‘Marlow tells me you’re the resourceful type, Inspector. You’ll think of a solution. Why don’t you just tell your superiors what happened: that Leo Juretzka and his Jew shyster played you for a fool.’
‘Thanks for the tip.’
‘Yours for free, and I should tell you, my services usually come at a price.’
Kohn stood up. Juretzka followed.
‘That thing there,’ Rath said, pointing towards Juretzka’s eye patch, ‘will make your client stick out like a sore thumb. Be careful that the SA don’t fetch him back. Ringverein members are about as popular as Communists.’
‘Once we pass through these doors, you won’t be seeing my client for a very long time. Everything’s prepared, there’s no need for you to worry… and yes,’ Kohn said, reaching inside his briefcase. ‘Here. So that you have something in writing.’
He placed the document on the table. A prisoner release order.
Dr Gustav Kohn left the room with his client, a career criminal wanted by the SA, and Rath sat at the table, playing with the handcuffs the guard had left him. When the telephone rang he gave a start. It was Erika Voss. ‘Please excuse the interruption, Sir, but it’s urgent.’
‘You’re not interrupting. What is it?’
‘Detective Czerwinski is on the line. If you wait a moment, I’ll patch him through.’
‘What is it?’ Rath asked, when he could hear Czerwinski wheezing.
‘Boss?’
‘Speaking.’
‘We’re here at this teacher’s house.’
Rath looked at the watch Charly had given him. ‘You’re only there now?’
‘He wasn’t home, so we waited.’
‘And?’
‘Alfons spoke to a neighbour who was coming up the stairs with her shopping. Gereon, I think you’d better get out here.’ Czerwinski paused awkwardly. ‘The woman says Linus Meifert was found yesterday in the park. He’s dead.’
46
Rath dropped Charly and Kirie at home before heading out on the AVUS to Potsdam, where Police Headquarters was a tiny, two-storey building that looked as if it went back to the days of Old Fritz. It was in Priesterstrasse, in the immediate vicinity of an enormous barracks at least twenty times its size. In Potsdam the military had always called the tune, even now when Germany was barely allowed any soldiers. At least, in contrast to Alex, there was plenty of parking outside.
Henning and Czerwinski were waiting under the two old-fashioned streetlamps outside the entrance. Recognising the sand-coloured Buick they threw away their cigarettes.
‘So?’ Rath asked.
‘Meifert was found dead in the park over by the palace.’ Czerwinski pointed towards the end of the street. ‘The pleasure garden. A stone’s throw from here.’
‘How did he die?’
‘It’s better you ask Inspector Lehmann. He’s… how shall I put this? Not especially approachable.’
‘He’s the lead investigator?’
‘Very much so. He insisted on seeing our commanding officer. Seems to be beneath his dignity to speak with a humble detective.’
Detective Inspector Lehmann was a textbook example of a Prussian official. Discreet and dressed in a grey suit, his sense of duty was bursting from his ears. He listened as Rath made his report. ‘And you think the cases go together?’
‘A witness in my investigation has died on your patch.’
‘This isn’t my patch, this is my city. We’re not part of Berlin yet.’
Rath ignored the Potsdam sensitivity. ‘Was it a violent death?’
‘I should say so. Someone thrust a sharp object up his nose. A stiletto or something like it.’
Just as Rath had feared. Evidently there was some truth in Achim von Roddeck’s arcane tale. ‘Then I can more or less guarantee the dead man is part of my case. Let’s get him transferred to Pathology in Berlin.’
‘That won’t be necessary. The corpse has already been examined.’
‘Perhaps so, but I think we’d be better off in Hannoversche Strasse. The pathologist there, Dr Schwartz, has already examined the first corpse and will be able to draw comparisons.’
‘I’m more than happy to have the corpse transferred, provided you supply the appropriate authorisation from your police commissioner. That doesn’t mean I’m relinquishing the case.’
‘Your case, my case, they’re one and the same. Berlin Homicide have been investigating this for two weeks! Maybe if you had reported to Main Branch you’d be better informed.’
‘I haven’t breached any regulations.’
‘Maybe not, but you have shown an unwillingness to cooperate.’ Rath took care not to fly off the handle. ‘Isn’t it customary to look beyond the boundaries of your own precinct when confronted with a death like this and… I don’t know, search for parallels with other investigations?’
‘I’ll tell you what isn’t customary. Putting the blame on your colleagues. I can’t recall hearing anything about an unusual mode of death from Berlin. As I understand it, Inspector, your man was killed first.’
‘We had other things to deal with, like the threat of a Communist uprising. Besides, the story was in all the papers.’
‘Our case was in the papers too. Only you lot aren’t interested in what happens in Potsdam.’
The man was stubborn. ‘I’ll supply the necessary documentation,’ Rath said. ‘So that our offices can work together. In the meantime could I take a look at the corpse?’
Lehmann considered for a moment. ‘Fine. Come with me.’
The earthly remains of Linus Meifert were housed in a cooling cellar belonging to Potsdam Municipal Hospital, by the Berliner Tor. On the authority of Inspector Lehmann, who was well known here, they bypassed various doormen. A man in a white coat, approximately Rath’s age, joined them unbidden.
‘Dr Ehrmanntraut,’ Lehmann said. ‘He opened up the corpse at the behest of the public prosecutor.’
Rath shook the doctor’s hand. ‘We’re here because of a similar case in Berlin.’
‘Is that right?’
‘We suspect it could be the same killer. The deceased served together during the war.’
‘Is that right?’ seemed to be one of Ehrmanntraut’s favourite phrases. He opened a door leading to a cold storage room containing five biers. Cardboard signs dangled from the toes of the covered corpses. The doctor put on his glasses, checked the signs carefully and finally lifted the sheet from the penultimate bier. ‘This is him.’
Linus Meifert’s corpse was significantly less gruesome than that of his disfigured ex-comrade Wosniak, and better nourished. The dead man’s left nostril was one giant scab. ‘Can you tell me about the cross-section of the stab wound?’
‘Come again?’
‘Is the puncture channel unusual in any way?’
‘A long, sharp object, as I’ve already told Inspector Lehmann. You can refer to my report.’
‘I’m only asking because our cross-section was rather atypical.’
‘Who examined the corpse?’
‘Dr Schwartz.’
‘Is he still doing the rounds?’ Clearly Ehrmanntraut was no fan of the long-serving Berlin pathologist. Perhaps he had studied under Schwartz, and that, Rath guessed, would be no picnic. ‘We measured the length of the puncture wound,’ the doctor explained. ‘The shape of the cross-section didn’t seem relevant.’
‘Then please take another look,’ Rath said. ‘I’d stake my month’s salary on it being triangular.’
47
It was obvious now that Lieutenant Achim von Roddeck didn’t have a persecution complex, his fears were well-founded. Someone out there was assassinating members of his old troop. Two men who appeared in his war novel were now dead.