Babylon Berlin (57 page)

He held her tight so she couldn’t get away again.

‘Let me go,’ she hissed. ‘You’re hurting me!’

At least she hadn’t called him ‘inspector’. He almost smiled.

‘Now listen to me, dammit!’ he wheezed, completely out of breath. She struggled like a wild horse. A few people were staring at them. ‘You can’t just run away from me!’

‘Yes I can! You repulse me!’

‘If that’s your way of saying I’m the one who messed things up between us – thank you, but not necessary! I’m well aware of it. If I could turn back time, I would. My secrecy was…’

‘You sounded me out! You used me! Pretended to have feelings for me! Are you surprised that I don’t want to see you? Get away from me! It’s enough that I have to put up with you at the station.’

‘Just listen to me, that’s all I’m asking. I shouldn’t have treated you like that, I should have been more open with you. That’s exactly what I’d like to do now, be open with you! I want to tell you everything! Hit you with so many secrets it’ll make you dizzy.’

‘If you want me back and this is some cheap trick to talk me round, then forget it!’ Her eyes flashed at him.

‘I only want to talk to you. It’s not about us. It’s about me. I don’t know what to do anymore.’

‘Why do you think I’ll listen?’

‘I can only ask you to.’

‘Why me, of all people?’

‘You’re the only person in this city I trust. I’m in such a fucking mess. I…’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Gereon, but that’s how you look too: a fucking mess.’

He must have gazed at her in surprise. For a moment, she was serious. Then, gradually, the corners of her mouth turned upwards, her dimple appeared and he knew she would listen. How long he had waited to see that smile!

In the hotel room he had paced up and down like a caged tiger, feeling himself gripped by fatigue as the cocaine gradually wore off. Yet he found no peace. He still hadn’t got over his meeting with Bruno Wolter, his anger at Uncle, at his own impotence. He was at his wits’ end. What should he do? Look on from the sidelines as a murderer went about his work at the station as if nothing had happened? Smile as he played the model police officer? Or should he make an accusation against him?

The public prosecutor would demand evidence and Rath would have to incriminate himself. In the end Wolter would fix it so that they pinned the Jänicke murder on the self-confessed killer, Gereon Rath. A motive would be easy enough to find: the assistant detective had figured out that Inspector Rath had buried Saint Josef, and so Rath had killed him too. It wasn’t any more far-fetched than the truth. If anything it was more plausible.

Rath was at the end of his tether. He couldn’t fight the lone fight any longer. He needed help. There was only person he knew he could trust, and so he had pushed his pride to one side and driven out to Charly.

As they strolled through the castle grounds on the other side of the Spree, dusk was already falling and they could have been mistaken for a pair of lovers as they walked side by side.

He told her everything.

How he had investigated Kardakov under his own steam, how Wilczek had assaulted him and how he had died; how he had buried the corpse and fudged the subsequent investigation. And how he was therefore the only person who knew that Bruno Wolter had shot Stephan Jänicke.

He told her about the cocaine and the fatal shooting in Cologne, even if the latter had nothing to do with current events. He only omitted a single detail, his bizarre amorous escapade with Elisabeth Behnke.

Charly listened in silence, the smile on her face long since evaporated.

‘I think I need a coffee,’ she said when he had finished. ‘You look like you could use one too. Maybe even three.’

She was actually shocked. In truth, she had thought nothing more could surprise her but what Gereon had just told her had rendered her speechless.

They returned to Spenerstrasse in silence. The streetlights were shining already.

‘I was about to report you missing,’ Greta said, when they arrived back. Charlotte could tell just by looking at her friend how curious she was. She waved her away discreetly when Gereon wasn’t looking, and Greta disappeared back to her room.

‘Would you like something to eat?’ she asked, fiddling with the stove as she put the water on to boil. The way he was sitting there, like a soldier wearied by defeat, aroused her maternal instinct. He seemed like he could really use the coffee; he looked as if he was about to fall off his chair.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t eat a thing.’

‘I hope that’s not a dig at my culinary skills...’

‘…which I haven’t experienced yet.’

