Bacheran went where his steps would take him. He walked straight across Moabit, between the Ringbahn and the Spree, then off Poststadium and Beusselstrasse. He would eventually come to an S-Bahn station, somehow. After two hours in the morgue he really needed some fresh air and exercise. He wanted to clear his head. He should, of course, have gone back to the office: on Saturdays everyone worked till noon. But no one at the State Attorney’s offices would notice if he didn’t show up. Everyone was looking forward to their ‘Weekend and Sunshine…’ but he was not. In the afternoon there would be coffee with his mother and Aunt Erna. In the evening he would go to the movies with his mother and Aunt Erna. Sunday morning there would be an excursion to Treptow with mother and Aunt Erna, a walk in the park, on the banks of the Spree, then lunch with mother and Aunt Erna at home in Fuldastrasse and finally a game of cards until the evening. The usual. What could he do? His friends had already entered the holy state of matrimony and were busy with their wives and children. When he did get invited he felt like an intruder. They all had themselves a ‘little wife’ as his mother and her sister Erna kept saying, he was the only one who didn’t. There was no obvious reason for that state of affairs. Whatever he tried it never worked. “You can’t make a bull give milk,” as uncle Waldemar said. Waldemar, the man who always did his slaughtering himself. His thoughts returned to dissecting table nr. 6. It was crazy. In the East they knew who the dead man was and they kept it to themselves so that they could be the ones to catch the killer and add a feather to their cap. ‘Look: What idiots they are in the West!’ or, even better, they would announce that they suspected the West Berlin police and the Western Allies of protecting the killer because in reality he was a secret agent who had come to the city to do sabotage work in the GDR. They might even say he was a big shot with unnatural tastes. Who knows what they were capable of: to them everything was possible in the ‘cesspool of capitalism’.
Bacheran was taken aback: He knew the building entrance, 6 Wilsnacker Strasse. Of course, it was the Tiergarten Police precinct. He decided to walk in to warm up and because he hoped they might offer him a cup of coffee. His hope was fulfilled since the staff were all sitting together celebrating the third day of Advent. They knew each other somewhat so Bacheran didn’t need much introduction. One of the homicide policemen offered him some mincemeat cake.
“No thank you. I’ve lost all taste for raw meat for the rest of the year.” He told them of his experience in the morgue. They all thought it outrageous that the authorities in the East would stall in such a way and they swore they would take their revenge the next time such a cross border case happened and they held the trump cards. “But maybe the perpetrator comes from the East,” someone said. “In that case we have the upper hand. Who gets the last laugh?”
What they laughed at most were the station chief’s jokes because he told them well. “Not a drop of alcohol here on our table. Not a drop as long as you pour carefully.” That’s the way they poured drink in this precinct. And they did so as they sat under a billboard that someone had taken down from the Reichsbahn. It said: ‘Always Sober at Work!’ Bacheran didn’t really enjoy alcohol but he had to drink up whether he wanted to or not. Otherwise he would have a bad reputation in the Berlin city administration. There was no real community without a little communal drinking from time to time. It certainly seemed collegiality was no problem in this precinct. There was a picture on the wall where they had all gathered around the warm cast iron stove. The chief right next to the lowly patrolman. Right after the war, winters were cold and people had to stick together. Everybody had the same problems. Some people had things and others needed them and so bartering was big. Life had done away with the old hierarchical ways. On the other hand people in power, almost all of them men, were still revered like gods and the military values of discipline, cleanliness and punctuality were valued highly. The new Germany, it seemed to Bacheran, was very much like the old, even after de-nazification. A suit was still a suit even when you dyed it a different color – brown, red or black.
Someone had brought a bottle of Italian wine and Bacheran could have bet that soon they would all be singing ‘The fishermen of Capri’. And of course they did. When in Capri the red sun sinks into the sea and the moon’s pale face flickers upon the sky, then the fishermen ride out to sea in their boats and spread their nets in wide circles. The stars are their only guide, showing them the route in pictures they know to read in the sky. And from boat to boat the old song is heard; hear it now as it echoes from afar: Bella, bella, bella Mari, be true to me, I’ll be back tomorrow morning early! Bella, Bella, Bella Mari, don’t you ever forget me!
Bacheran joined in bravely: “Bella, bella, bella Mari, don’t you ever forget me!”
Just then they heard a knock, the chief called out: “Come in!” and two people appeared at the door: they looked so stern and so official that no one thought of singing anymore. Almost everyone in the room felt embarrassed to be sitting together drinking. The chief felt compelled to utter something in the nature of an excuse: “Bitter weeks, happy parties… Come in dear colleagues, the class enemy still has the best creamed filled dominos. If you’re allowed to.”
“We’re not here on official duty.”
