Vivian Frank’s apartment was even more modern than Oppenberg’s office. Three rooms with a roof garden overlooked the Kaiserdamm, and an enormous bed under a champagne-coloured satin quilt that was reflected to infinity by two mirrors. Rath felt more at ease in the comparatively small living room, whose panoramic window looked out onto the Funkturm, the radio tower.
The furniture betrayed the taste of Manfred Oppenberg: simple, modern, elegant – and expensive. Fine woods, lots of leather and chrome, no scroll. Vivian Franck hadn’t furnished the flat herself, nor, most likely, had she paid for it. The woman Manfred Oppenberg called Angel couldn’t have earned so much through her films already. So, perhaps she came from a wealthy family. She certainly carried herself like a spoilt young lady. Was she a fallen princess for whom Manfred Oppenberg provided the last vestige of luxury? What else could tie her to such an old man? The promise of making her immortal on-screen?
The apartment was as polished and arranged as a film set. Only the big glass ashtray on the low, wooden table and the discreet house bar betrayed any hint of vice.
Rath searched every cupboard and drawer without locating any cocaine. He realised the thought of the white powder was almost giving him cravings. He couldn’t help thinking of Vivian Franck, of her bored face, those dead eyes that only began to sparkle once she had taken a dose. He had sworn not to touch the stuff again.
Apart from the bedroom, the apartment didn’t give much away about its owner’s habits, although he had noticed a few empty clothes-hangers in the wardrobe. Oppenberg had already told him that a dozen or so items of clothing were missing along with two suitcases and a travel bag.
Where had Vivian Franck gone, and why hadn’t she returned?
He locked the door twice and took the lift downstairs. The concierge in the marble reception hall looked so old he might have been on duty since the days of Old Fritz. He only started talking when he recognised the Prussian CID badge.
‘So, Herr Oppenberg did go to the police after all,’ he said, removing his glasses. ‘About time too. He called here at least twenty times a day to ask after that Franck.’
‘When did you last see Frau Franck?’
The narrow shoulders shrugged. ‘Just as she was leaving.’
‘Can you be a little more precise?’
‘Must be three, four weeks since she asked for a taxi. The driver had a bit of a struggle with her cases, took a while to get them in the car.’
‘And then?’
‘Then he got in and drove off.’
Rath smiled. ‘Where did they go?’
‘No idea. To some station, I’d say. Or the airport. Wherever you go with big suitcases.’
‘She didn’t say anything?’
‘To me? That Franck’s never even looked at me in the two years she’s lived here. Normal mortals don’t exist for her.’
‘Did you notice anything else?’
‘Nope.’
‘After that you never saw her again?’
‘Nope.’ The concierge considered. ‘Well, that is, I did, once…’
‘Where?’
‘…in Verrucht, her latest film.’ This seemed to be a great joke.
Rath moved towards the exit with the concierge’s bleating laughter in his ears. Suddenly, it stopped. ‘Wait!’
Rath turned at the door. ‘I’ve had my fill of jokes.’
‘No, no more jokes. Seriously, there was something the day she left.’
‘What?’
‘Someone called around midday and asked for her, it was nothing special, but…’
‘Who?’
‘He didn’t give his name, but I recognised him all the same.’
‘Who?’
‘He never called otherwise, always came in person. A very personable fellow, no doubt…’
The concierge winked, slowly getting on Rath’s nerves.
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know his name but I recognised his voice. Even though he must have called from the train station – there was loads of noise.’
Rath took the photo Oppenberg’s secretary had looked out for him from his pocket, and laid it on the counter.
‘Was it this man?’
The concierge took one look at the glossy print of a smiling Rudi Czerny and could barely contain himself. ‘Hats off!’ he said. ‘The Prussian police are on the ball! Who’d have thought it?’
Rudolf Czerny’s flat was nearby on Reichskanzlerplatz. He wasn’t home, of course, as he was still filming in Babelsberg, but Rath visited precisely because he knew Czerny was still filming. All the same, he rang the bell three times and knocked loudly to be certain no one was at home. He was slowly getting the hang of the skeleton key that Bruno Wolter, his first boss in Berlin, had shown him how to use. At first he had resisted, but he had to admit it was a useful tool.
Rudolf Czerny lived more modestly than his lover, but then he wasn’t kept by Manfred Oppenberg.
Rath rummaged through the flat, taking care not to upset the disorder. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, perhaps some evidence of the affair with Vivian Franck, perhaps some indication of her whereabouts. It was perfectly possible she’d made herself scarce. And Czerny? Was he holding the fort until he could join her, or had she left him in the lurch like her benefactor Manfred Oppenberg? If what the concierge had said was true, then she had left without him three weeks ago – or he without her.
