‘Well, if it isn’t the Captain of Köpenick! Are you here to confiscate the box office?’
The man at the entrance was clearly a joker. Perhaps that’s why he was wearing lederhosen and a sailor’s cap.
‘There should be a ticket for me,’ Rath said.
‘Yes, Sir!’ The joker stood upright and saluted. ‘Can you take a look, Lissy?’ he called to the tinsel angel sitting behind the box office. The angel didn’t have to search long before passing the ticket to the Bavarian who tore it in half and gave a stub to Rath. ‘You’re late,’ he said.
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘Don’t worry, there are still plenty of ladies here.’ The Bavarian sailor winked.
‘I have a date.’
‘Well then, in you go.’
The air was heavy with cigarette smoke. Thin rays of light flitted through the grey-blue haze from dozens of rotating mirrored globes, their flecks gliding over walls and the heads of guests. The place was full to bursting. The babble of voices almost drowned out the music. They had even hired a singer to perform the latest hits. A few guests were singing along, arm in arm, swaying at their tables, but most weren’t even listening. They were busy talking, dancing or canoodling. Imaginative costumes were few and far between: there were any number of pirates or fiery Spaniards running around, a few sailors, a few cowboys and not many Indians. Most had simply donned a colourful hat or a discreet half-mask, while the women were wearing as little as possible.
Rath knew the Resi as a slightly bourgeois marriage bureau, but today the stiffs seemed intent on exploring the wild side. Moving through the rows to his table he felt rather old. The Prussian captain’s uniform, borrowed from the Babelsberg costume fund, constricted his body like a corset and made him so stiff it felt as if he had swallowed a walking stick. What’s more, the sabre dangling by his legs kept getting caught on tables, chairs and people. It was a good thing the evening was already more than halfway over. It was nearly half past ten.
He took another look at his ticket. Table 28, right by the bar. Kathi wasn’t there, only a smooching couple oblivious to everything around them. Rath checked the teeming bodies on the dance floor and eventually made out two gypsy girls, neither of whom was Kathi.
He sat by the smooching couple, who still seemed not to have noticed him. At some point Kathi would show up. Having to spend a little time waiting for her would help ease his guilty conscience. He ordered a bottle of Mosel-Riesling and two glasses, the only drink they could agree on. Even at New Year that had been his undoing.
She still hadn’t turned up when the waiter brought the wine. Was she sitting at another table watching, about to call or send a message by pneumatic delivery tube? You could do all that here at the Resi. It was a Mecca for shy types, and people who ‘needed all the help they could get,’ as Gräf had said after learning that Czerwinski was a regular. The super cautious could even exchange photos via delivery tube before agreeing to a first dance.
The waiter placed the glasses on the table and poured. Rath held his hand flat over Kathi’s glass. The waiter placed the bottle in an ice bucket and disappeared. In the meantime, the smooching couple had taken a breather. She stood up, smoothed down her crinkled harem costume and took her leave. The man gazed after her with a satisfied grin, straightening the colourful sequined hat on his head. Another one who needed all the help he could get, Rath thought. He raised his glass to the lipstick-smudged face and the man reciprocated with his flat beer.
‘Your health, Captain. Since when have you been here? Didn’t realise I’d been detained!’
‘Just arrived.’
‘An optimist, are you?’ The man gestured towards the empty glass. ‘Laying the bait…’
‘I have a date,’ Rath said, now finding the man disagreeable. ‘But there doesn’t seem to be much going on at the moment.’
‘You should’ve been here an hour ago. What an atmosphere! There was a pirate sitting here cracking all sorts of jokes, standing round after round. And a gypsy girl, getting merrier by the glass, lovely bir…’
‘A gypsy girl?’
The man hesitated, until the penny dropped. ‘I see. The gypsy’s with you.’ He laughed out loud. ‘No offence, but you’re a bit late.’
‘I know.’
‘Too late, if I may say so. I fear you won’t be seeing your gypsy again tonight. Cleared off about half an hour ago with the pirate, together with another couple. Probably wanted to make a night of it somewhere else.’
