Babylon Berlin (29 page)

Of course, Rath thought, Lanke has spied another chance. If Zörgiebel had intimated that he was thinking of pulling a man out of E and transferring him to A, then Lanke would only consent to it if he could bring in a replacement. A replacement from the Criminal Police Office in Köpenick. Perhaps Bruno feared they were going to set Lanke Junior up with a job after all? Rath kept walking, lost in thought, until Bruno finally broke the silence.

‘Have you already applied to A Division?’ he asked.

‘Pardon me?’ Could the man read minds?

‘Rumour has it there’ll be a position free there soon, since our colleague Roeder prefers to spread word of his heroic deeds in book form, rather than doing Gennat’s dirty work.’

‘Roeder wants out?’ Rath asked, and his surprise was genuine. Erwin Roeder was notorious throughout the whole Castle for his vanity, and had written a number of books about his uniformly heroic assignments as a detective inspector, causing more mirth than admiration amongst his colleagues. Especially as Roeder had, like a gimcrack Sherlock Holmes, allowed himself to be photographed in the most idiotic of disguises. He suffered the consequences of his authorhood, which had never been viewed favourably by top brass. Perhaps Zörgiebel and Weiß had presented him with a choice. As much as the commissioner and his deputy valued cooperation with the press, nothing angered them more than a detective inspector who was better known to the public than they were. Moreover, it was said that Roeder had certain anti-Semitic leanings, and since the never-ending
Isidore
-attacks in the
Angriff
the deputy commissioner reacted allergically to such things.

Bruno wouldn’t let go: ‘So, have you applied?’

‘No,’ Rath could say with a clear conscience.

‘You’re not already working for A on the side?’

‘What is this? An interrogation?’ Rath halted and shone his flashlight in Wolter’s face. His mind was working feverishly. What could Bruno know? Had he seen something when visiting Nürnberger Strasse? Had Elisabeth Behnke mentioned something about Kardakov’s estate? Or was it Böhm who had spread the equivalent rumour? On the other hand, all that was yesterday’s news. He didn’t need
Aquarius
anymore. The nightmare on Friday had put an end to all his unauthorised inquiries with one fell swoop. In truth they had been ill-fated from the start. No more secrets, in constant fear of being caught, of breaching the regulations and exceeding his authority. All that was over. Even if it rankled to give up the case, especially now he had taken a big step towards its resolution.

‘If this was an interrogation, we’d be shining that light in your face, not mine,’ said Wolter and blinked. He seemed to be looking Rath directly in the eye, even though there was no way he could see him in the dark, blinded as he was by the flashlight.

‘I’m just wondering how you could possibly think that I’m working for A Division? About two weeks ago I received a photo, just like every other detective at the Castle, and that was it. If that’s what you call working on the side, then I hereby confess, but I thought we were through with this a long time ago.’

‘You’re right,’ Bruno said. ‘It’s already caused one pointless argument, let’s not go repeating it.’

‘No, let’s not.’ Rath let the beam fall back on the floor, and they continued walking. ‘You know I’d like to work in Homicide and, sooner or later, I’m going to take my chance. My cards are on the table.’

They reached the rear courtyard on Motzstrasse and took their leave from the uniformed officer at the main entrance to
Pille.
Wolter stood for a moment under the dark arch of the courtyard entrance before they emerged back onto the street. He placed a hand on Rath’s shoulder.

‘Let’s not kid ourselves,’ he said. ‘Operation Nighthawk will be our last joint action for Vice for the time being. If I understood Lanke’s call correctly, then you’ll be temporarily transferred to Homicide next week.’

Rath couldn’t make out his eyes in the shadow.

‘If that was the case, I ought to have heard about it a long time ago. No-one’s informed me.’

‘Informed you? Why, that’s not strictly necessary.’ Wolter laughed and imitated a rasping parade ground tone. ‘You are to do what your superiors tell you, understood?’

‘Change division in the middle of our investigation? What rubbish.’

‘Rubbish?’ Uncle shrugged his shoulders. ‘You might just be right, but that’s never stopped anyone at the Castle before. If Gennat needs people, he gets them.’

