The blonde secretary was on the telephone again when Rath returned to Kantstrasse. Krempin’s personal file lay on her desk and he wondered if she had removed any pages. He still wasn’t sure he could trust Oppenberg, but at least he had learned a great deal about Krempin, the film obsessive who had enthusiastically taken up the challenge of sound.
It had been his idea, Oppenberg said, to get to the bottom of Bellmann’s production secrets. He had last seen him a week before, but Krempin hadn’t been able to tell him much, and there had been no mention of sabotage. Rath couldn’t help thinking of Bellmann’s photo of Krempin next to Betty Winter. Had the handsome Krempin made a hobby of picking up film stars? Perhaps he had absconded with Vivian Franck and gone to ground. If so, Rath could imagine the pair not wanting to show their faces to their erstwhile employer.
The secretary looked a little surprised when Rath took Krempin’s file from the desk and sat in one of the leather chairs, but didn’t break her flow of words. He looked through the papers. Nothing unusual. Krempin had a gift for technology. He had worked for Oppenberg as a lighting technician and cameraman before becoming a production manager. That had lasted until December 1929, when he was dismissed. From then on there was no apparent link between the two men. Whether that was true, or whether Oppenberg had just asked for the entry to be made, Rath couldn’t say, but the ink was dry and the blonde, who had finally hung up, was giving nothing away. Krempin would surely hold dated termination of employment papers.
‘Is there something else I can do for you?’ the secretary asked, more curious than friendly.
‘I have to make a telephone call for a minute or two. I hope you can manage without it that long.’
‘Why not? I’ve got other things to do.’ She passed the black telephone across the desk and turned to her typewriter. Clearly a screenplay had to be copied.
Rath was put through to Hannoversche Strasse, but Gräf had already left. He reached the detective at his desk.
‘Back already? So what did the doctor tell you?’
‘Tasteless jokes.’
Rath could imagine the liberties the pathologist would have taken with the young detective. Novitiates in the hallowed Halls of Death had to take Schwartz’s litmus test, irrespective of whether they were students or police recruits.
‘He could’ve just given me the report. It was finished ages ago. Instead… I feel sick thinking about it.’
‘No doubt he’ll have said something about the cause of death too…’
‘He confirmed what we already suspected: cardiac arrest through electric shock. She’d have survived the burns and breakages – but she’d have paid a high price.’
‘To look like Max Schreck?’
‘Worse. Betty Winter would’ve been confined to a wheelchair, most likely for the rest of her life. The spotlight struck her spine.’
‘Shit.’
‘She could’ve just as easily been killed. Dr Schwartz says it was a matter of centimetres. If the spotlight had hit her head.’
‘She was lucky.’ The words slipped out before he knew what he was saying.
‘You’re just like Dr Schwartz,’ Gräf said. ‘With respect, I find your cynicism inappropriate. We’re talking about a tragic death here.’
‘It’s all my years of service. You’ll have reached that point when you no longer feel sick visiting the morgue.’
‘Thanks, but I’d rather keep puking. When are you coming back, Gereon? Böhm’s longing to see you.’
‘Sure, because he wants us off the case.’
‘He just doesn’t want you leading it.’
‘You know exactly what that means: we do all the legwork and he takes the glory…’
‘On the subject of legwork: Henning and Czerwinski are still with the film lot. Taking their time as usual.’
‘Keep holding the fort.’
‘What should I tell Böhm?’
‘That I’m staying on Krempin’s heels.’
‘How long do you mean to keep that up?’
‘As long as Böhm can’t call me off, we still have the case. With a bit of luck, we’ll solve it too.’
‘And who’ll be taking all the glory then?’
‘How selfish do you think I am? Already forgotten who you owe your promotion to?’
Gräf fell silent.
‘Come on! It’s not too much to ask, is it? I’m this close to Krempin. I might even catch him today. Don’t worry about all the paperwork. Whatever you don’t manage, we’ll take care of on Monday. If Böhm wants to help us then, he can be my guest!’
‘And you’ll pick up the bill in the Dreieck on Monday night.’
‘We might have something to celebrate by then. I’ll call you around one. Böhm’ll be in the canteen then, Voss too.’
He hung up and pushed the telephone over to Oppenberg’s blonde. She didn’t look up from typing.
‘Thank you,’ he said. The typewriter continued to hammer away.
‘Can I ask you a few questions?’
The hammering stopped. ‘I don’t know. Can you?’
Was she flirting with him, or having a go? Even after nearly a year, Rath still couldn’t quite fathom the way Berliners communicated.
He smiled. ‘A few questions about Vivian Franck?’
A shrug of the shoulders. ‘Far as I’m concerned…’
‘How long have you known Fräulein Franck?’
‘Since she’s been under contract with us, about two and a half years.’
‘Is she reliable?’
‘Professionally yes. In private…well.’
‘She isn’t devoted to Manfred Oppenberg?’
