No sooner had the car door clicked shut than the dog was making a fuss. Kirie reared on her hind legs, pressed her front paws against the passenger door and barked at the window, which steamed up immediately. Nor did the barking stop when Rath opened the door, only now the dog was also wagging its tail, and jumping up and down agitatedly on the leather upholstery. He could barely grab hold of her collar to put her back on the lead.
‘Looks like you’re coming with me,’ he said. ‘So behave yourself! We don’t want you peeing on a stranger’s carpet.’
As it turned out they didn’t get that far. Before passing through to the rear building, Rath rang the caretaker’s door. It wouldn’t hurt to get a little information about the tenant before their visit. A woman in a stained apron opened the door and looked at them suspiciously, first at the dog and then at Rath. Her face was clearly divided into horizontal and vertical lines: the nose a narrow strip, beneath it thin lips pressed together.
‘If you’re here about the flat – you can forget it!’
Rath sighed and showed his badge. ‘Rath, CID,’ he said. ‘I have a few questions about one of your tenants.’
‘What’s all this about?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. A little incident at Ford, we’re looking for witnesses, and…’
‘Ford, you say? Then you’ll be wanting Schmieder.’
‘Correct.’
‘Afraid you’re out of luck there, Superintendent…’
‘Inspector…’
‘…Schmieder spends his weekends with his fiancée.’
‘That’s a pity. It’s quite urgent.’
‘Should I ask him to get in touch?’
‘When’s he back?’
‘Oh, Sunday usually, and generally pretty late. It depends what shift he’s on.’ She leaned a little closer to him, as if the dog wasn’t supposed to hear what she was saying: ‘He’s head over heels, I’m telling you. The whole week, he can barely wait to see his Gertie! Even went on Thursday this time.’
‘Love’s a funny thing. How do you know so much anyway?’
‘Please! You have to keep an eye on your tenants.’
‘Then no doubt you can give me her address too, Schmieder’s girlfriend…’
‘Fiancée…’
‘…fiancée then. Does she live in Moabit as well?’
‘No idea.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘All I know is Frau Hagedorn must live somewhere near Stettiner Bahnhof. That’s where he always heads.’
‘Thank you,’ Rath said, and tipped his hat. He wrote down the name as soon as he returned to the car: Hagedorn (Gertrud?) and underneath: Stettiner Bahnhof. He thought about heading back to the Castle to check the address with the passport office, but then his gaze alighted on Kirie. Until now the dog had coped with his driving, but Rath was in no mood to tempt fate.
‘Shall we?’ he said and started the engine.
He made a quick stop in Spenerstrasse but neither Charly nor Greta were home on a Saturday afternoon. ‘Well, Kirie,’ he said, as they descended the steps, ‘you’ll just have to meet her tomorrow.’
The journey from Moabit to Kreuzberg passed without incident. Before allowing the dog inside the flat Rath took her for a walk through the gardens of the filled canal basin towards the Engelbecken, the expanse of water that had been retained so that the dome of Sankt Michael could be reflected in it. Kirie enjoyed the exercise, pulling on the lead as if she were a fully grown husky.
Back at the flat, Rath gave the hungry dog something to eat, along with a bowl of water. He had asked Erika Voss to get him some dog food from Wertheim in Königstrasse, which she seemed to like. While the dog ate its way through the contents of the bowl, Rath looked for something that might be suitable as a bed. He found an old woollen blanket and used it to line the dirty laundry basket which Frau Lennartz came by to collect once a week. Kirie looked at him quizzically when he entered the kitchen with the basket, whose contents he had tipped on the bedroom floor.
Rath placed it in the corner. ‘Come on, off to bed with you!’ Kirie preferred to curl into a ball beneath the kitchen table. ‘As you wish,’ he said, ‘but don’t go complaining I didn’t offer you a bed.’
He closed the kitchen door and went into the living room. Straightaway the dog started scratching at the door.
He sighed and opened the door to find Kirie wagging her tail and barking at him. ‘I know you’ve had a bad experience of being left alone. Don’t worry, that won’t happen here, but you do have to stay in the kitchen. The rest of the flat is off-limits.’
He left the door ajar and went back to the living room, leaving the dog to gaze after him through the crack. He had just put on a record and sat in his chair when he heard a pitter-pattering in the hall. Kirie came in and made herself comfortable under the living room table.
‘Stay here then,’ he said. ‘There’s no point in training you anyway, that’s your mistress’s responsibility. If we find her, that is.’
The dog curled up and fell asleep.
When the record came to an end, Rath took the telephone back to his chair. His mother answered. ‘Son! Fancy that! How are you?’
‘Fine. Is Father there?’
‘It’s so nice to hear your voice again! Father says that you…that there’s a woman… Aren’t you going to introduce us? Does she cook for you too?’
‘There’s no woman anymore.’
A brief silence at the other end of the line. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘There’s no need for you to be.’
‘I had been hoping you’d get engaged again. You’re not getting any younger, Gereon, and a family is…’
‘I know, Mama.’
‘I’m only saying. Are you eating well?’
‘Mama, the station in Berlin has a canteen. Besides, there are more than enough restaurants.’
‘Still, there’s nothing like a good, home-cooked meal!’
‘I’m doing just fine. Can I please speak to Father now? This is a long-distance call!’