The clock in the large conference room showed half past twelve, and inside the din was on a par with that of the waiting room at
Anhalter Bahnhof
. The room was so brightly lit that the dark night outside vanished into oblivion. Everything had been pushed up against the wall – only eight tables stood neatly in a row, each one occupied by two detectives, one from I Division, the
Erkennungsdienst
, or identification service, usually known simply as ED, and one from E Division, under whose overall control the operation had been carried out.

Those waiting stood in long lines, guarded by a number of officers, revellers from the nine illegal cellar bars the police had visited in the last few hours. Men still in their waiter’s aprons stood next to gigolos in elegant evening dress, seedy types in conspicuously expensive suits next to serious men who, to judge by their appearance, must have been director generals or privy councillors. The lines in front of the two tables occupied by officers from G Division, the female CID, were even more colourful. Young stood next to old, black next to white; some girls looked so young they must have still been minors. In one row there were a number of bored-looking women wearing nothing apart from Prussian military jackets from the previous two centuries. That had to be the troop from
Pegasus.
Many were scantily dressed and had only been able to throw on something makeshift, sometimes little more than a man’s overcoat – and not always with the agreement of the owner. There were howls of protest when the victim discovered his apparel on the body of the woman with whom he had lain only hours before.

Rath looked at the spectacle. They had only just arrived at the Castle. Bruno and the rookie were still questioning Johnny, the doorman they had caught napping outside
Pille.
They wanted to make sure they questioned him today, while he was ripe. Rath knew the man would talk. Above all, when he learned that he wouldn’t be able to join his mates in the cell otherwise. If he didn’t appear there, he would seem more suspicious than everyone else put together.

The cells were filling up gradually. Most of their haul was still in the conference room. What seemed like chaos was actually based on a system. When someone reached the front, they were subjected to the same procedure of papers, body search and a few questions. Those who could prove they were respectable citizens with no previous record, those who weren’t in possession of illegal items such as narcotics, pornographic images or weapons, were allowed to return home, provided they hadn’t aroused suspicion in any other way. Others were transferred to the uniformed officers outside in the corridor, then taken first to the ED photographer and subsequently to a cell in the Castle.

The police machinery was running like clockwork. Here in the conference room they didn’t really have a great deal more to do, apart from put in an appearance. That was a point of honour. They were responsible for Operation Nighthawk, which had bestowed a night shift upon the officers in the room, at the weekend at that.

Rath strolled aimlessly through the ranks. It couldn’t hurt to keep his eyes peeled, to gather first impressions and think about how to tackle the interrogations tomorrow. They had brought in over five hundred people today, of which, once their details had been noted, roughly a sixth would spend the rest of the night in custody. Eighty to ninety, and they would all have to be interrogated.

‘Young man! What a surprise. See what happens to the likes of us when we’re not careful! I won’t be going to
Pegasus
in a hurry again, I’ll tell you that!’

Rath turned round. Oppenberg, the movie producer from
Venuskeller
, was beaming at him. The man who had given him cocaine. The raid hadn’t been able to spoil his mood, perhaps he was accustomed to such things.

Oppenberg adopted a confidential tone. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘The cops will let us off. The main thing is you’ve got your papers, and no snow in your pocket.’

Rath didn’t have time to answer. The man was just as talkative as the first time they had met.

‘Where did they pick you up? Were you back in
Venuskeller
? You disappeared so suddenly the other day, Vivian rather missed you. But, never mind, we still had our fun!’

He nudged Rath in the side as he gazed around. Vivian was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she had got away from the cops. Rath certainly wouldn’t have put it past her.

One of the guards pushed his way to the front.

‘Quiet, my friend,’ he said, tapping Oppenberg roughly on the shoulder with his truncheon. ‘Time to leave the detective inspector in peace!’

The film producer looked first at the cop and then at Rath in surprise. For a moment their eyes met, only for Rath to turn his gaze on the uniformed officer.

‘It’s OK, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘This man was drawing my attention to something important.’

