‘Marlow’s no criminal.’
‘Of course he is, just smart enough not to get caught.’
‘That’s why Hannah is in safe hands. He knows how to handle a situation like this.’
‘Right… probably because his men are treated for gunshot or stab wounds every day. Gereon, you must realise that a police officer shouldn’t be associating with people like that.’
‘Nor should they be casting murder victims into the Spree by night.’
Charly had no answer there. She’d done things she’d never have dreamed herself doing, but what choice had there been? Little by little the state she worked for had ceased to be the German Republic of old, and become a monstrous ogre, as disfigured as the war-disabled beggars on Berlin’s streets or the man they had cast into the Spree.
It seemed unlikely his death would be linked back to Fritze. Charly was doing everything in her power to keep the boy off the streets and give him a future. She had enrolled him at the parish school on Bleibtreustrasse for the start of the new session. For the time being Friedrich Thormann had a home again. He repaid their kindness by being busier around the house than their cleaner, Lina, and more solicitous with the dog. So much that she feared Gereon might grow jealous.
Dusk was falling as they drove into Freienwalde, a pretty little town shaped by its cure industry and the many villas and country houses which had sprung up in the last half century. Reaching one such house on the outskirts, part of a hidden street that meandered its way slowly uphill, Gereon stopped. ‘This must be it,’ he said, parked and got out.
The house overlooked the street like a small castle; an English-style villa built just before the war when all was right with the world and no one imagined the horrors in store. The place radiated innocent assurance, but looked different close up. The walled estate was sealed by a wrought-iron gate, behind which two men stood guard. Neither elegant clothes nor good manners could disguise that they were goons.
‘Fräulein Ritter, Herr Rath,’ one said, lifting his hat. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’ His partner opened a side-gate. On each of the property’s balconies stood a man with a carbine in his hand. Gereon was right, Hannah was safer here than anywhere. They made their way up the gravel path, escorted by one of the guards.
‘Marlow’s nervous,’ Gereon whispered. ‘His rivals, the Nordpiraten, have made a pact with the Berlin SA.’
Charly asked herself how Gereon knew such things. It was rare for Homicide to deal with the Ringvereine. On the stoop was a man who wore neither coat nor hat, but light-coloured linen slacks, a shirt and tie, and a cardigan. ‘Fräulein Ritter, I presume,’ he said, stretching out a hand. ‘Johann Marlow, delighted to meet you.’
‘The pleasure’s mine,’ Charly said, shaking his hand and immediately vexed by her friendliness. His charm had caught her off guard. He wasn’t especially good-looking, perhaps ten years older than Gereon, heavy-set with thinning hair, and, it seemed, unshakeable inner confidence.
‘How’s the girl?’ she asked.
‘Moving in the right direction after severe blood loss, and eating well. We’ve managed to put a little meat on her bones.’
‘But?’
‘She’s still in a state of shock. She hasn’t said a word since she arrived.’
Charly sighed. Here we go again. Yet, if she’d understood Fritze correctly, Hannah was perfectly capable of speech. In Dalldorf her silence had been a denial of her surroundings, now the same thing was happening here.
Marlow led them to a wing of the house where the entrance was also guarded. How could Hannah trust anyone in a place like this?
‘She’s in here,’ Marlow said, stopping outside a door. Yet another armed guard stood to greet him. ‘As you can see, she’s being well looked after.’
‘I’d like to speak to her alone if I may. I fear all you men are making her nervous.’
82
Rath was glad to speak with Johann Marlow in private, relieved that Charly’s first meeting with him had gone off without incident. She had spoken to Dr M. like a mother to a surgeon discussing her daughter’s treatment, and shown greater respect than he, Gereon Rath, had ever mustered. He hated himself for being so dependent on the man. If, years ago, someone had offered him their informal pact, but with full knowledge of the consequences, he’d have respectfully declined. Slowly but surely he had become so mixed up in Marlow’s business that he could no longer see a way out.
‘Thank you for looking after the girl,’ he said.
For the first time he felt something like genuine gratitude. All the other ‘services’ Dr M. had provided – hand-outs, information, even an overnight car-repair – had felt like tying chains around his wrists.
‘It’s nothing,’ Marlow said. ‘I don’t know why you’re hiding her, but she’s safe here.’
‘Your house is better guarded than a prison.’
‘With the crucial difference that my men make sure no one gets in.’
‘What are you so afraid of?’
Marlow’s smile vanished. ‘I’ve already mentioned how the Nordpiraten are causing problems. Lapke has joined the Nazis, or at least the SA, and is making life tricky for us.’
‘Join the party yourself, and the SA will leave you in peace.’
‘The NSDAP? Like all those good citizens who can’t wait to sign up? Who claim they’ve always been Nazis? If there’s one thing I’ve never been, it’s a good citizen!’
Marlow led him into a wood-panelled library. An MP 18 leaned against the wall next to a man in a chair, leafing through a crime novel. Bookshelves reached to the ceiling, all of them full. Most likely Marlow had bought them with the house. In the middle of the room armchairs were grouped around a table; a desk by the window looked onto the garden. Behind it a man with an eye patch sat playing patience.
‘Leo wanted to thank you, Inspector.’
Leopold Juretzka stood and extended his hand. ‘Usually I don’t talk to cops,’ he said, ‘but for you I’ll make an exception.’
‘That’s your mistake right there, Leo,’ Marlow said. ‘You can’t have enough police friends.’
Leo gestured to his eye patch. ‘Your pig friends couldn’t prevent this.’
‘Without my pig friend – excuse the expression, Inspector – the SA would have beaten you to death.’
Juretzka shrugged. ‘Then… thank you, Inspector.’
Rath gazed into the Ringverein man’s remaining eye. Had he really saddled himself with the Wosniak investigation to pry this ungrateful bastard free from the SA? It seemed his good turn had failed to win him a friend. Did the actions of the SA Field Police make Rath, as a serving officer, guilty by association? Juretzka let go of his hand and left.
‘Sorry, Inspector,’ Marlow said. ‘Leo hasn’t been the same since his release.’ He opened a box of cigars and offered one to Rath, who declined.
‘So,’ said Rath, ‘the SA are putting the squeeze on Berolina at the behest of the Nordpiraten?’
Marlow puffed on his cigar. ‘Not just us. Concordia must also suffer this misfortune.’
‘Polish-Paule,’ Rath recalled. Six months ago, Paul Marczewski had helped arrest a black sheep on the force, a police inspector killing off unwanted competition on behalf of the Nordpiraten chief. Lapke eliminating his enemies with the help of the state was nothing new.
‘Marczewski went to ground just in time,’ Marlow said. ‘I don’t know where he is, and I’m taking that as a good sign. Even so, Concordia are temporarily missing their leader, and some of Marczewski’s men have gone across to the Pirates.’