The Defeated Aristocrat (29 page)

Manfred dropped his potatoes in the storeroom and went into the office.

‘Dorothea,’ Ralf called to a girl who was scrubbing carrots, ‘have you seen Cherie?’

‘Not since yesterday, sir.’

‘Run up to her room and tell her I want to see her right away.’

The girl dried her hands on her apron and left the kitchen.

Ralf turned to the chef. ‘Fritz, you know everything that goes on around here. What can you tell us about, Cherie?’

‘She’s quiet and she does her work.’

‘Anything else?’

‘She doesn’t like nuns. In fact, sir, I’d go as far as to say she’s terrified of them.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The Green Stork, Wasser Strasse, Konigsberg, Morning of Sunday January 12th 1919

‘What makes you say that?’ Wolf asked Fritz.

‘Every night the sisters come to the back door looking for leftover food to distribute to the homeless. I’ve notice Cherie runs the moment she sees Sister Ignatius. She’s a large middle-aged woman, plain even for a nun. Cherie doesn’t always manage to get away, and when she doesn’t, we know we’re going to have to do without Cherie for half an hour. That nun can talk faster and longer than any auctioneer.’

‘What does she talk to Cherie about?’

‘I don’t know because she takes Cherie around the corner where they can’t be overheard. But I do know whatever it is, Cherie doesn’t like it.’

‘She argues with them?’ Ralf suggested.

‘Cherie would go like a lamb to the slaughter, sir. She hasn’t it in her to fight or argue with anyone. When she can’t get away from Sister Ignatius she hangs her head and nods agreement with whatever the nun says.’

Dorothea returned and bobbed a curtsy to Ralf. ‘Cherie’s not in the Stork, sir. I’ve looked everywhere.’

‘The old stables? I’ve seen her in there talking to the women and children.’

‘That was the first place I went, sir.’

‘Are her things still in her room?’

‘Such as they are, sir. She hasn’t much beyond a change of clothes, bar of soap, toothbrush, Bible, crucifix, and hairbrush.’

‘Where’s her room?’ Wolf was already at the door.

‘Room 12. Next door to me in 11. I’ll take you up.’ Dorothea lowered her eyelashes flirtatiously.

‘Back to work, Dorothea. I’ll show you, Wolf.’ Ralf led the way back to his office. Manfred was sitting in the visitor’s chair watching Emil, who was still comatose on the floor. Manfred had placed a folded towel beneath Emil’s head and covered him with a blanket.

‘Nice of you to make him comfortable, Manfred.’ Ralf took a set of master keys from a drawer and left by a door Wolf hadn’t noticed. It was covered with the same wood panelling as the wall and opened into a windowless back hall dominated by a carved turret staircase.

‘That leads to the family apartments.’ Ralf pointed up before opening another door disguised as panelling to reveal a narrow unvarnished wooden staircase.

‘Old servants’ quarters?’ Wolf asked when they’d climbed to the fifth floor and finally reached the attics.

‘Old and present servants’ quarters. This building has been an inn for centuries.’ Ralf looked down a long dark corridor punctured by doors and lit by two narrow skylights. ‘Anyone in?’ he shouted.

A door opened halfway down and a tousled dark head emerged. Wolf recognised Adele.

‘I’m looking for Cherie,’ Ralf explained.

‘Sunday is her day off, sir. She always goes out early.’

‘Do you know where?’

Adele left her room and posed provocatively below one of the skylights in a transparent muslin nightgown. Wolf couldn’t help but notice she was wearing very little beneath it.

‘Could be church. I’ve seen Cherie with a rosary and heard her reciting Hail Marys at bedtime so she must be Catholic.’ Adele winked at Wolf. ‘It’s lonely in my bed, sir and I’ve finished my early morning shift. I don’t have to work again until six tonight.’

The word bed conjured images of Johanna’s crisp linen sheets and pristine plumped pillows. Wolf realised how tired he was. ‘Thank you, but I need my own bed. I didn’t see one last night.’

‘All the more reason to keep me company now, sir.’

‘You’re very kind but all I need is sleep.’

‘Don’t forget to visit me when you’re feeling more lively, sir.’ Adele disappeared back into her room.

Wolf scribbled a telephone number in his notebook, tore out the page and handed it to Ralf. ‘That’s my brother’s number in Gebaur Strasse. Telephone the moment Emil comes round or Cherie returns.’

