I threw it back and waited for the fiery spirit to seek out what was left of my heart and stomach. I nodded and let him pour me another. I said: ‘Just when you thought that things couldn’t get any worse, you find out that they’ve always been a lot worse than you thought they were. And then they get worse.’ I drained the second glass and then surveyed its empty shape. ‘Thanks for telling me straight, Arthur.’ I dragged myself to my feet. ‘And thanks for the warmer.’
‘Please keep me informed about your suspect,’ he said. ‘You might consider letting a couple of your men work a friend-and-foe shift on him. No rough stuff, just a bit of the old-fashioned psychological pressure. You know the sort of thing I mean. Incidentally, how are you getting on with your team? Everything working out there? No resentments, or anything like that?’
I could have sat down again and given him a list of faults there that were as long as a Party rally, but really he didn’t need it. I knew that Kripo had a hundred bulls who were worse than the three I had in my squad. So I merely nodded and said that everything was fine.
But at the door to Nebe’s office I stopped and uttered the words automatically, without even thinking. I said it, and not out of obligation, in response to someone else, in which situation I might have consoled myself with the excuse that I was just keeping my head down and avoiding the trouble of giving offence. I said it first.
‘Heil Hitler.’
‘Heil Hitler.’ Nebe didn’t look up from whatever it was that he had started writing as he mumbled his reply, so he didn’t see my expression. I couldn’t say what it would have looked like. But whatever my expression, it was born of the realization that the only real complaint I had at the Alex was going to be against myself.
10
The telephone rang. I wrestled my way across from the other side of the bed and answered it. I was still registering the time while Deubel was speaking. It was two a.m.
‘Say that again.’
‘We think we’ve found the missing girl, sir.’
‘Dead?’
‘Like a mouse in a trap. There’s no positive identification yet, but it looks like all the rest of them, sir. I’ve called Professor Illmann. He’s on his way now.’
‘Where are you, Deubel?’
‘Zoo Bahnhof.’
It was still warm outside when I went down to the car, and I opened the window to enjoy the night air, as well as to help wake me up. For everyone but Herr and Frau Hanke asleep at their home in Steglitz, it promised to be a nice day.
I drove east along Kurfurstendamm with its geometric-shaped, neon-lit shops, and turned north up Joachimstaler Strasse, at the top of which loomed the great luminous greenhouse that was the Zoo Station. In front were several police vans, a redundant ambulance and a few drunks still intent on making a night of it, being moved on by a bull.
Inside, I walked across the floor of the central ticket hall towards the police barrier that had been erected in front of the lost property and left-luggage areas. I flashed my badge at the two men guarding the barrier and carried on through. As I rounded the corner Deubel met me halfway.
‘What have we got?’ I said.
‘Body of a girl in a trunk, sir. From the look and smell of her she’s been in there sometime. The trunk was in the left-luggage office.’
‘The professor here yet?’
‘Him and the photographer. They haven’t done much more than give her a dirty look. We wanted to wait for you.’
‘I’m touched by your thoughtfulness. Who found the mortal remains?’
‘I did, sir, with one of the uniformed sergeants in my squad.’
‘Oh? What did you do, consult a medium?’
‘There was an anonymous telephone call, sir. To the Alex. He told the desk sergeant where to find the body, and the desk sergeant told my sergeant. He rang me and we came straight down here. We located the trunk, found the girl and then I called you.’
‘An anonymous caller you say. What time was this?’
‘About twelve. I was just going off shift.’
‘I’ll want to speak to the man who took that call. You better get someone to check he doesn’t go off duty either, at least not until he’s made his report. How did you get in here?’
‘The night station-master, sir. He keeps the keys in his office when they close the left luggage.’ Deubel pointed at a fat greasy-looking man standing a few metres away, chewing the skin on the palm of his hand. ‘That’s him over there.’
‘Looks like we’re keeping him from his supper. Tell him I want the names and addresses of everyone who works in this section, and what time they start work in the morning. Regardless of what hours they work, I want to see them all here at the normal opening time, with all their records and paperwork.’ I paused for a moment, steeling myself for what was about to follow.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Show me where.’
In the left-luggage office, Hans Illmann sat on a large parcel labelled ‘Fragile’, smoking one of his roll-ups and watching the police photographer set up his flashlights and camera-tripods.
‘Ah, the Kommissar,’ he said, eyeing me and standing. ‘We’re not long here ourselves, and I knew you’d want us to wait for you. Dinner’s a little overcooked, so you’ll need these.’ He handed me a pair of rubber gloves, and then looked querulously at Deubel. ‘Are you sitting down with us, inspector?’
Deubel grimaced. ‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind, sir. Normally I would, but I’ve got a daughter about that age myself.’
I nodded. ‘You’d better wake up Becker and Korsch and get them down here. I don’t see why we should be the only ones to lose our rat.’
Deubel turned to go.
‘Oh, inspector,’ said Illmann, ‘you might ask one of our uniformed friends to organize some coffee. I work a great deal better when I’m awake. Also, I need someone to take notes. Can your sergeant write legibly, do you think?’
‘I assume he does, sir.’
‘Inspector, the one assumption that it is safe to make with regard to the educational standards that prevail in Orpo is that which allows only of the man being capable of completing a betting-slip. Find out for sure, if you wouldn’t mind. I’d rather do it myself than later have to decipher the Cyrillic scrawl of a more primitive life- form.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Deubel smiled thinly and went to carry out his orders.
‘I didn’t think he was the sensitive type,’ Illmann commented, watching him go. ‘Imagine a detective not wanting to see the body. It’s like a wine merchant declining to try a Burgundy he’s about to purchase. Unthinkable. Wherever do they find these face-slappers?’
‘Simple. They just go out and shanghai all the men wearing leather shorts. It’s what the Nazis call natural selection.’
On the floor at the back of the left-luggage office lay the trunk containing the body, covered with a sheet. We pulled up a couple of large parcels and sat down.
Illmann drew back the sheet, and I winced a little as the animal-house smell rose up to greet me, turning my head automatically towards the better air that lay behind my shoulder.
‘Yes, indeed,’ he murmured, ‘it’s been a warm summer.’
It was a full-sized steamer trunk, and made of good quality blue leather, with brass locks and studs – the kind