She shrugged. ‘Best ask Rudi, he knows her almost as well as the boss. Perhaps even better, if you know what I mean.’
‘Rudi?’
‘Czerny. Our youthful hero. Didn’t you see him? He’s filming out in Babelsberg too.’
‘Perhaps you can give me his address. And a photo.’
‘You wouldn’t believe what I can do,’ she said, looking at him without even the slightest trace of a smile, and noted the address on letter-headed Montana writing paper.
Rudolf Czerny lived in Charlottenburg, like his missing colleague Vivian Franck. First, however, Rath drove to Guerickestrasse, hoping to find Felix Krempin before he started snooping on Manfred Oppenberg’s behalf. Krempin lived a few blocks away from his friend Peter Glaser in northern Charlottenburg. A green Opel was parked on the other side of the street. Rath came to a halt behind it, climbed out, and knocked on the window.
‘Afternoon, Mertens,’ Rath said. ‘Anything doing?’
‘After noon is about right, Inspector,’ said the man in the driver’s seat. ‘The only thing happening is Grabowski’s stomach getting louder and louder.’
‘Nothing suspicious?’
Mertens shook his head. ‘A few wary glances at most. The residents must think we’re a couple of queers. Wouldn’t surprise me if our colleagues from Vice paid us a visit.’
‘Then stop gazing at me so adoringly,’ Grabowski said from the passenger seat.
Rath grinned. The atmosphere in the car seemed good, even though a stake-out was one of the most boring aspects of police work. Mertens and Grabowski had been entrusted to him by Gennat, two recruits fresh from police academy in Eiche. Anyone who wasn’t part of Wilhelm Böhm’s circle was all right by Rath, and they both seemed like decent sorts.
‘There’s an Aschinger over on Berliner Strasse,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you take half an hour for lunch and warm yourselves up. I’ll hold the fort.’
The two men climbed out. Rath knew he had just collected a few points. A boss who looked after his colleagues and didn’t mind getting his hands dirty? That didn’t happen often at the Castle.
‘Should we get something for you too, Sir?’
‘Not necessary, thank you.’
The two of them set off. Rath sat behind the wheel of the Buick until they disappeared round the corner. Then he went over and entered the house. No one in the stairwell. Rath didn’t have much experience with the skeleton key and needed time to pick the lock. Once in, he pulled the door shut quietly. His colleagues had been in the flat last night to make sure Krempin wasn’t fast asleep or lying dead on the sofa, but Rath wanted to see for himself without having to wait for a search warrant.
The flat didn’t tell him much. A typical bachelor apartment, simple and clean, perhaps a little cleaner than most. The bed was made and the table cleared. Nothing suggested a crazy getaway. More likely a housekeeper came by regularly. Oppenberg seemed to have paid the man well, judging by the record player in the living room. Rath whistled through his teeth when he recognised the model. He’d have liked to borrow a few of the records. There was even a telephone on the desk.
The shelves contained almost exclusively technical books: specialist literature on electrotechnics and photography, some on engineering science too, but few novels. On the desk a typewriter sat gathering dust. Alongside it lay a soldering clamp as well as a few boxes containing little screwdrivers and similar tools, a few electronic replacement parts, switches, some tubes and fuses. Rath read the warning on the tube packaging. For the purposes of sound films please only use tubes (amplifier, rectifier and pre-amp tubes) that carry the KLANGFILM logo on the tube and packaging. The use of other tubes is dangerous and may lead to malfunction. The use of other tubes is also forbidden for patenting reasons.
Rath looked inside the wardrobe. Most of the hangers swung empty on the rail and the dresser drawers were all but cleared. Krempin had calmly packed his things before disappearing. So, either he had made exceptionally good use of the time upon fleeing the studio, or he had everything ready in advance.
The biggest unknown was when Krempin had left the studio.
Rath gave a start. Not the doorbell. The telephone!
He hesitated in front of the black appliance as it rattled away. Before reaching for the receiver he took a handkerchief from his jacket. The last thing he needed was to leave fingerprints on a murder suspect’s telephone.
‘Yes?’ There was no response, but Rath could hear someone breathing. ‘Who’s there please?’
Again, no response. For another second or two he heard nothing apart from that same gentle breathing. Then a click.
He continued looking around the flat but found nothing more of note, and ten minutes later was back in the car. Mertens and Grabowski were still away, so hadn’t registered his little trip.
Who had called? At first Rath feared it might have been one of the officers searching for Krempin, except they knew the flat was being shadowed and that it was pointless to call. Besides, a police officer would have identified himself to provoke a response from the other party. He was growing restless.
Previously, at least, he had been able to smoke during all those interminable hours spent in flats and cars, but then he had gone and given up. What a bright idea. He thought he had seen Grabowski with a carton of Muratti Forever as the latter made off with Mertens.
Where had the pair got to? They’d been gone almost half an hour, and he still had two addresses to visit. Just then he saw Grabowksi’s winter coat in the rear-view mirror and climbed out of the car.