There were brochures on the living room table advertising holidays in the Swiss Alps. Freshly washed ski equipment hung in the wardrobe. Czerny had clearly been in the mountains himself. Finally, Rath found a towel with the words Hotel Schatzalp, Davos embroidered on the edge. Rudolf Czerny seemed to collect his holiday souvenirs from hotel supplies.
Rath gazed out of the window onto the wide expanse of Reichskanzlerplatz and the Funkturm. Daylight was fading. The first neon signs were lighting up. He decided to wait and telephoned the station, getting Gräf on the line.
‘Weren’t you going to call at one?’
‘I’ve had my hands full. Has Böhm been in touch?’
‘At five-minute intervals. He’s probably about to come over because the line’s busy.’
‘Listen, I know it’s the end of the day, but there’s something important you need to do.’
‘Hmm?’
‘At just on five, there’s the Wessel funeral. Böhm’s dead Nazi. At the Nikolai Cemetery.’
‘Yes?’
‘Go over there and take a look.’
‘What the hell?’
‘Böhm forced it on us.’
‘Since when do you take his orders so seriously?’
‘One of us has to go, and I can’t get away from here. I’ll tell you more on Monday morning.’
‘Aye aye, Sir.’
Rath didn’t get the chance to wish Gräf a good weekend before he hung up. His Saturday evening was ruined, but then he, Rath, wasn’t crouched in a strange, cold apartment for his own amusement.
Perhaps it was the word ‘amusement’, but suddenly he found himself thinking of the ball at the Resi, for which he still had no costume. He had missed the chance to back out and Kathi had moved heaven and earth to get tickets. If Czerny didn’t appear soon, they wouldn’t be able to arrive together.
Still, Kathi would understand, just like she always understood. He was on duty, simple as that. All he had to do was find a halfway decent costume and see to it that he didn’t show at the Resi too late.
Czerny put him out of his misery at just after half past five. Rath was sitting in one of the comfy chairs when he heard the key in the lock. He remained seated to give the actor a suitably theatrical reception. The light in the hall went on and, from the safety of the dimly lit living room, Rath looked through the crack to see a small, slim man hanging a toffee-coloured coat and brown hat on the hallstand.
The living room door opened and a hand turned the light on. Rath was now visible but Czerny hadn’t seen him, and continued reading a script as he groped his way towards the bar. Vom Blitz getroffen, Rath read on the cover sheet.
‘Good evening, Herr Czerny.’
The actor gave a start. ‘How did you get into my apartment?’ He didn’t sound intimidated: if anything, there was a hint of aggression. The man knew how to look after himself. Rath would have to be on his guard.
‘Through the door,’ he said and showed his police ID. ‘I just wanted to ask a few questions.’
‘But first you had to scare me half to death? Is breaking and entering part of the job these days? I’d call it trespassing.’
‘I’m not here on behalf of the police. In this instance, we share the same employer…’
‘I’m an actor…’
‘…and you work for Manfred Oppenberg?’
Czerny nodded.
‘Me too. At least for the time being.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Your boss wants me to return his lead actress…’ Czerny didn’t say anything when Rath hesitated, but it was clear he would have liked nothing more than to shout out Vivian’s name. ‘…your lover.’
Czerny turned pale, as if Rath had pronounced his death sentence. ‘That’s why Oppenberg sent you. Because I’m sleeping with Vivian. I only saw him half an hour ago. Why doesn’t he say it to my face?’
‘Herr Oppenberg understands that now and then Vivian keeps younger lovers…’
‘Now and then.’ Czerny smiled sourly. ‘Is that what he told you? Oh yes, our producer fancies himself in the role of liberal gentleman. But believe me, his liberality has its limits. Of course he would never begrudge her a little on the side – as long as she remains his toy. But he would have no hesitation in putting me on the street if I were to so much as touch her more often than it says in the script.’
‘Still, that’s precisely what you did, isn’t it?’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘Don’t worry. There’s no need for Herr Oppenberg to hear anything of this. So long as you co-operate I see no reason why…’
‘How very kind of you,’ Czerny said, ‘but I won’t be blackmailed. Besides, I’m not the only one who Vivian…’
‘I know,’ Rath said, ‘I’ve made her acquaintance too.’
Rath watched the man’s jealousy surge. There was no reason to tell the actor that he had actually resisted Vivian’s advances. Czerny went red before exploding.
‘No one really knows Vivian!’ The words came tumbling out. ‘Everyone thinks they do, but no one knows who she is, the way she thinks, how she…’
‘Except you,’ Rath interrupted.
Czerny quietened down. ‘I thought I did,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen sides to her that no one else has seen, that no one else would believe, that no one would even dare write into her scripts. And that’s the whole problem: most people confuse her with her films!’