“Even worse. But please take your coats off.” He knew the two East Berlin officers from before the division of the city and introduced them to the others: “Inspector Steffen from Homicide East, police intern Leupahn…”
As Bacheran was shaking Miss Leupahn’s hand he looked into her eyes: they were a lovely blue, the color of forget-me-nots, but he didn’t find her very friendly. Too austere, too eastern. Steffen, on the contrary, he liked immediately. An angular face, a little like Nick Knatterton from Quick. They sat down now together with the eastern colleagues. “So you came over to eat Domino chocolate candy,” the Tiergarten station chief said. “Enjoy. And what are we going to discuss in secret here among friends?”
“Hermann Seidelmann.”
“Who’s that?”
Steffen and Leupahn were surprised. “You mean you don’t know…?”
“No, how should we?”
Bacheran had an idea what this was all about and so he came out of hiding. He also wanted to show the homicide squad that a State Attorney was their superior and was consequently always entitled to know more. “Hermann Seidelmann would be the owner of a torso and some limbs that we were privileged to see today on the dissecting table at Robert-Koch Hospital. With the exception of his head and one of his arms. Is that so – or am I right?”
Steffen smiled. “I don’t know. This is highly secret official business. I’m not saying anything. Only what you need to know about the reason for our visit. Miss Leupahn here is going to explain.”
“Well…hum. I’ll start with…” Miss Leupahn seemed very self conscious and nervous, but no one in the room could have guessed that the reason was Bernhard Bacheran. “A certain Hannes Seidelmann from 19 Wiclefstrasse in Berlin-Tiergarten … well, this person came to us three days ago and horrified …” They all laughed which naturally made her even more nervous. “What? I didn’t mean that of course, I meant ‘identified’: he recognized his brother because of a corn on his foot. It had been operated on recently. On the left foot. Hermann has been missing since December 3rd.”
“What else do we know?” the Tiergarten chief asked.
“A lot more, but…” Steffen gestured that he was sorry. “You know, don’t you, dear colleague, that I have to keep that to myself.”
The colleague from the West smiled. “Of course. But if we don’t strike a deal together, then neither side gets anything.”
“What do you mean, a deal?”
“Come now: obviously you came over to our side because you want to talk to Seidelmann’s brother. If you attempt to do that without us or against us, I’ll have you arrested. And if you try to be sneaky and quiet and covert, and see him, you run another risk: he’ll clam up and he’ll call our colleagues in the Stumm Police.”
Steffen nodded. “You could be right.”
“Thank you. So here is what I propose we do: your young colleague here takes a little nap at the precinct and she talks in her sleep and of course there are no laws against that; then you go to Wiclefstrasse and you talk to Hannes Seidelmann … with our young State Attorney intern, Mr. Bacheran.”
“Steffen agreed. “OK. It is of course outrageous that you should blackmail me in such a way but as long as Socialism isn’t victorious everywhere we have to make compromises with the class enemy. So shut your eyes and speak, Miss Leupahn.”
Bacheran took down what Miss Leupahn now revealed about the Seidelmann case: he was a fairground exhibitor and traveling salesman from Saxony. He had come to Berlin in November to bury his old mother. Stayed at his brother’s and sister’s. Besides Hannes there is also a Gerda Seidelmann. Hermann had brought 3,200 Marks East to exchange in Berlin for Western currency and also to buy spare parts. On the night of December 3rd, he had not come home. He didn’t return the following days, which was when the brother and sister had gone to the missing persons’ bureau.
Inspector Steffen got up. “Thank you very much for the hospitality, honored colleagues, ladies. You don’t know anything, I don’t know anything, and if Mr. Bacheran comes with us now, the only reason is that he is attracted to Miss Leupahn’s charms; he is not present in any official capacity.”
The criminal assistant from East Berlin blushed and Bacheran was suddenly struck by her beauty. They made their way on foot from Wilsnackerstrasse to Wiclefstrasse. They didn’t have a car and it wasn’t worth taking the streetcar for just four stops. There were no duty transport vouchers for colleagues from the East and they wouldn’t be able to ask for expenses since technically they were not here. Bacheran wanted to treat them to a trip on the nr. 2 but Miss Leupahn declared that walking was healthy. In those days two kilometers on foot was nothing.
“When the 86 stopped running after the war I walked 4 kms every morning to Grünau to catch the subway.”
Bacheran was quick. “You must live in Karolinenhof…?”
“Clever deduction.”
“It’s not a deduction at all. So you walked all the way down the lake.”
“No, I went through the woods.”
“We used to take walks along Langen See lake, and on the banks of the Dahme river. From Grünau to Schmöckwitz.” Bacheran could see himself renewing those walks … with Miss Leupahn at his side.
“We… Are you married?”
Bacheran laughed. “If this is an interrogation – I won’t say another word without my attorney. But let me reassure you: no, I go for walks every Sunday with my dear little mama. Which is bad enough. Aunt Erna is always there too. For you it must be much more pleasant… with your husband.”
