sorry I can’t provide more detail,’ Rath lied. ‘Give Herr Roddeck my regards, and tell him I will be in touch as soon as I have more to go on.’
He hung up and lit a cigarette. Returning to the interrogation room and the latest Communist held little appeal. He stayed where he was behind Zientek’s desk, looking out of the window at the grey winter sky, smoking and thinking about the last few days. In the meantime he understood all too well why Charly had lost her sense of motivation. Not that they spoke about it. In all the years they had known one another, they had probably never exchanged fewer words about work. They finished on time, met for lunch in the canteen, drove together to and from Alex. In short: they did the same as millions of others who regarded their jobs as a means of earning money, and nothing more.
Work aside, things between them were great. Since clearing the air last week, they had spent every night together, taken Kirie for walks, listened to music, drank and talked, sometimes even danced, and at the end of it all they wound up in bed, more often than not on the tipsy side. It was almost as if they wished to sever their ties with the world outside, and escape the drabness of routine.
He was about to stub out his cigarette when there was a knock on the door. A guard looked in. ‘Inspector Rath?’
‘Yes?’
‘There’s an SA commando here from Papestrasse. Apparently you requested a prisoner Juretzka?’
The man who was led in moments later by two brownshirts made a pitiful impression. There were blood-encrusted wounds above his left cheekbone and on his forehead, flanked by bruises. A huge bandage was draped over his right eye. The left eye was even worse, its gaze so dead it was as if the man’s soul had already departed.
The papers submitted by the higher-ranking SA man, a Scharführer, left Rath in no doubt that the poor bastard in front of him was Leopold Juretzka, nicknamed Long Leo, Red Hugo’s successor as head of the Berolina Ringverein, or what was left of it.
He soon abandoned any hope that he might be able to speak to Juretzka in private, let alone secure his release and have him returned to Marlow. ‘We have orders to transport the prisoner back to Papestrasse immediately on completion of the interrogation,’ the Scharführer said.
‘Looks like he’d be better off in the sick bay. What on earth happened?’
‘Lost his right eye. An unfortunate fall.’
Onto what? An SA dagger?
The door opened, and Detective Zientek poked his head inside. ‘I was starting to worry, Inspector.’
‘The SA have brought in another prisoner.’
‘Prisoner Juretzka, Leopold,’ the Scharführer said, looking at his docket. So the SA did keep records after all. Or, at least, they were starting to… ‘Requested by Inspector Rath, Gereon.’ There went any story he might hatch for Zientek’s benefit.
‘I received a tip-off from one of my informants.’ He hoped this bland explanation might get rid of Zientek, but the detective proved just as stubborn as the two SA officers.
‘Let us know if you need any support, Inspector,’ the Scharführer said, as he and his colleague shunted Juretzka onto the chair and took up position behind it. No doubt where they came from, a well-directed blow was as good as a line of questioning.
Five of them were packed into Zientek’s already cramped office, all eagerly awaiting Rath’s next move. He had no idea what he might ask, only that it wouldn’t be what he was dying to know.
Who did this to you?
What do these bastards want?
Should I put Johann Marlow onto them?
The only person who didn’t seem interested in Rath’s questions was Leopold Juretzka. The man sat on his chair staring blankly ahead with his one remaining eye as if there were no one else in the room. Or, as if he weren’t there himself, merely his body, and his spirit were elsewhere, out of reach of the police, the SA or whoever.
‘You are Leopold Juretzka?’ Rath began. No response. No change in expression. ‘Answer, please! Your name is Juretzka, Leopold Juretzka?’ Silence, dead gaze.
He attempted another two or three questions, which elicited just as little response, then gave up. ‘This man is not fit for questioning,’ he said to the SA officers. ‘What did you do to him?’
‘Like I said. He took an unfortunate tumble. Our steps have iron edges.’
‘And that’s how he lost his sight?’
‘Who’s being interrogated here, Inspector?’
‘Herr Juretzka is an important witness in a homicide inquiry,’ Rath lied. ‘I don’t know the reasons for his arrest, but I must ask that you hand him over to CID, and see that his fitness for questioning be restored.’ Somehow, he had to free this wretch from SA clutches.
The SA men looked crestfallen. They hadn’t realised their prisoner was so important.
‘A homicide inquiry?’ Zientek stood up. ‘Inspector, might I remind you that these are the offices of the Political Police…’
‘No need,’ Rath responded so brusquely that his colleague fell silent. ‘I didn’t ask for Herr Juretzka to be sent here, but A Division. If you wish to complain, I suggest you take it up with the SA!’