He had rung the doorbell. Nothing doing. Then gone to the Nasse Dreieck, whose taciturn landlord had given an emphatic shrug of the shoulders. Berthold Weinert now made his way back to Luisenufer. He would give the man one final chance, seeing as he was in the area, but that was it.
This couldn’t be happening.
Gereon Rath couldn’t, in all seriousness, be standing him up for a second time. He couldn’t believe it, but it looked as if it was true. On today of all days when he needed the car.
As he crossed the courtyard a man and a woman emerged from the rear building. The woman looked familiar. He must have seen a photo of her in the office recently, someone semi-famous whose name he couldn’t remember. Or…the penny dropped.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, before the couple could escape through the archway. ‘Do I know you from somewhere?’
She turned and looked at him inquisitively.
‘You’re an actress, aren’t you?’
The blond man grinned. The woman seemed less amused.
‘What makes you say that?’ she asked.
‘Weren’t you at the Funkturm recently with Gereon Rath?’
‘Are you from the press?’
‘Is it that obvious? How embarrassing.’
She laughed. ‘You have to be from the press, otherwise you wouldn’t think I was an actress. So, you’re familiar with the photo from the Funkturm. Is that why you want to see Gereon?’
‘Not exactly.’ Weinert drew closer and shook her hand. ‘Perhaps we should put an end to these guessing games. My name is Weinert. I’m an old friend of Gereon’s.’
‘Charlotte Ritter. I used to work with him at Alex. This is another old friend of Gereon’s. Paul Wittkamp from Cologne.’
‘A pleasure.’ The blond man had a firm handshake. What was intended as a smile somehow turned into a broad grin.
‘We hadn’t arranged to meet, yet still he dares not to be home,’ Wittkamp said, feigning outrage. ‘I’m leaving early tomorrow and wanted to say goodbye. I can’t even tempt him with the most beautiful woman in Berlin.’
The most beautiful woman in Berlin went a little red in the cheeks. ‘I’ve been trying to reach him for days,’ she said. ‘But all I’ve got is his secretary on the line. Paul likewise. Do you have any idea where he might be?’
‘Right now? He ought to be here,’ Weinert said, ‘because I have arranged to meet him. But nothing doing. He’s not in his local either.’ He shook his head. ‘Do you know I was sure he wouldn’t stand me up again this time. He even made a bet.’
Wittkamp laughed. ‘Well, then you can stop worrying. Gereon really doesn’t like to lose a bet.’
‘I can only think he was called to an operation at short notice.’
‘We can find that out easily enough,’ Charlotte Ritter said. ‘A telephone call to the station will suffice.’
‘There’s a telephone at Wassertorplatz.’
They made their way there together and, as they did so, Weinert learned that she had once worked in Homicide as a stenographer, but that her legal studies currently took precedence.
‘I know Gereon from his old flat in Nürnberger Strasse,’ he revealed. ‘I still live there.’
‘At Behnke’s?’
‘You know Frau Behnke?’
‘Indirectly.’
Weinert drew his own conclusions and fell silent.
They reached the telephone booth where he searched in his pocket for two ten-pfennig pieces. She took the coins and inserted them into the machine.
‘Berolina zero-zero-two-three,’ she said. ‘Homicide please.’ She had to wait a moment to be put through. ‘Evening, Reinhold. Have you been relegated to the late shift? Charly here. …Yeah, yeah, lots on my plate ’cause of the exam. Reinhold, the reason I’m calling. Do you have a major operation on? … No? … OK… Just an old friend who wanted to say goodbye to Gereon Rath. You don’t happen to know where he is?’
She shrugged when she hung up. ‘Work-wise there’s nothing unusual going on, and he doesn’t appear to be at the station either.’
‘What are we going to do with the rest of the evening?’
Charlotte Ritter sounded determined. ‘I think we should go to Alex,’ she said. ‘It feels strange that no one knows where Gereon is.’
‘Maybe he’s sitting in a pub somewhere getting drunk,’ Wittkamp said.
‘Not when he’s arranged to meet Herr Weinert here. And he hasn’t been in touch with us either, even though his secretary must have told him we called. Something’s not right and perhaps we can work it out!’
She gave Weinert a look that brooked no argument. ‘Do you want to stay here in case Gereon comes home?’
Weinert nodded. ‘I’ve got nothing better to do. Besides, the beer in the Nasse Dreieck tastes pretty good. Perhaps he’ll turn up there. Otherwise I’ll try my luck every half-hour on Luisenufer.’
‘If he should appear, please telephone the station and ask for Charlotte Ritter.’
‘If you should hear anything, just get in touch here at the pub. The Nasse Dreieck. Easy to remember. Don’t be surprised if the landlord doesn’t say anything. It just means you’ve got the right number.’