“He has yet to be created.”
“If he comes to life now that will make him 20 years younger than you are. Do you really want to wait that long…?”
Steffen didn’t let her answer: as they were crossing at the corner of Turmstrasse and Stromstrasse, he moved in between them to talk soccer with Bacheran. Since the young State Attorney lived in NeuKölln he was of course a fan of Tasmania 1900 whereas the inspector from the East rooted for the Hertha team. Neither of them liked Tennis Borussia. Still, they forgot about soccer when a Fiat Topolino turned into the street.
“16.5 HP, 90 km an hour, top speed!” Stephen raved.
“What I need is a new bicycle.” Bacheran said.
When they turned back Miss Leupahn was no longer with them. She was standing in front of a shop window. Underwear and corsetry. A blond manikin lounged somewhat lasciviously in the window and Bacheran read the advertisement: ‘A beautiful figure with Felina!’ The brassiere – made of the best quality satin with lace cups and adjustable for the best fit - was 6.50 DM; the matching garter belt – with elastic back – 13.75 DM.
“Ah… Are you looking for something Father Christmas could bring you?” Bacheran asked.
“I’d like to meet that Father Christmas.”
“Turn around, you’ll see him.”
“Well, you are pretty straightforward, aren’t you…?”
“It’s an act of pure desperation. I need to escape from my mother and Aunt Erna.”
She turned to go. “Thanks for the compliment.”
Bacheran hesitated: should he go on flirting with her wherever it may lead? She came from the East, he from the West – that meant nothing but trouble. And… he’d always dreamed of a soft, compliant type of girl, the Lilian Harvey type whereas Miss Leupahn was more like a stern governess. On the other hand… when she smiled she looked a little like Hildegard Knef. But he didn’t even know her first name. Brunnhilde probably.
They passed Emdenerstrasse and reached the apartment building at 19 Wiclefstrasse; the doorman immediately confirmed that a Mr. Seidelmann did live there. Down the hall, up two flights of stairs, center left. They went up. They hoped Hannes Seidelmann and his sister would already be at home. Bacheran rang the bell and it was opened after a very short interval. As if they had been expected. They introduced themselves and were shown in. “Please sit down. May we offer you something?”
Bacheran thanked the brother and sister and answered for the three of them: “No thank you…”
“You already know the sad truth… That your brother was murdered,” Bacheran spoke first. “And we wish to extend our deepest sympathies to you.”
Brother and sister thanked him. “It’s all so horrible,” Hannes added. “He managed to survive the war… and now, at home in Germany he is thro…, murdered.”
Bacheran jumped. If he heard correctly, Seidelmann was about to say something different before he said ‘murdered’. ‘Throttled’ maybe. And that was something he could not have known. Or was he injecting something that was not in fact there? Mm…it was not difficult to imagine that a man would kill his own brother, not since Cain and Abel. Maybe he hated his brother since they were children, maybe he had an affair with his sister in law, or maybe he wanted his brother’s money. All this was going through his head as Hannes and Gerda Seidelmann talked about their brother. As he listened, Bacheran’s eyes fell on a prospectus lying on the coffee table. An ad for the Gregor Gölztsch furniture store at the corner of Uhland and Kantstrasse. He knew the ad: ‘G.G. Furniture, a Great Idea.’ He looked around him discreetly. The Seidelmanns’ furniture looked more like it dated back to the days of the Kaiser, something new was badly needed here. Especially if he wanted to bring a woman into the nest. But it was so expensive!
“…and then we went around everywhere and showed people the note saying ‘Beautiful woman at the Zoo’ and we asked about him, in vain.”
“Was he interested in other women?” Steffen asked.
“Our brother had four children and he was a good family man.”
As if the one excluded the other, Bacheran thought to himself and he looked at Seidlemann’s hands. They were certainly strong enough. And then, as he had just explained, he used to work laying cables for the telegraph and he had done that for half of his life. Cables and wires. Cords, ropes, in a sense. And you didn’t need a rope or a clothes line to throttle a man, a telephone cord would do.
At that point, Bacheran felt pretty sure that Seidelmann was the perpetrator.
“You were going to go and look at some furniture…” he asked as if by chance when Miss. Leupahn and Steffen were done.
“No, no.” Seidelmann protested. A bit too insistently, in Bacheran’s view. “My brother brought this prospectus here.”
Inspector Steffen got up. “Well, all this looks pretty murky…”
That’s true, Bacheran thought. The dismembered city, the dismembered corpse. The whole East-West puzzle.
Miss Leupahn didn’t let the general moodiness infect her and spoke matter-of-factly. “What we may conclude is this: we still have no trace of the perpetrator and as to the scene of the crime, we are fully in the dark. But a reward will be offered for the apprehension of the culprit.”