Babylon Berlin (61 page)

‘Put your hands in the air,’ Rath called out to the
Stahlhelmers
. ‘But put your weapons down first.’

The young men obeyed immediately and one by one the handcuffs clicked. Rath issued the operation commander with instructions. The men waiting outside in the vans were to be arrested too. Only Marlow’s people were spared. There was no reason to take them to the station. None had previous convictions and they could provide firearms licences for their guns. Their boss, the owner of an imports business, had even helped police lay the trap by placing his property at their disposal.

Marlow went over to Rath.

‘Bloody hell! Turned out just the way you pictured it, no?’

Rath shook his head in silence. He thought of Zörgiebel’s words:
it’ll be alright
.

How wrong he had been.

Rath still wasn’t sure how he was going to tell the commissioner. They had wanted to punish Bruno Wolter and take him out of circulation. And they had done so, at least after a fashion.

‘How are we supposed to get hold of the gold now?’ Marlow asked. It sounded almost reproachful. ‘Do you think the DCI made a copy of his map?’

Rath shrugged his shoulders.

‘No idea, and to tell the truth I couldn’t care less.’

He left Marlow where he was and went over to the goods shed, from which Reinhold Gräf emerged, legs still wobbly, camera on his shoulders.

‘I hope you didn’t photograph the finale,’ he said to the pale man.

‘Too busy being sick,’ said Gräf. Rath offered him an Overstolz and this time the assistant detective helped himself.

The men smoked in silence, examining the faulty tank wagon. Liang, still wearing work gloves, took a closer look at Schäffner’s bullet holes. He used a knife to pick a bullet out of the tank wall. His face gave nothing away. At all events he soon interrupted his work to whisper something in Marlow’s ear. Dr M.’s expression brightened again. He went over to Rath and Gräf.

‘Inspector, you assured me this operation would be carried out discreetly. I trust you’ll be true to your word.’

‘Don’t worry. The press won’t get wind of anything that happened here.’

‘Your Buddha isn’t about to move in and turn my place upside down?’

‘There’ll be no CID investigation. Officially, nothing happened here.’

‘There were loads of witnesses.’

‘The officers involved can be relied on.’

‘My people too. Then I hope you have the
Stahlhelmers
under control. They saw quite a bit too.’

‘They won’t say anything.’

‘Good. Then we should start tidying up. It’s about time normal business was resumed.’

Rath nodded.

Marlow gave the Chinese man a sign. Liang connected the tank wagons, climbed back into the locomotive and the train moved off slowly, leaving as it had arrived: like a phantom.

35

The
Nasse Dreieck
–
Wet Triangle –
lived up to its name. The lounge was actually triangular, just like the whole building, squeezed as it was between two tenement houses, and it was so small that one was seldom dry for very long. The pub had its advantages: the prices were decent, and the modest dimensions meant there wasn’t room for fights. If push came to shove it was close enough to Rath’s flat for him to crawl home.

There were only four tables in the public bar. Rath didn’t mind. He usually sat at the counter anyway. Just like now in fact.

‘Schorsch, another glass of beer and a short for both of us!’

‘So, two beers, and two shorts.’

‘Yup.’

‘Nothing for me?’

‘Then make it three.’

Three or four weeks had gone by since the shoot-out at
Ostbahnhof
. It was mid-June, and the summer had the city firmly in its grip. In the
Nasse Dreieck
, it was pleasantly cool. The barman placed two beers and two schnapps on the counter.

Rath raised his schnapps glass. ‘Cheers, Detective! To your promotion!’

‘Fuck the promotion,’ Reinhold Gräf said dismissively. The whole station was talking about it, a detective at twenty-three! During a moratorium on promotions at that! The subject was clearly making him uncomfortable. ‘Let’s drink to life,’ he said.

They downed the strong schnapps. In a strange way the incident at
Ostbahnhof
had bound them together, even if they never spoke of it. To compensate they met up with one another and drank, mostly in the
Nasse Dreieck.

‘Have you heard? Buddha wants to finally assign the Selenskij/Fallin file to the wet fish,’ Rath said.

Gräf drank his beer in silence. ‘Charly was grilling me again today,’ he said after a while.

