‘Not now, Gereon,’ she said, waving the file. ‘No time.’
She turned at the door. ‘Can you tell me where I’ll find Reinhold?’
‘He’s still out hunting Communists. Why?’
‘He was the one who dug up this fire business in the first place. Perhaps he knows something that isn’t in the file.’
‘Hannah Singer, Fritze Don’t-Ask-Me, Alex back in the day…’ Rath sighed. ‘Could it be that you have a weakness for street children?’
‘Every woman has her secrets,’ she said, waving the file as she disappeared.
66
The wind whistled across Bülowplatz as Charly stepped out of the U-Bahn. She turned up her collar and circled the Volksbühne until Karl Liebknechthaus came into view. It was the first time she had seen the building without banners and Communist mottos. The rows of windows looked dead and deserted, like the square itself, as if the former Communist party headquarters held some dark threat. The Liebknechthaus had attracted workers from across the city with its slogans and political rallies, but for the past two weeks a Nazi flag had flown from its roof and Communists were thin on the ground. Upstanding citizens had always given Bülowplatz a wide berth and, where once it was fear of Communists, now it was fear of being mistaken for one. Only the Volksbühne reminded Berliners it was one and the same square.
Charly tried to locate the site where Heinz Singer and seven other beggars had been consumed by flames on New Year’s Eve 1931. The shacks of old were gone, with new buildings erected all around. The scene of Assistant Detective Stephan Jänicke’s murder four years ago was now a cinema. The Crow’s Nest, meanwhile, had been replaced by an apartment block, and there was nothing to suggest beggars had once lived here. So many pasts erased, Hannah’s too, and that of her father.
Horst-Wessel-Haus it said above the Liebknechthaus portal, where two SA auxiliary officers stood guard. It wasn’t the only building the Nazis had renamed. A second new plaque hung resplendent by the entrance: Police Headquarters, Berlin, Department for the Prevention of Bolshevism.
Charly showed the SA officers her identification and went inside, reluctant to treat the brownshirts as colleagues but with little choice. They had told her the room number at Alex. Reinhold Gräf looked up in surprise.
‘Charly,’ he said, pleased to see her. She struggled to believe what Gereon had told her. Just because someone worked for the Politicals and was friends with an SA officer, it didn’t make them a Nazi. ‘What brings you here?’
‘I wondered if you’d have lunch with me. I didn’t fancy eating at Alex.’
‘I’m afraid there’s no canteen here.’
‘Only nice new offices.’
‘Nice big offices anyway. We need the space.’
‘Ah yes, the new age. 1A has more officers seconded to it than any other department.’
‘Yet our work continues,’ he said, deadly serious.
‘Is that why you don’t have a canteen?’
Reinhold grinned and put the file he’d been reading into a drawer. ‘You might not believe it, but sometimes even the Political Police need a break. There’s a nice little restaurant around the corner.’ He reached for his hat and coat and held the door open.
‘Do you actually enjoy working for the Politicals?’ she asked, when they were out of earshot.
‘Define enjoy. Certain things you have to do.’
‘Snooping on people’s political beliefs?’
‘This isn’t a question of beliefs. People can think what they like, but the Communists want to establish a Soviet Germany by force. Having dragged our country to the brink of civil war with their rioting, they set the Reichstag on fire… don’t you think it’s time we put a stop to it?’
‘But your methods…’
‘Our methods, Charly. In the fight against the Reds every individual matters. Women’s CID are just as important as the Politicals and every other officer, including the auxiliary police.’
‘Who are free to use exactly the type of force we seek to prevent?’
‘History has shown there’s no other way. Besides: we are permitted to do so by the authority invested in us by the state.’
Conversations with Reinhold used to be less complicated.
He took her to a little restaurant beside the cinema. The prices were reasonable; perhaps some things never changed. Apart from a group of brownshirts occupying a table of six, the place was empty. The nearby presence of the SA and Political Police deterred normal paying customers. They found a seat away from the loudmouthed SA men.
‘I know what CID think of 1A,’ Reinhold said, ‘but, since joining the Politicals, for the first time in my career I feel like if I’m doing something useful. Not just in Berlin, but the country as a whole.’
‘You didn’t feel that way in Homicide?’
‘Where we investigate after the fact? Working for 1A I can actually prevent Communists and other enemies of the state from causing further damage.’
Enemies of the state. Charly wondered whether the Nazis didn’t pose the greater danger. Before she could say the wrong thing, the waiter arrived. Reinhold recommended the chicken fricassee Berlin style, and Charly followed his lead.
‘Speaking of old times,’ she said. ‘You worked with Böhm on the Wosniak case, didn’t you? These homeless shelters…’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘We were looking for someone to identify the deceased. Preferably the other survivor of the Bülowplatz arson.’
‘Gerhard Krumbiegel?’
‘Right.’
‘Did you find him?’
He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t have to mean anything. There are all manner of homeless shelters in Berlin. My theory is that Krumbiegel skipped town after the fire, maybe went back to Saxony. That’s where he was from.’
‘Saxony?’
‘Not the Free State, the Prussian province. He was from Halle. I telephoned the Criminal Record Office there. A colleague was due to comb the files.’
‘And?’
‘Then this lieutenant showed up and identified Wosniak.’
‘Von Roddeck?’
‘Yes, I told Halle the matter was closed.’
‘Did they find anything?’
‘Krumbiegel hasn’t been registered in Halle since he left shortly after the war.’
‘He was homeless. Doesn’t have to mean anything.’
‘No. What’s all this about, Charly?’
‘I don’t know. I just sense he’s got some role to play in all this. He might even be our killer.’
‘You’re back in Homicide?’
She felt caught out and had to laugh. ‘No, but I think this girl who bust out of Dalldorf…’
‘The crazy arsonist…’
‘Hannah Singer. I think she could be a key factor.’
‘What does Gereon think? Does he know you’re interfering in his case?’
‘Define interfering.’ She placed a finger to her lips. ‘Don’t say anything to Wieking. I’m just helping him a little when my schedule allows.’
‘Charly, Charly!’ Reinhold shook his head. ‘You’re talking like Gereon Rath.’
‘Is that a compliment?’
‘I’d rather not say. Just don’t let the chiefs catch you!’
‘It isn’t their concern how I spend my lunch break, or my free time.’
‘Charly, it would be a shame if your career went down the tubes before it’s even begun. Don’t go the same way as Gereon. His method’s toast, especially now.’
‘The way you talk about him…’ She smiled. ‘I thought he was your friend.’
‘So did I.’ The sentence had slipped out, and Reinhold was talking again before she had the chance to respond. ‘What’s up with him anyway? It’s like he’s disappeared. I hope you haven’t banned him from going out already?’