Rath had reckoned with all sorts of possibilities, but not this. Kathi had stood him up. How cheap could you get?! The news cut him to the quick, despite everything, and in this stupid uniform he felt more out of place than ever.
‘Come on, friend!’ His neighbour clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t take it so hard. There are enough girls here. And table telephones. That’s how I met mine.’
‘That’s not why I’m here.’
‘All right, all right! You North Germans are so uptight.’
The harem lady returned to escort her beau onto the dance floor. Rath would’ve liked to ask old Sequin Hat where Kathi and her companion had got to, but it was too late now. He shouldn’t have snapped at the man.
He felt no desire to go chasing after her and, if this was how he finally got rid of Kathi, so be it. He could definitely drink better when she wasn’t there, much better. He took the wine from the ice bucket and went to the bar where there was also a table telephone and delivery tube. He poured himself another glass and waved the cigarette girl over. ‘A six-pack of Overstolz, please.’
‘We only sell ten-packs.’
‘That’s fine, and a lighter too.’
She fished the pack deftly from her sales tray. ‘Fifty pfennigs,’ she said.
Rath pressed a mark into her hand. ‘Keep the change,’ he said. Her thanks came in the form of a dazzling smile, which cheered him up straightaway. Old Sequin Hat might be a creep, but he was right about one thing. There were plenty more fish in the sea. He tore open the pack and stuck a cigarette in his mouth, trying to be as casual as possible, but his hands were shaking with excitement, likewise when he lit the match. He had resisted all day, and his defeat felt all the better for it.
Yes, he wanted to smoke again! Fuck all those non-smokers! Fuck Kathi!
As he took the first drag, he felt the nicotine like a hammer blow, pleasing, slightly painful; a wave that spread out from his lungs to his whole body. He felt almost as he had at twelve when he had pinched a couple of his brother Anno’s cigarettes and smoked them with his pals on their building site hideout in Klettenberg. All four had ended up crouched by an excavation, puking like world champions. Paul, who handled it best of all, had helped him home. ‘I think Gereon has given himself an upset stomach, Frau Rath. What did he have for lunch?’ His mother’s concerned face. Father wasn’t home; he’d have seen straight through them. On Paul’s recommendation, he had attempted to combat the nicotine smell with sorrel – which had only made him vomit again.
It seemed scarcely credible that he had started smoking only a few years later. For that he had the Prussian military to thank.
He took a careful drag on his cigarette; he had to get used to smoking again first. Still, he had time. He would get good and tanked up, have a little think, at least while that was still possible, then get a taxi home. The right amount of alcohol would banish the demons and rock him peacefully to sleep.
He stubbed the cigarette out and waved the barman over, ordered a cognac and had the bottle of wine cleared away. A good day all in all: he had avoided Böhm and made significant strides in the Winter case. Once they got their hands on Krempin, which was only a matter of time, the rest would take care of itself. With Oppenberg onside, he was closer to Felix Krempin than the rest of the search. Yes, everything was going just fine.
It even looked as if he’d managed to get rid of Kathi, at least for the night.
Rath drank the cognac and ordered another. The barman placed a fresh glass on the counter, and in the same instant there was a ringing noise and a little light came on. Something had arrived at pneumatic delivery tube 51. Everyone stared eagerly at the package, but Rath wasn’t interested in who had sent flowers or confectionery to their beloved. He reached for his glass and drank. The barman read the note and handed Rath the little package.
‘Here, Captain, it’s for you.’
The glass nearly fell out of his hand. Rath took the package with a shrug and read the accompanying note. For the Captain of Köpenick. He looked round. The smooching couple were back at table 28, otherwise no one.
Inside was a bright green feather and a note. Rath shielded the text from prying eyes to his left and right and read. Had a dance yet? If the Captain would like to ruffle a few feathers…
‘Where’s it from?’ he asked the barman.
He pointed towards the other end of the bar. ‘Table fifty-two.’
Rath looked across but there were too many people standing in the low light. He pocketed the letter and green feather, took his cognac and moved to the dance floor, where it was busier than Potsdamer Platz at five in the afternoon.