He heard her place the receiver to one side. It took a moment or two before Engelbert Rath came on the line.
‘Son! Nice of you to telephone your mother. You wouldn’t believe how happy it makes her.’
‘My pleasure. I have a request. It’s about Adenauer’s list. It only contains men.’
‘So what?’
‘Can you please ask Adenauer, along with his friends at the bank, if they know a Fräulein or Frau Hagedorn? First name probably Gertrud.’
‘Do you have a lead?’
‘If the name means anything to Adenauer and his friends, then yes.’
‘I’ll take care of it right away, my boy. How are things otherwise?’
‘Busy.’
‘Your fian…girlfriend… Mother said she had…’
‘I left her. It can happen that way too.’
‘How many women is that now? Take care that you don’t become an old bachelor. You should think about getting married soon if you want to make a career for yourself.’
‘Gennat is a confirmed bachelor as well as Prussia’s best criminal investigator.’
‘Well, they say he wasn’t so successful in Düsseldorf, the infallible one. And he’s never made it past superintendent.’
‘Yes, Police Director, Sir!’
‘Listen, my boy, I know how highly you regard Gennat. Nothing against the man, but I’m not sure he’s the best role model for you. Someone of your capabilities should be aiming for Scholz’s position.’
Police Director Hans Scholz was head of the Berlin CID.
‘You don’t get posts like that unless you belong to the right party.’
‘That’s what I’ve been telling you, my boy.’
‘Papa, leave it. You won’t catch me in your beloved Centre Party. And there’s no way I’m joining the Sozis either. I’m not a politician. In fact, I despise politics.’
‘Politics is the order of the day, my boy.’
‘Politics is making our neighbours kill one another. Turning our streets into a battleground.’
‘You’re talking about its excesses. Nazis and Communists might call each other politicians but that’s not what they are.’
‘It’s what they want to be.’
‘It won’t come to that.’
‘Let’s leave it there, Papa. You know conversations like this don’t lead anywhere. Call me if you find something about Gertrud Hagedorn.’
He hung up, turned the record over and poured himself a cognac. He tried to think: about Jeanette Fastré, whose disappearance was ominously reminiscent of Vivian Franck’s, even if Böhm wouldn’t admit it; about Felix Krempin and his unhappy death; but his thoughts kept coming back to Charly. Should he call her? Control yourself, he thought. Bad enough that you almost ambushed her at her house earlier. You’re seeing her tomorrow, and that will have to do.
Just don’t show any weakness, don’t lay yourself open – was that something he had from his father, Police Director Engelbert Rath, the man who always knew how to save face? He was pouring another cognac when the doorbell rang.
Rath looked at the time – almost nine. A little late for a visit. He stood up and opened to find a telegram boy in leather gear, motorcycle goggles pushed onto his forehead.
‘Telegram for Gereon Rath.’
‘Thank you.’ He fished two ten-pfennig pieces out of his trouser pocket and gave the boy a tip. As soon as he had closed the door he tore open the envelope and read. Sent from Cologne Hauptbahnhof barely four hours ago:
arrive tonight 22.35 potsdamer bahnhof STOP staying at hotel excelsior STOP time for a beer STOP look forward to facing your (w)rath STOP paul
He hadn’t seen Paul since his birthday last year and now here he was coming pell-mell to Berlin. He still had an hour and a half in which he searched out a fresh suit, quickly showered and changed. He had hoped to leave Kirie in the flat, but the dog kicked up such a fuss that he had to take her with him.
‘They should call you Clingy, not Kirie,’ he said, once the dog had taken its place on the passenger seat, panting away happily. ‘It’s much too late for little things like you.’
This time he was in luck, finding a parking space directly in front of the station, despite the chaos at Potsdamer Platz. By twenty past ten, Rath was already at the barrier showing the conductor his platform ticket. He had no idea which car Paul was in, so stayed at the start of the platform.
‘Sit,’ he said to the dog and, contrary to expectations, she obeyed. One cigarette and the train would be here. Rath picked an Overstolz out of his case and immersed himself in his thoughts.
It was on this very platform that he had stepped from a train a year ago himself. No one met him at the station. Scarcely anyone knew he was in Berlin. He felt lonely, but freed of a burden as he made his way down the platform, everything around him as unreal as a dream. The station spat him into the cold night and, gazing at the lights, the cars and the people on Potsdamer Platz, he understood that this was the start of his new life. Now, for the first time, someone from his old life was coming to visit him in the new.
The train rolled in a few minutes early and came hissing to a stop. What a welcoming committee, Rath thought, as he caught sight of his reflection: an exhausted inspector and an abandoned dog.
He trod the cigarette out. The doors opened and between one moment and the next the platform contained twice as many people. He scanned the milling mass pushing towards the exit and eventually found Paul, who looked the same as he always had: blond hair that resisted any effort at grooming and was kept in check by a hat, a nose that was slightly too big, and an impudent grin.
Paul had long since spotted his welcoming committee, and his grin grew wider as he approached. They stood looking at each other as the crowd pushed and shoved around them, surveying one another, as if neither wanted to be the first to grow sentimental.
‘No flowers?’ Paul said.
‘The dog ate them,’ Rath replied.
They embraced a little awkwardly and clapped each other on the shoulder a little too hard.