‘What about you?’
‘I loved her. I know it’s a cliché and naïve too, but that’s how it was.’
‘Was?’
‘I waited for her at Anhalter Bahnhof, suitcase packed, but she never came. We were to go to Davos for two carefree weeks in the snow. I’ve never felt so lousy.’
‘Why don’t you get us something to drink and take a seat? Then you can tell me what happened in your own time.’
Czerny seemed to be getting used to Rath’s presence. He fetched two glasses of water and a bottle of whisky from the cupboard. ‘I need a drink,’ he said as he poured.
‘Thanks, but I’d rather have water.’
Czerny went into the kitchen and returned with a jug. ‘Please, help yourself,’ he said and sat down.
‘So you went to Switzerland without her?’
‘Everything was booked. When she didn’t appear and I couldn’t get hold of her anywhere, I took the next train. I knew from her concierge that she’d got into the taxi with her cases and thought, maybe, she’d taken another train and was already there, or would be coming later.’
‘But she never did?’
Czerny shook his head. ‘I haven’t seen or heard anything from Vivian in nearly four weeks.’
‘Weren’t you worried?’
‘At some point you have to face the truth. After three or four days waiting in the snow, I accepted that Vivian had given me the boot, plain and simple.’
‘If that’s true then you’re not the only one. She must have given Manfred Oppenberg the boot too. Only he doesn’t want to believe it.’
‘Not turning up to the shoot like that, it just isn’t her. Vivian’s more reliable than you think.’
‘Professionally, at least.’
‘I know very few people as hard-working as her.’
‘So why skive off a film Oppenberg’s making purely with her future in mind? To avoid running into you and her benefactor? It makes no sense, putting her career at risk like that!’
‘She isn’t risking anything. Vom Blitz getroffen is her second sound film. She’s already proved in Verrucht that she isn’t one of those old divas who are afraid talkies will reveal their speech impediments and acting limitations.’
‘Where do you think she is now?’
Czerny shrugged his shoulders. ‘Search me!’
‘Just tell me everything you know, and everything you think you know.’
‘There was…well, she told me a little while ago that she had met someone.’
‘A lover.’
‘No, she wouldn’t have told me that. A producer.’
‘You mean Vivian might’ve been unfaithful to Oppenberg where it really hurts?’
‘More than if she’d have run off with a young lover anyway. He’s invested a load of money in her and is expecting it to start paying off soon.’
‘Why would she want to leave?’
‘Because the grass is always greener.’
‘Oppenberg doesn’t seem to have taken that possibility into account.’
‘He still has her under contract. She can’t just get out of it like that.’
‘Nevertheless, you think it’s possible.’
‘If she’s somewhere no German lawyer can reach her…’
‘In Hollywood…’
‘Her English is good enough.’
Rath nodded thoughtfully and took a sip of water.
‘What do you think?’ Czerny poured himself another whisky. ‘Can you find her?’
‘Maybe. Where did she go after she got into that taxi?’
‘Not Anhalter Bahnhof anyway.’
‘Then we need to ask the taxi driver. Do you have the telephone number for Vivian’s apartment?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘Call it. I need to speak to the concierge.’
Soon Rath was speaking to the old man from the marble foyer. He seemed to have a good memory. ‘The taxi Frau Franck drove off in?’ he said.
‘Must have been on the eighth of February,’ Rath offered.
‘Are you sure? Wait a moment, I’ll take a quick look.’ Rath heard a hollow thump as the receiver banged against the counter, followed by the rustling of paper. ‘So, here we are. You can always count on your old Panske, eh?’
Rath tried not to lose patience. ‘You made some notes, did you?’
‘Certainly did. I ordered the car at nine, and half an hour later it was outside the door.’
‘Can you remember the driver?’
‘Not exactly, but I do know he wasn’t the strongest. And those heavy cases to boot! Poor guy!’
The lady in the taxi office was less forthcoming. ‘Of course we can find out,’ she said, ‘as long as you know the exact time and address. But how do I know you’re really from the police? Can I call you back at the station?’
‘I’m out in the field right now.’
‘Then you’ll have to come here. Belle-Alliance-Strasse sixteen.’
‘If you could look everything out for me, I’ll come by in person.’
‘You could be anyone.’
‘I have a police ID.’
‘Come by, identify yourself, and I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Looks good,’ Rath said to Czerny. ‘I think we’ll find him.’
‘Can you keep me up to date? I mean, if you hear anything?’
‘That still doesn’t solve my biggest problem. I’m invited to a Fasching ball tonight. Any idea where I can get hold of a costume at this hour?’
Czerny looked surprised for a moment, then grinned. ‘It’ll mean going back out to Babelsberg.’