‘Does she still want to know why you’re meeting up with me?’

Gräf nodded.

‘What did you tell her?’

Gräf grinned. ‘The same as always. That it’s your irresistible eyes.’

Rath laughed, even if he didn’t really feel like it when his thoughts turned to Charly. After the botched operation at
Ostbahnhof
, their relationship had grown noticeably cooler again. Too many things appeared strange to her. No wonder. She must have noticed the inconsistencies in the story the commissioner was pedalling about the operation. Meanwhile Gereon Rath was saying nothing, likewise Detective Gräf.

They often talked about Charly. It was their way of talking about what happened at
Ostbahnhof
, and about their silence. Zörgiebel knew how to buy silence. The newly appointed Detective Gräf felt uncomfortable in his own skin. Rath no less so – and he hadn’t even been promoted.

But then how many police officers felt comfortable in their own skin?

It was late by the time the
Nasse Dreieck
closed, and the bricks and asphalt still reflected the heat of the day. Rath just needed to go across Wassertorplatz to be home. He didn’t even feel that drunk, despite the bill in the
Nasse Dreieck
being rather sizeable again. When he stepped into the rear courtyard on Luisenufer, all the lights were already out. People went to bed early round here. There were no curtains on the windows of the caretaker’s flat. The Schäffners had moved out. The caretaker Hermann Schäffner, unable to work due to the injuries sustained to his hand, had been awarded a generous disability pension by the Prussian state. Meanwhile Lennartz, the new caretaker, was still renovating.

The police seal on the attic flat in the rear building had long since been removed, but the place still hadn’t been rented out, since Frau Steinrück alias Sorokina had paid half a year in advance. One evening Rath had seen Ilja Tretschkov hurrying across the yard. He dashed out of his flat and tried to catch up with the Russian, but by the time he made it outside Tretschkov had disappeared.

That was a week or two ago now. Rath couldn’t help thinking back to it as he opened his front door and heard a noise upstairs. It couldn’t be the Liebigs. The communists went to bed early. Rath didn’t think long before quietly ascending the steps.

He had heard right. There was someone in the attic flat.

There was light coming into the stairwell through the crack in the door. He heard quiet steps. Had Tretschkov come to clean again? It was already past midnight.

Rath decided to knock.

It took some time, but at last the door opened slightly and he found himself looking into the eyes of a beautiful woman.

Svetlana Sorokina. She had dyed her hair black.

‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘I saw the lights were on and…’

‘Well?’

‘We haven’t met.’ He stretched a hand through the door. ‘Lennartz, Peter Lennartz. I’m the new caretaker.’

‘Ingeborg Steinrück.’

‘I’d like to speak to you a moment, Fräulein Steinrück.’

‘At this hour?’

‘I urgently need a few signatures. You were never at home when…’

‘I was away.’

She seemed suspicious, but opened the door. Rath went inside. The flat hadn’t changed since his previous visit.

‘So, Herr Lennartz, if you could show me the papers I need to sign, we can get this over with. I’m tired.’

In the electric light Rath could see how beautiful she was. It almost knocked him off his feet.

‘I lied to you,’ he said. ‘My name isn’t Lennartz, just as yours isn’t Steinrück. I’m Gereon Rath and I work for the CID, Countess Sorokina.’

‘I know your name,’ she said harshly. ‘You’re the policeman who issued a warrant for me! What do you want? To arrest me?’

‘To talk to you. I…’

Suddenly he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to betray you,’ he said. ‘Now put that thing away.’

‘Why should I believe you?’

‘Because I’ve helped you many times already.’

‘Not that I’m aware of. Put your hands in the air, and don’t try anything. I’m a proficient markswoman.’

Rath obeyed. ‘I found your hiding place in
Delphi
and kept quiet. I know it was your hairdryer that ended up in Selenskij’s bathtub, and I also know you were in Yorckstrasse when Nikita Fallin fell from the fourth floor. Yet I haven’t put you on the list of murder suspects.’

‘Am I supposed to be grateful for that?’

‘It would be enough if you stopped waving that pistol in front of my face.’

‘I don’t owe you anything,’ she said. ‘I didn’t kill those two men. Even if they deserved it. I wanted to kill them, I admit, but you can’t be punished for intent alone.’

