Rath didn’t know how long he had held this position, but it felt like hours. His hunched back was hellishly sore and, for the moment, even made him forget his headache. He’d have given anything to stretch out but couldn’t.
Should he call for Elisabeth Marquard? It definitely made a difference whether he snuffed it in this crate or died a half-dignified death in the golden cage above. What had made him come up with such a crazy idea? Now he was trapped. To die in a dumb waiter! It was some comfort, at least, that he would escape the ignominy of being found there.
Suddenly he thought he heard something. Yes! Someone was whistling a happy tune. There was a hollow, tinny sound as he kicked against the steel door. He had tried it when he first came down, but no one had reacted. Probably because there was no one in the kitchen.
He kicked against the door again, as hard as he could with bent knees and a hunched back. The steps drew closer, and at last he heard someone unlocking the door; light streamed into his dark, narrow cage and he blinked between his knees into the surprised face of a Chinese man. He had no intention of inflicting harm, but he couldn’t help it, he had to stretch his legs. In the process he landed his saviour one on the chin.
Rath manoeuvred himself out of the lift and looked around, scarcely able to think clearly. The Chinese man lay motionless on the light grey marble tiles.
On the work surface was a drawer container with white powder. He rushed to try it, ignoring his aching bones.
Salt! This couldn’t be happening.
He was in a kitchen, there had to be sugar somewhere! He looked in the cupboards, but found only pots, bowls, plates. Where did they keep the supplies? He looked around increasingly frantically.
Quick, but don’t panic! What was he looking for again?
There, beside the dresser. A small, unremarkable door. He stumbled over and opened it. The larder!
At last he had found paradise! Shelves and shelves of food.
Now, quickly, anything sweet, to me!
The first thing he saw was the sorry remains of a marble cake. He gulped down a slice. The cake was so dry he almost choked, but it was sweet.
He wouldn’t be able to manage another piece like that, he had to drink something. He found a bottle of apple juice and brought it to his lips, alternating continuously between drinking and eating until the bottle was empty and the cake demolished. I need more fruit, he thought. Fruit was best, fructose, if he had understood Dr Karthaus correctly. He searched for and found a few crates of fruit, grabbed a banana and an apple, and proceeded to eat his way through the rest as if in a frenzy, leaving only the yangtao.
Starting to think more clearly again, he took another bottle of apple juice and went back into the kitchen. The Chinese man on the ground was groaning.
In amongst the groaning, however, was another sound, a wretched, high-pitched whimper.
‘Kirie?’ There was a short bark in response. ‘Where are you, sweetie?’
Another bark, from the corner next to the big fridge.
He couldn’t believe his eyes. She was crouched in a tiny cage that must have been intended to transport chickens. He placed the apple juice on the floor and opened the door.
‘My poor Kirie,’ he said, taking the dog in his arms. ‘Were they going to put you on the menu?’
Now he no longer regretted in the slightest having sent the Chinese man to the floor.
‘What you want here? I call police!’
He turned around. The Chinese man was standing in front of him, holding his head in one hand and a large kitchen knife in the other.
‘I am the police!’ Rath showed his badge. The Chinese man bowed and laid the knife down. ‘Just stay calm now,’ he said, ‘unless you want me to arrest you for animal cruelty.’
‘My dog! Herr Marquard Sir give me!’
‘So you can turn her into sausage meat? This is Germany, you know.’
‘No sausage, what you talking about? For niece number two. Has birthday soon.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, but that birthday present of yours is a non-starter. The dog belongs to me. Herr Marquard…’
‘Herr Marquard give to me, not police!’ The man took a step towards Rath and tried to grab the dog. Kirie barked at him, and he started back.
‘You see, she wants nothing to do with you!’
‘My dog, talk Herr Marquard! My dog!’
The man wasn’t about to give up so easily. He made a second grab for Kirie, but she grew even more agitated, and growled at him until Rath could no longer keep hold of her. She leapt from his arms and tore away at great speed.
The man made to go after her. Rath didn’t know what else to do, so he dealt the man another quick blow to the chin, knocking him out again. ‘Sorry,’ he said.
The excitement and effort had caused him a lot of strain. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, still didn’t have enough sugar in his blood. Or, rather, had far too much insulin. He grabbed the bottle of apple juice and set off in the same direction as Kirie. She would know the best way out.
He could have done with his Mauser and, for a moment, thought about arming himself with a knife from the kitchen. He decided against. He wasn’t cut out to be a knife-man.