‘If you’re as exhausted as you look, you could stretch out on the sofa in my quarters,’ Ralf offered.

‘Thank you, but I have a son waiting to spend the day with me.’

‘Poor son. He’s in for a tedious time. You look as lively as a spent shell.’

‘I remember seeing you after you’d gone without sleep for forty-eight hours.’

‘It would appear civilian life is being no kinder to you than the army, Wolf. You’ll be here tonight?’

‘Unless I’m needed elsewhere.’

‘Like where?’

Wolf shrugged.

‘You’re expecting another murder?’

‘That’s a question for the killer.’

Konigsberg, Morning of Sunday January 12th 1919

Wolf left the Green Stork. He checked the time before remembering it was Sunday. Before the war trams had run less frequently on Sundays except for those that serviced the routes to the city’s various churches. Knowing he’d have a better chance of picking up an eastbound tram in the old town, he headed north. When he entered the Altstadt Lang he saw an old man paying off a private hire carriage. Succumbing to a temptation that ignored his present unemployment, he hailed the driver and asked him to take him to Gebaur Strasse.

The boy, who looked too young to be driving a hire carriage, beamed at the prospect of a decent fare. Wolf was climbing in when he recalled the old Propsteikirche or ‘provost Catholic church’. It was the closest Catholic Church to the Green Stork and no more than a five-minute drive away. He asked the boy to turn around and take him to the other end of Kirche Strasse.

As Wolf had hoped, the congregation was leaving the church. A priest who looked younger than him and two altar boys shivered in thin robes as they stood outside the old stone building, shaking worshippers’ hands as they left the building.

There was no sign of Father Mathias and Wolf assumed the senior priest was officiating at services in the newer and grander Catholic Church of the Holy Family in the Haberberg District, south of the city. He opened the window and called up to the driver.

‘Turn around and pull up where I can see the people as they walk towards the old town.’

The boy stopped outside the new market. Wolf sat with his back to the front of the carriage and leaned forward. Less than five minutes later he saw the girl leave the church. She was dressed in a plain black woollen coat, thick knitted woollen gloves, and a woollen shawl that she’d used to cover her hair and most of her face. Her clothes were worn, but clean, brushed and pressed. The impression was of someone clinging desperately to the trappings of respectability.

Wolf watched her cross the road. A uniformed police officer was walking close behind her, dogging her steps.

The Green Stork, Wasser Strasse, Konigsberg, Morning of Sunday January 12th 1919

Ralf was talking to the chef in the kitchen when he heard raised voices in the bar, followed by his barman shouting ‘Police.’

Ralf smiled. ‘My father has you staff well trained.’

‘That’s Kriminalrat Dorfman’s voice,’ the chef said, recognising an answering shout. ‘He’s not as forgiving as Kriminaldirektor Hafen. Life would be simpler for us hard-working citizens if the powers in the Rathaus had confirmed Georg Hafen as Kriminalrat instead of demoting him to Kriminaldirektor and appointing Dorfman chief of police.’

‘Delay the kriminalrat as long as you can.’ Ralf locked his office door behind him. Manfred was dozing in the chair, Emil still cuffed and comatose at his feet.

Ralf shook Manfred awake, went to the wall at the side of his desk and pressed a concealed button in the panelling. It swung open to reveal a two-metre square windowless cell that held a safe, military-style travelling cot, lamp, and chair. Ralf unlocked the handcuffs from Emil’s wrist and took his shoulders. Manfred his feet. They carried him to the cot. Ralf fastened the handcuffs to one of the metal legs and tossed Manfred the key.

‘Stay with him and don’t let him make a sound.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Ralf closed the panel. It wasn’t the first time Manfred had been in the cell. He knew how to get out if he had to. Ralf’s father had employed Manfred as security muscle for over ten years to keep the restaurant trouble-free during opening hours and to guard the proceeds of his ‘special’ deals in the safe when the place was closed.

There was loud hammering on the office door. The knob turned but the lock held.

‘Police.’

‘One minute.’ Ralf opened a drawer and took out a small sack of low denomination coins he’d been keeping for the bar float. He tipped it on the desk, and opened out a ledger next to the pile. Only then did he open the door.

‘Kriminalrat Dorfman,’ Ralf feigned surprise. ‘How can I help you?’

Dorfman stalked in. ‘I’m looking for the men who met here this morning for the military reunion breakfast.’

‘They’ve all left.’

‘Where did they go?’