Before Rath could feel any more uncomfortable, a loud cry distracted everyone’s attention. All heads turned in one direction. At the other end of the room a couple of guards had had to intervene, as two men who obviously recognised each other tried to lay into one another. What they were accusing each other of was unclear, but both their faces were bright red. Pimps, Rath assumed, and took advantage of the commotion to move discreetly away from Oppenberg. The officers separated the pair of squabblers and took them outside. Anyone behaving like that had clearly earned a night in the cells, no further inquiry was needed.

The encounter with Oppenberg reminded Rath of the previous evening again, a night he would like to erase not only from his memory but from his life in general. Bruno appeared next to him, as if out of nowhere.

‘A lot going on here, isn’t there?’

Rath nodded. ‘Not as dull as Zörgiebel’s meetings.’

‘Finally a bit of life in the place.’

‘Has our man started talking?’

‘He’s a little more stubborn than I thought,’ Bruno said. ‘Although I’ve made it clear what’s in store for him. Blondie’s in there now. Let’s see who can keep quiet for longest.’

Rath recognised the next familiar face in due course. In fact, there were two of them, the muscle-bound Russians from
Kakadu.
The ones that had unintentionally put him onto
Café Berlin
and thus onto Kardakov’s trail. Even while waiting to be photographed and fingerprinted, they seemed to be inseparable, Scar Face and his burly friend. Rath had assumed he’d run into them again in
Kakadu
, rather than the Castle of all places. It was Scar Face’s turn now, he placed his yellow ID on the table, reminding Rath of the papers he had confiscated from the cocaine dealer in
Café Berlin.
It was about time he handed them over to lost property.

Thinking back to that evening, his curiosity was pricked once more. These two Russians had threatened him in no uncertain terms. Two guard dogs that were protecting their countryman from the German police? At any rate, they were closer to Kardakov than anyone else he’d dealt with. Perhaps they all belonged to this ominous-sounding secret political society. As he made his way with Bruno towards one of the female lines, he carefully avoided direct eye contact. They mustn’t recognise him here. Time and time again he looked over in their direction out of the corner of his eye while Wolter spoke to a female inspector from G Division, and soon realised that he didn’t have to go to so much trouble – because the Russians, for their part, were looking away too, looking away a little too conspicuously, in fact, for them not to have seen him. All the better, Rath thought, the pair of them didn’t seem to be too crazy about clashing with him again.

The ED officer meticulously checked Scar Face’s passport, added his particulars to the list and leafed through his book of mug shots, while a colleague from Vice patted down his pockets and frisked him thoroughly from top to bottom. He shook his head when he was finished. Negative. The ED man, however, seemed to have found something in the file and was making a longer note. The Russian was led away. His friend was dealt with likewise. Both accepted their fate with stoic composure. A night behind bars didn’t seem to hold any terrors for them.

Uncle was on first-name terms with the Vice officer. Rath had only met him briefly. While Wolter was speaking to their colleague, Rath gazed discreetly over the ED officer’s shoulder. A scrawl. The two names on the list weren’t so easy to decipher.
Nikita I. Fallin
, Rath thought he could read. That had to be Scar Face. Underneath was a name that he read as
Vitali P. Selenskij
or
Gelenskij
. Both of them had been picked up in
Bar Noir
, a little place near Winterfeldplatz. The raid had run parallel to the one in
Pille.
Rath couldn’t read the notes in the comments column, nor the addresses. Never mind, he thought, and turned away. Bruno seemed surprised by his curiosity.

Rath allowed his gaze to wander over the confusion in the conference room once more. All he needed now was to see Kardakov in one of the lines. Anything was possible; sometimes fate had a strange sense of humour. But instead of the missing Russian, he spied another old acquaintance. The man was strolling calmly through the ranks, arms folded behind his back. In his evening dress he could scarcely be distinguished from the more sartorially elegant of the revellers, it was only his keen vulpine features and hunched gait that marked him out, a gait that had earned the man the nickname
Crooked Lanke
. No doubt about it, Superintendent Werner Lanke, head of E Division, was inspecting the parade in person, and had obviously interrupted his weekend festivities to do so.