‘No,’ Rath said. He tried hard not to show his surprise. Was she telling the truth? ‘Then why were you at Yorckstrasse when Fallin died? It was you who lured him into the trap.’

‘I was waiting for him a floor higher, that much is true. I wanted to shoot him, just like I wanted to shoot Selenskij. But when I arrived at the house here, the police were already outside the door. I didn’t find out he was dead until a day later.’

‘So how did your hairdryer end up in the bathtub?’

‘I didn’t throw it in, anyway.’

‘And you didn’t cause Fallin’s fall either?’

‘When I called him, he was leaning over the banister. I wanted to pull the trigger, but then he fell, and I ran downstairs after him. I swear I’d have shot him, if he had still been alive, but there was a man crouching beside him who said Fallin was dead.’

‘My colleague.’

‘At any rate, I got away. I had a pistol in my handbag after all.’

Rath considered for a moment. There was someone else who might be interested in seeing the two Russians dead: Bruno Wolter. The pair had become a security risk and he must have disposed of them, before attempting to lay the blame at the Countess’s door.

He nodded. ‘Sounds plausible to me. In the meantime the dust appears to have settled on the matter. Homicide have been looking into other cases for quite some time.’

‘So why are you paying me a visit?’

‘You haven’t been here for a long time. I’m your neighbour.’

The astonishment suited her.

‘Believe me, I’m not trying to trick you. The case is closed. Even the police know Fallin and Selenskij got what they deserved. Can I lower my hands? My arms are beginning to hurt.’

She nodded. Nevertheless, a tiny bit of suspicion remained in her eyes. She kept hold of the pistol.

‘I’ve just made some tea,’ she said. ‘Would you like a cup?’

‘Yes, but no rum please.’

A short time later they were sitting at her small kitchen table drinking tea. She had to get a second chair from the bedroom.

‘You’re the only person who knows what happened with the gold,’ Rath said. ‘Did it ever leave the Soviet Union? Or did the
Red Fortress
get it after all?’

‘You’re very inquisitive.’

‘Occupational hazard, but the question is private in nature.’

‘The
Red Fortress
doesn’t exist anymore,’ she said. ‘The organisation still calling itself that doesn’t merit the name.’

‘What about the gold?’

‘In its rightful place.’

‘Marlow found the hiding place, didn’t he? Even without the map. And he gave you your share?’

‘The gold has long since been sold. Everyone got what they were entitled to.’

‘Marlow most of all.’ Rath nodded. ‘So the deal has already taken place. Then can you tell me how you smuggled it?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Because I don’t understand. I assume it was in the tank wagons.’

‘Correct. Only the outer wall of the tanks was steel. On the inside they consisted of a thick layer of gold.’

‘How did it get there? The cars didn’t come from Russia, they came from East Prussia.’

‘They were built in Russia though.’

‘Sorry?’

‘My family didn’t exploit serfs, but was involved in industry. That’s where the Sorokins’s fortune comes from. In St Petersburg we owned a rail wagon factory. By the time the war began, my father had already invested a large percentage of his assets in gold. When the Bolsheviks staged their coup, he had it melted. After that a whole series of tank wagons were built, whose actual worth only very few people knew about.’

‘But they weren’t built to the Russian track gauge.’

‘No. That way the Bolsheviks wouldn’t get it into their heads to confiscate them for their own purposes. Father wanted to get them out of the country, there had been orders placed for all of them from abroad, from family friends.’

‘One of whom was from East Prussia.’

‘Correct.’

‘So the gold has been in Germany for years?’

‘No. During the Civil War normal trade was impossible. Then the communists started making trouble, so it took almost ten years before the wagons were finally allowed to cross the border. Foreign capital makes even the Bolsheviks weak.’

‘The buyers were
Vereinigte Ölmühle Insterburg
?’

‘The company belongs to a good friend. He was in on it.’

‘So why didn’t he just send the wagons to you in Berlin?’

‘Someone would have noticed. Too many people knew about the gold. Some people knew who I was and were waiting for me to make a move.’

‘What about the rest of your family?’

‘No longer alive.’

‘So everyone was circling around you like vultures?’