‘I could only have offered you a sandwich anyway.’

‘Coffee’s fine.’

The water was just boiling when there was a ring at the door.

She looked at the clock above the kitchen table. Three minutes to ten. Her date! In all the excitement she had completely forgotten.

Georg Siegert, a colleague of Greta’s. She had dragged him out here, said he could be someone for Charly. Charly had given in, but she could really do without him now. Besides, she no longer had any desire to go out.

She ran to the door, before Greta hit on the idea of opening it.

Herr Siegert was standing there, a triumphant smile on his face, proffering a bouquet of flowers.

‘Beautiful flowers for an even more beautiful lady,’ he said.

The line was exceptionally stupid, but Herr Siegert’s cause was already lost.

Charly took no notice of the plants in his hand. Orchids! She hated orchids!

‘How dare you!’ she said. ‘What impudence!’

Georg Siegert clearly wasn’t sure what it was he had dared to do.

‘Sorry?’

‘If there’s one thing I can’t stand, Herr Siegert, it’s people who aren’t on time!’

‘I don’t understand,’ the man said, allowing the hand with the bouquet to drop finally. ‘I thought we said ten?’

‘Then take a look at your watch! You’re two minutes
early
! And you rang even before that! Good evening.’

With that she slammed the door in his face.

The water for the coffee was still boiling when she returned, and Gereon Rath was still sitting at her kitchen table, but she should have been quicker with that coffee. His chin was slumped on his chest. He had fallen asleep.

When he awoke, his nose was filled with her scent.

‘Charly,’ he mumbled, embracing the pillow. His hands reached out for her but found nothing. He opened his eyes. The bedding smelt of her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

He sat up. Where was he? A cosy little room. Charly’s room! Rath stretched out. He hadn’t felt this good in days. Above all, he felt well rested, and he had slept in
her
bed! It didn’t matter that she hadn’t slept in it herself. It hadn’t stopped her flitting through his dreams, her and her scent. He pressed his nose against the pillow and breathed in deeply.

The memory of yesterday evening returned only gradually. He had told her everything, he could remember that much, that was no dream. She hadn’t sent him packing. She had even tried to make him coffee. That was the last thing he remembered, him sitting in the kitchen while she stood at the stove making coffee.

He stood up and went over to the window. The sun was shining. His things lay neatly folded on a chair. She had undressed him down to his underwear.

Slowly he opened the door and peered outside. There was no-one in the hall. He wondered if the bathroom was free. The door was slightly ajar. The coast was clear! He slipped out of the room.

Rath gazed into the bathroom mirror. He could do with a shave, but there was nothing he could use here. He splashed water on his face and washed his upper body, put a little toothpaste on his index finger, cleaned his teeth as best he could, and washed his mouth out with some Odol.

His reflection still didn’t inspire confidence, but at least he felt fresh.

He went into Charly’s room and got dressed. Using the comb from his jacket he slicked his still wet hair back, and went into the kitchen.

There was no-one here either, but the breakfast table was laid. The clock showed half past nine. He hadn’t slept this late for a long time.

He wondered where she could have gone. And her friend, Greta. Then it dawned on him.

Of course! The Castle! Charly worked almost every Sunday.

He put some water on to boil and poured the coffee beans into the grinder on the wall. He wanted to have a coffee and then drive back to the hotel to freshen up. The Opel must still be parked outside. It was time to take it back to the station. He would have to think up a story about why he had kept the vehicle overnight, but that would be easy enough. Some observation or other, pursuit of a suspect… police duty was full of imponderables.

He heard a key turning in the door and, a moment later, Charly poked her head round the corner.

‘Sleep well?’ she asked, waving a paper bag. ‘I got us a few bread rolls.’

‘Don’t you have to work?’

‘I asked Böhm if I could use up a few hours of overtime. He said yes.’ She sat at the table and opened the bag of bread rolls. ‘But
you
ought to put in an appearance at the Castle. Gennat’s probably been asking for you already.’

‘That’ll please old Böhm, won’t it? My getting in trouble?’ Rath poured the boiling water into the filter.

