13

Thomas took a morning tram to Hallesches Tor, south of Mehringplatz. His tram moved over the hump of the bridge of the Landwehr Canal and came to a stop beside a war monument. He stepped off the tram and took in the panorama of the wide open space, lined with tall apartment blocks that were peppered with signs for hotels and cafés. A steady trickle of people passed over the canal bridge, men in hats, women in long coats, some people wheeling market-stall carts that were overburdened with furniture or books or whatever else they were trying to sell, teetering on the edge of collapse.

Thomas remembered Käthe’s description of Arno’s apartment building, how it was located above a place called Café Kaiser. After ten minutes of hunting, he found the sign for the café. Moving through a frosted glass door, he entered a dingy hallway with ceramic tiles on the floor and walls, and in the corner an elevator with a sign that read Außer Betrieb. 

He was looking for the electricity box. Beneath the flight of stairs was a narrow cupboard with a brass doorknob; when he opened it he found a pile of cardboard boxes, a broom, a bucket, a read rat and the electricity box. If what Käthe had said was true, the key to Arno’s apartment should be in here somewhere.

The electricity box was a mess of different coloured wires, all laced together with brown spiderwebs. Thomas ran his hand behind the lip of the wooden casing and his fingers located the jagged edge of a metal key. This had to be it. He took the key and quickly made his way up the staircase, assuming he had to climb up as far as the steps would carry him. He climbed floor after another until he reached the landing on the fifth floor. There didn’t seem anywhere else to go from this point. A tawdry looking passageway led off in three directions, with wallpaper peeling off in great curls like a row of ancient scrolls. 

At this point, a woman emerged from one of the doorways. She was stern-looking, with square shoulders and a large, bra-less bosom. She was wearing nothing but a white undergarment and long brown stockings pulled up to her thighs. One of the straps of her underwear had slipped down her arm, revealing a narrow tan line over her shoulder, suggesting this was her usual daytime get-up.

Thomas asked if she knew anyone by the name of Arno Hiller. The woman took a moment to consider the question, then with eyes shifting to one side and a mouth that never smiled, she pointed along the corridor and up to a hatch in the ceiling. There was an extra flight of steps that led up to the hatch. In fact, it was more more like a wooden ladder fastened to the wall. 

‘And may I ask,’ said Thomas, ‘have you seen him recently?’

‘Who? That lad? He comes and goes every once in a while. Can’t say I’ve seen him in the past few days mind you. I am not his mother, of course, so how would I know when he was last here?’

Thomas thanked her. He told her a made-up story of how he was an old friend of Arno’s and that he’d come to surprise him. It was a piece of information the woman seemed wholly indifferent to. She pulled the strap to her underwear back up her arm and disappeared into her own apartment.

Thomas now took himself up the steep staircase to the hatch. Using the key he’d found in the electricity box, he tried the padlock that sealed the hatch shut. To his surprise, the padlock sprung open and he was able to push the hatch upwards and over.

Inside, he found a rather despairing set of circumstances. He entered a narrow attic space cut across at angles by the triangular pitch of the roof. There was a bicycle with a flat tyre, a washing line with a pair of socks pegged to it, a single chair with a rattan seat, and in the far corner, a crowd of empty beer bottles. It was desperately bare inside. Thomas could see the underside of the roof tiles that covered the building, even the grey globs of cement that bound the tiles together. It was like he was in the very outer shell of the building.

He went searching for clues, something that might tell him more about Arno’s life here. There was very little to go on. The room had no carpet nor any rugs. There were no curtains over the windows and instead of a wardrobe or a chest of drawers, there was a wooden crate with a jumble of clothes tossed in. Thomas rummaged through these garments but found nothing. He examined the bicycle and peered over the collection of empty beer bottles, then went to one of the windows and opened it to reveal an impressive view over Hallesches.

Now he heard a voice call up to him. It was the woman from the floor below; he could see her face peering up through the hatch, her hands planted on her hips. 

‘Everything alright up there?’ she called out. ‘My daughter says he hasn’t been to his room for at least two weeks now.’

‘Two weeks?’

‘That’s what my daughter says.’

Thomas went over to the bed that sat at one end of the attic and turned over the sheets and pillow, still hoping to find something of significance. Then he noticed something. On top of a sidetable, he saw a slip of paper. It had nothing written on it but for two words: ‘Midnight. Clärchens.’

The word ‘Midnight’ was underlying in pencil. Thomas thought he recognised the other word too. What was it? He’d seen it before. Then it came to him. Clärchens. That was the name of the tavern in Potsdam. The very same tavern Erich and he were drinking in when the boy first approached.

The pieces were falling into place: Arno must have planned to meet someone there. That’s why he was in the tavern in the first place, because he had arranged a meeting. Most likely, it was with someone he knew from Orenstein and Koppel. He was hoping for some help, hoping for a friendly face.

Thomas looked up at the attic room again. It didn’t surprise him that Arno might seek out an old colleague for support. No wonder he’d made up the story of living in the hostel above the tavern – it couldn’t be worse than where he lived now.

Thomas took the paper and folded it into his pocket. There could be no doubt now. Arno Hiller was in Clärchens tavern at midnight, the very same time he and Erich were there. The note proved it.