‘I’ve no idea, Kriminaldirektor.’

‘Georg Hafen was with them?’

‘For some of the time,’ Ralf conceded.

‘You allowed him to organise a meeting on your premises?’

‘He visited yesterday and told me he was concerned about the murders of returning officers from the regiment I served in. As am I. He wanted to warn my old comrades to be on their guard. So I allowed him to use my premises. But as you see, there is no one here now, but me.’

‘Wolf Mau?’

‘Left after breakfast.’

‘With Georg Hafen?’

‘I really couldn’t tell you, Kriminalrat. There was an emergency in the kitchen. I said goodbye to my guests and went to attend to it. When I returned they’d gone.’

Dorfman went to the door and faced the officers who’d accompanied him.

‘Search this building, four of you to a floor. Open every door, every cupboard. Look under and in the beds. Leave two men manning the front door and two the back. Five men to be stationed, one on every floor of the staircase. Klein, you’re in charge. If you need extra men send to Headquarters.’

All but two officers left.

Ralf sat behind his desk. ‘Would you and your bodyguard like refreshments, Kriminalrat? Coffee, perhaps, or tea?’

‘Not on duty, Herr Frank, and these are officers under my command. Not a bodyguard.’

‘My apologies. May I ask what you’re hoping to find, Kriminalrat?’

‘Not what, Herr Frank – who. Among others I am looking for Wolf Mau.’

‘Any reason?’

‘To arrest him for complicity in the murders of Anton von Braunsch, Nils Dresdner, Dedleff Gluck, Luther Kappel, and the wounding of Helmut Norde.’

‘That is a very poor joke, Kriminalrat.’

Dorfman leaned on the desk and loomed over Ralf. ‘It’s not a joke, Herr Frank.’

‘Wolf Mau was in Berlin with me and three other officers when Nils Dresdner and Anton von Braunsch were murdered.’

Dorfman straightened his back. ‘I have uncovered a conspiracy of enormous proportions, Herr Frank. One that involves several people. Not all were present at every killing but given time I will prove all equally culpable. I have two perpetrators in custody. By the end of the day I will have more.’

Konigsberg, Morning of Sunday January 12th 1919

Wolf opened the carriage door and stepped down as the girl approached.

‘May I offer you a ride to the Green Stork?’

She looked nervously over her shoulder. The police officer quickened his pace. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, looked at it and looked back at the girl.

‘Fraulein? A moment …’

The girl froze.

The officer ran towards them. ‘You’re wanted for questioning in Police Headquarters, Fraulein.’

Wolf snatched the paper from the officer’s hand. It was a sketch of the girl’s face. He recognised the penmanship as Kappel’s.

‘Why do the police want to question this young lady?’

‘That’s none of your business, sir.’

Wolf stepped between the officer and the girl. ‘Get into the carriage, quick!’

The girl climbed in.

He backed in after her. ‘Go, quickly,’ he shouted to the driver.

‘Do as your fare says and you’ll be arrested,’ the officer threatened.

Wolf opened the door behind the girl. ‘Jump down.’ He followed her on to the pavement, grabbed her hand and dragged her down the alleyway alongside the New Market. He could hear the officer’s footsteps close on their heels. He heaved on the girl’s hand. Ahead was the quayside and rows of moored boats. On their left a narrow lane.

The girl slid on the icy path. He steadied her and pulled her into the lane. He spotted a gap in the wall a few metres ahead and ran through it. They were in a snow-covered yard hemmed in on all sides by buildings. It was crammed full of handcarts, some covered by tarpaulins. He hauled the girl up on to a cart and clambered over them, dragging the girl behind him until they reached the row ranged against the wall of the new market at the far end. Peeling back a tarpaulin to reveal a row of crates, he motioned to the girl to lie down on top of them. When she’d done so, he lay beside her, held his finger to his lips and shook the tarpaulin over both of them.

The tarpaulin smelled of fish and felt dirty and oily. Nauseous, he held his breath and listened intently. The girl’s breath resounded harsh, ragged, loud in his ears.

The footsteps moved closer. There was a crunch of heavy boots compacting snow. He wrapped his arm around the girl’s waist, held her close, and waited.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Weissgerber Strasse, Konigsberg, Sunday January 12th 1919

Georg Hafen was dreaming of a golden summer. He and his long-dead wife were sitting on the beach at Rauschen. It was warm but she insisted on heaping more and more rugs and towels over him although he protested he was baking.