‘I think you two should talk things out. It’d be better if you worked together, instead of trying to do the dirty on each other.’

He placed the coffee pot on the table and sat down beside her. ‘Maybe I should tell him what I told you yesterday. If we’re going to have a heart-to-heart.’

His tone was plainly sarcastic, but Charly took no notice.

‘Why not?’ she asked.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Böhm is perhaps the wrong person, but you should tell someone at the station, perhaps Gennat.’

‘
The Full Ernst?
You mean I should buddy up with Buddha?’

‘Someone that you can trust at least. The best thing would be to go straight to Zörgiebel. People say you’re on good terms with him.’

‘In the canteen.’

‘I’m serious, Gereon! Wipe the slate. If you want to look yourself in the mirror again without getting the creeps, it’s your only chance.’

‘Maybe a shave would be enough.’

‘I mean it. If you want Bruno Wolter to get the punishment he deserves, if you want all these dirty deals to stop, if you want justice, then you have to tell the whole truth. There’s no other way. Or do you want to spend the rest of your life covering for a murderer?’

‘I barely have any proof. And I’ve broken so many rules in the last few days – more than some people manage in a career. It doesn’t matter who I tell, my career with the police will be over.’

‘That’s a possibility.’ She said it evenly. ‘They’ll probably throw you out for good. You have to take that into account.’

‘Thanks for the tip! But I’m a cop, I can’t do anything else.’

‘Then become a private detective.’

‘Spy on unfaithful wives? Act as a bodyguard for a UFA film star? Thanks, but no thanks!’

‘Sometimes life doesn’t give you any other choice.’

‘Christ, Charly! What the hell have I gone and done! If I had just told you everything straightaway, things would never have got this far.’

‘If, would; they’re words I don’t like. It is how it is. Look the facts in the eye. What’s done is done.’

‘That sounds pretty harsh.’

‘Life is harsh, Inspector.’

‘Are you always such a fatalist? What about us? What’s done is done – does that still apply?’

She hesitated a moment before answering.

‘I haven’t cried over a man since I was seventeen,’ she said. ‘And I promised myself that it wouldn’t happen again.’ She surveyed him with that cold gaze he so dreaded. ‘I didn’t keep my promise, Gereon. I cried over you, you bastard! Do you think I want to put myself through that again?’

He didn’t have to explain to Gennat what he had been up to. It was utter bedlam at the Castle.

They had found the grave, and not just the one Alexej Kardakov had been in for weeks before it was dug up in the middle of the Spandau Forest. They had come upon a real cemetery. Under a carpet of yellowing pine needles, the cops had also found a missing Soviet embassy employee named Vadim Troschin, as well as two German Red Front fighters, whom the police had assumed had gone underground in the wake of the RFB ban.

Underground was about right, joked Henning, who was working on the two men’s files. They had actually been in police custody during the May disturbances but had obviously messed with the wrong people on release.

That Selenskij and Fallin had dug the graves was almost certain: the tyre tracks ED had found in Spandau Forest matched a stolen DKW steam car they had taken in the day before at Fallin’s goods shed. Kronberg’s people had even found the odd pine needle in its tread. Rath would have bet anything the same DKW had spent some time parked outside the cemetery in Greifswalder Strasse three days ago.

Slowly but surely a picture was emerging. Zörgiebel would be pleased. They had the killers, and Gereon Rath had played his part in catching them. They had resolved most of the questions. Now only one remained. Why had the two men died an unnatural death themselves?

Rath had taken the forensics report back to his office to check for parallels in the Fallin and Selenskij cases. At least that was what he had told Gennat although, in truth, it was the last thing on his mind right now. He didn’t care who had the two Russians on their conscience. The main thing was that they had the right people, and for the time being that would be enough, even for the commissioner. Certainly for the newspaper readers, two brutal thugs had got their just deserts.

So why not forget the whole thing with Wolter and, after a shaky start, get back to the day-to-day business of being in A Division, wait for his opportunity and make a career for himself? Why not?

Because he couldn’t.

Charly’s words were still echoing in his mind.
If you want to look yourself in
the mirror again…