He saw her straightaway. A bright green hen in a short skirt and feather boa gambolling across the dance floor. Though her legs and backside weren’t bad, the woman’s face was all too reminiscent of the bird she had come dressed as. Rath hid behind one of the pillars. The dancing hen still hadn’t seen him.
One more cognac and then home, he told himself. Feeling halfway safe behind the pillar, he kept an eye on the dancing hen with the predilection for Royal-Prussian officers, who was no doubt just waiting for a captain to cut in on her. Then he thought he saw a face that didn’t belong at all.
Nonsense, he thought, you’re seeing ghosts.
But there it was again. A face under an Indian feather.
What the hell was she doing in a place for people who couldn’t stand to be alone? Now there were two reasons to make a speedy exit, but he couldn’t avert his gaze and, when he saw how she was smiling at her cowboy dance partner, the pain was so great he instantly forgot about Kathi. Charlotte Ritter.
Who was this grinning twit with the fringe who dared receive a smile from Charly?
It had been months since he had seen her. Fräulein Ritter has to concentrate on her exams, his colleagues at Alex had said, and Rath had seen it as fate’s way of telling him to forget about her. Even with Kathi in bed next to him, however, he hadn’t managed.
How on earth had she ended up here?
Only when he heard a familiar voice did he realise he’d been gawping at her the whole time. ‘Boss? Well, there’s a thing. Have they promoted you to Captain?’
Fatboy Czerwinski was standing there grinning beside him. Prison clothing hardly made him more attractive.
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Rath. ‘You? Out and about without Henning?’
‘He doesn’t want anything to do with Fasching.’
‘I know how he feels.’
‘Ha, good one!’ Czerwinski nudged him in the ribs.
Rath was about to explain the difference between Fastelovend, the name for Carnival in Cologne, and Fasching, when a second prisoner emerged from the darkness carrying two beers. Detective Inspector Frank Brenner suddenly became less friendly when he recognised his colleague in the captain’s uniform. Without saying a word, he passed Czerwinski a beer, and the men clinked glasses and drank.
‘Will you look at that,’ Rath said. ‘I see you’re commandeering my people after work too.’
‘Your people! If we belong to anyone, it’s Wilhelm Böhm, yourself included. I hope you’re looking forward to Monday. The boss is livid!’
‘I could never stand Mondays.’
‘Hey!’ Czerwinski gestured with his beer glass towards the dance floor. ‘Isn’t that Ritter over there?’
Rath didn’t respond.
‘It is, you know,’ Brenner said. ‘She makes a good Iltschi, doesn’t she?’
‘Iltschi’s the name of Winnetou’s horse, you idiot,’ Rath said.
Brenner wouldn’t be deterred. ‘She’s a hot number, that one. That arse! Tits a little small for my liking. I wonder how she is in bed.’
Rath felt the anger rising within him. It was all he could do to keep himself in check.
‘Apparently she let you have a go.’ Brenner was clearly determined to provoke him. ‘So, how was she? Did she take your dick in her mouth?’
Rath grabbed the fatty by the collar and his beer glass fell to the ground with a wet clatter, spraying beer and shards everywhere. ‘If you don’t shut your fucking mouth, I will have you.’ Rath’s face was millimetres away from Brenner’s.
‘You think you’re the only one that little tart’s blown?’
Rath channelled all his rage into a crisp blow to Brenner’s solar plexus. The detective in prisoner’s clothing bent double and Rath slammed him upright with a left hook. Czerwinski grabbed hold of his upper arm. Brenner was panting and cursing, bleeding from the nose and mouth. ‘Did you learn that from your gangster friends?’
People were staring. Some had even stopped dancing, among them the Cowboy and Indian.
Charly’s cute face was horrified. Hopefully she hadn’t recognised him.
‘It’s all right,’ he said to Czerwinski, tugging against his astonishingly firm grip. ‘It’s OK, Paul, let me go. I won’t hit him again.’
Czerwinski’s grip loosened, and Rath tore himself away, leaving the room without a backwards glance.