Searching both sides of the Spree, they had struck lucky in an abandoned joinery workshop. The place had been broken into and traces of blood found in the sawdust. The blood group matched that of the deceased. The building had formerly been a cabinetmaker’s works and Kronberg emphasised that Benjamin Engel had been a furniture dealer before the war.
Rath was careful not to shake his head. CID officers just couldn’t stop looking for connections, even when there were none.
Kronberg suggested that Gräf investigate whether the bankrupt cabinetmaker had any links with Benjamin Engel’s furniture business, and Gennat nodded his approval. Could they no longer acknowledge a coincidence, or did it just seem that way to someone who knew the corpse had been falsely identified, but couldn’t say? The dead man’s foreskin proved the commissioner was wrong, and that the Alberich team had got sloppy. Rath was tempted to put the idea in Gräf’s head: Word on the street is your Jew isn’t even circumcised.
Once upon a time he could have exposed the error with a press release, but there was no way he could involve Weinert. Not only because reporters were no longer free to report, or because he had something to hide. The truth was that he was scared. Gereon Rath was scared of making a fool of the police commissioner.
As always when leading an investigation Gräf appeared slightly overwhelmed, but Gennat came to his aid. Without undermining his detective, Buddha thanked Kronberg and outlined the next steps. It was a skilful performance which flattered Gräf and made it seem as if the pair had discussed the matter prior to briefing.
Gennat’s intervention notwithstanding, Gräf cut a dash. The commissioner had praised him publicly, and even the senior officers strove to make a good impression. Promotion was possible again in the new Germany, but then so was being fired. Or, indeed, being fired at.
While Gräf basked in admiration, Rath returned to his office, consoling himself that the investigation was the biggest farce ever to have spawned overtime. How he longed to stand, like the boy in the Emperor’s New Clothes, and open everyone’s eyes. Instead he found himself responsible for the most feeble-minded task of all.
‘You were in Bonn recently, Inspector,’ Gennat had said. ‘See if you can establish what relationship existed between the cabinetmakers in Berlin and Engel’s furniture business in Bonn.’
Was he being ironic, or was this a serious request? Feeling Gennat return his gaze, he looked down at the piece of paper on which Gräf or Kronberg, or whoever it was, had written the name of the store. Ohligs Cabinetmakers
In his lonely office, the letters stirred unpleasant memories. He had asked Erika Voss to look into the bankruptcy, saying he would contact Bonn himself. A call he knew he would never make.
He wondered whether Eva Heinen had been informed. Had Gräf telephoned to say that her husband had survived the war but turned up dead in the Spree, or had they entrusted it to Bonn? Probably the latter. He imagined the two cops from the police Opel ending their four-week observation with a knock on her door. How they would look, with undisguised voyeurism, at the elegant Eva Heinen, and inform her, with equally undisguised sadism, that her husband, the serial killer, had died in violent circumstances. How would Eva Heinen react? Erika Voss returned him to the present with a knock.
‘What is it?’
She poked her head inside. ‘Taxicab for you, Sir. It’s waiting at the entrance on Grunerstrasse.’
‘Must be a misunderstanding.’
‘The driver mentioned you expressly by name. He’s downstairs with the porter. Would you like to speak with him yourself?’
‘Patch him through.’ He reached for the telephone. ‘Listen, I didn’t order a taxi…’
‘I know,’ a male voice interrupted. ‘Someone ordered it for you.’
‘Who?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say, but he’ll pick up the tab.’
It must be Marlow. Had something happened to Hannah? Or Juretzka? ‘All right. Down in three.’
‘I’ll wait in the car.’
He took his hat and coat from the hook and reached for his briefcase. ‘Let me guess,’ Erika Voss said. ‘You’re not coming back.’
‘Correct. Just leave whatever you’ve found on my desk.’
Erika Voss rarely smiled these days. The atmosphere was frostier since Gräf had switched partners. Rath was frostier too.
A lone taxi waited on Grunerstrasse. Premium rate. No sooner had he sat down than it started from the kerb. ‘I didn’t realise we were in a hurry.’
The driver wore a peaked cap and thin wire-framed spectacles. In the rearview mirror Rath could make out a neat bow tie and alert eyes. ‘Time is money,’ he said.
‘Since I’m not paying, I’ll ask that you slow down. Where are we even going? They crossed the Jannowitz Bridge. Thick cloud lay over the Spree. ‘Perhaps you’re not allowed to say? Who’s your employer?’
‘You are Detective Inspector Gereon Rath, Homicide?’
‘The same.’
The driver stopped at a red light and turned around. ‘Show me your identification.’
Rath fumbled the document from his wallet and passed it forward.
The driver took a close look at him in the rearview mirror and returned the identification. The light changed to green and they crossed Köpenicker Strasse heading south. Instinctively Rath felt for his shoulder holster and the outline of his Walther.
‘You’ve been looking for Franz Thelen?’ the driver asked suddenly. Rath had been ready for the Nordpiraten, even the SA, but not this. After all the fuss about the corpse, he had lost sight of the real Benjamin Engel. The mysterious driver, of whom Eva Heinen apparently had no memory. ‘You’re taking me to Thelen? Does he live in Berlin?’
‘No.’
‘Then where are we going?’
‘I’m taking you for a spin. Thelen’s dead but I can tell you his story.’
‘Did Eva Heinen send you?’
‘Do you want to hear it or not? I can just as easily set you back down at Alex.’
Rath sighed and leaned back. ‘Go on,’ he said, ‘but do me a favour and stop referring to yourself in the third person, Herr Thelen.’
The driver filtered into the traffic on Moritzplatz.
‘Your new name is Erich Heintze, if I read the sign on your door correctly, and you’re the owner of this taxi company. Did Eva Heinen suggest you pay me a visit?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Why do you prefer to be dead, Herr Thelen, and why did Benjamin Engel?’
‘These days I rarely take the wheel myself, but for you I’ll make an exception. Free of charge, like I said.’ He reached for the meter and switched it off. ‘Franz Thelen has no wish for his identity to be exposed, Inspector, since his life would be in danger, just like the three Alberich victims.’
‘The killer’s dead. Don’t you read the papers?’
‘The papers say Benjamin Engel is dead, but we both know that isn’t right. Nor did he kill those three men. Who’s the body from the Spree? Is it Wosniak?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘It’s him, isn’t it? He faked his own death to go about butchering his victims unsuspected.’
‘He wanted people to think he was dead. Now he is.’
‘That’s what all of us share. We’d like to be dead or be someone else.’
‘What happened in the war?’
‘Franz Thelen didn’t see everything, Inspector, he was only the captain’s driver. And a good friend.’
‘Like I said: there’s no need for you to refer to yourself in the third person.’
‘I’ve grown accustomed to the fact that Franz Thelen is gone. Perhaps you should too.’