Since being wakened he hadn’t taken his eyes off the telephone, but it hadn’t rung again. Unless he’d missed a second call when he was under the shower?
One more cognac, he thought, then it’ll be time for Kirie’s walk. After that, we’ll see. He felt a strong urge to drive by Spenerstrasse with a bouquet of flowers, but his pride told him to wait for her to call and apologise. He was so focused on the telephone he needed a moment to realise the doorbell was ringing.
He ran into the bathroom to put a comb through his still-wet hair and check his shirt and tie before going to answer it. Kirie was there already, wagging her tail expectantly.
He hesitated, took a deep breath and opened, at pains to appear as indifferent as possible. It was Fritze. Rath was stunned into silence. The boy seemed equally put out, having no doubt expected Charly to answer.
‘I’ve found Hannah,’ he mumbled.
‘You’ve what?’
‘She said to tell you. I have Hannah.’ Fritze looked at him anxiously, stealing a glance inside. ‘Where’s Charly?’
Rath thought there was a note of desperation in the boy’s voice. ‘Not here,’ he said, sternly.
Fritze looked at him as if wondering if he could really trust this man. It was a moment before he spoke again. ‘Something terrible has happened. You need to help us.’ Heavy sobs racked his body.
Rath took the boy into the apartment and closed the door. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. The boy didn’t seem to hear. Rath steered him into the kitchen and sat him on a chair, a sobbing marionette.
Rarely had he felt so helpless. He hated situations like this. Hated them so much he made the call he had been shirking from all morning. As the operator patched him through he was secretly glad it had nothing to do with yesterday’s fight.
Greta answered. ‘Charly’s not here,’ she said, almost as soon as she heard his voice. He hadn’t even asked for her.
‘Tell her Fritze is back.’
‘Fritze who?’
‘Just tell her, for fuck’s sake! Fritze is here and I need to speak with her. So would you please just get her.’
‘First, I won’t be sworn at. And second, I won’t be ordered around.’
‘You stupid cow…’
Click.
If there was one woman who could make his blood boil quicker than Charly, it was Greta Overbeck. He slammed the phone down. What was he supposed to do with the boy howling in his kitchen?
Settle him first. Rath went back into the kitchen, where Fritze had at last stopped crying. He was sitting on the chair stroking Kirie. His eyes were still moist, but he had wiped the tears from his face.
‘Sorry. I don’t usually cry like that but…’
‘It’s fine,’ Rath said. ‘My father wouldn’t let me cry, but sometimes there’s no other way.’
‘All the same. Don’t tell anyone. That goes for Charly too.’
‘Your secret’s safe.’ Rath filled a glass with water and sat next to him. Fritze drank, and the water seemed to calm him.
‘I can’t get hold of Charly,’ Rath said. The news didn’t unsettle the boy as much as he’d feared. ‘Now tell me what happened. You found Hannah.’ Fritze nodded. ‘And where is she now?’
‘Kreuzberg.’
‘You said something terrible has happened. Is she hurt?’
Fritze looked at him despairingly. ‘She’s bleeding. I think she needs a doctor, but she won’t see one, or go near a hospital, so I thought I’d get Charly.’ He was on the verge of tears again.
‘What happened?’
‘It was him again… he had Hannah… and then…’ The boy shrugged. Helplessly. ‘What was I supposed to do?’
‘What is it? What did you do?’ Wrong question. The boy was racked with sobs once more. ‘All right. It’s all right. Can you take me to her?’
Less than five minutes later they were in the car racing east across Budapester Strasse. Fritze couldn’t say exactly where they were headed, only that he had boarded a train at Schlesisches Tor.
Rath hurtled along the Landwehr Canal and Gitschiner Strasse, as if racing the elevated train. Time was of the essence. Hannah had stab wounds, and if Rath understood correctly the man with the scars was responsible. He wondered if Hannah Singer might hold the key to their mystery killer after all. The girl had got herself to safety, and Fritze had gone in search of help.
As they approached Schlesisches Tor Rath took his foot off the gas. ‘Where now?’
‘Take the next street. It’s on the right.’
Fritze led him to an old, decommissioned cinema that had fallen victim to either the financial crisis or the advent of sound, perhaps both. The entrance was sealed with chains and padlocks.
‘In there? It looks like a fortress. How do you get in?’
‘Follow me.’
They went around the building into a rear courtyard where the back entrance was also sealed. Fritze cleared a few crates, and pointed to an air shaft. He might pass through, and Hannah too, but it was too narrow for a grown man.
‘We can’t go that way,’ Rath said, rummaging in his coat pocket for his picklocks, whereupon he began fiddling with one of the padlocks. Fritze looked on in admiration. Rath opened the door, which must have been an emergency exit at one time, and they slipped straight into the theatre. What daylight filtered through the crack revealed row upon row of dusty, moth-eaten seats.
‘She’s in there,’ Fritze said, pointing in the direction of the screen, and the contours of an enormous cinema organ. ‘It’s us. Don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right.’
No response. Fritze climbed up the organ pipes. Rath sighed and followed him up the small ladder.
Based on the police photos alone he wouldn’t have recognised Hannah Singer. Her hair was different, and her face too. Definitely not crazy. She looked as if she were sleeping. He crouched beside her and felt her pulse.
‘Is she…’ Fritze didn’t dare finish his question.
‘She’s alive,’ Rath said, ‘but she urgently needs a doctor. She’s lost a lot of blood.’
‘No doctor.’ A quiet, reedy voice.
‘Hannah,’ Rath said. ‘Try to stay awake. We’re here to help you.’
‘No doctor…’ was all she said.
‘Talk to her,’ Rath was already descending the ladder. ‘Make sure she stays conscious.’ The boy crouched beside her. ‘I know someone who can help. Tell her I’m getting help. She needn’t worry. No doctor, no hospital. Everything will be all right. Tell her, talk to her!’
78
Charly called back, but he wasn’t picking up. Greta had meant well, and she had a gift for fobbing people off. ‘You have to keep them on tenterhooks,’ she had said. ‘Believe me, it helps.’
‘What did he want?’
‘What do you think? He wanted you back. “I need to speak with her,” he said. Swore at me too.’
‘He did?’
‘Called me a stupid cow.’
‘Just like that?’
‘What do you mean, just like that? He insisted I go and fetch you because of this boy, and…’
‘This boy? Fritze?’
Before Greta confirmed the name Charly knew she had to call Carmerstrasse, and when Gereon didn’t answer her mind was made up. ‘I’m going back.’
So here she was sitting in the empty flat, edgy as a cat on a hot tin roof, drinking her second coffee and wondering what to do next. The porter, Bergner, confirmed that Gereon had left the house with Kirie and a boy in tow, ‘your nephew, Fräulein Ritter.’ He didn’t know where they were headed, of course, only that they were in a rush.
She racked her brains over what could have happened, but there was nothing to do now but wait, drink coffee, and smoke.