Babylon Berlin by Volker Kutscher Read Free Book Online

for someone?’ The man was small and slight, his hat too big for his gaunt face, likewise his enormous moustache. There was a little steel helmet on his lapel.
    ‘You could say that.’ Rath dug out the piece of paper and read aloud. ‘Alexej Ivanovitsch Kardakov.’
    ‘Never heard of him. Is he supposed to live here?’
    ‘He left this address.’
    ‘That doesn’t mean a thing with these Russians.’
    ‘But you live in this house?’
    ‘I don’t need to tell you anything.’
    ‘Perhaps you do.’ Rath waved his badge, although he was not on duty.
    The man raised a conciliatory hand. ‘What would you like to know?’
    ‘Have you noticed anything suspicious in the last few weeks? Has anyone new moved in?’
    ‘Not that I’m aware of.’
    ‘Perhaps under a different name.’
    ‘I’d like to help you, mate, but no. What’s this guy supposed to have done?’
    ‘Just routine questioning,’ Rath said. He was regretting having shown his badge, strictly speaking it was illegal. He needed to get rid of this pesky witness before he became any more curious. It was obvious he couldn’t assist any further. ‘Thank you for your help.’
    ‘Always at your service.’
    Rath had already turned round when the stranger shouted after him. ‘Hang on, officer! Are you here because of the row by any chance?’
    ‘The row?’
    ‘There was someone here in the middle of the night banging on the door so loudly that no-one could sleep. Crazy, he was. Afterwards, there were two of them fighting. The noise, well I’ll tell you it was quite something. I thought they were going to kill each other.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘They were Russian. Hundred percent. Maybe it was the man you’re looking for, but he doesn’t live here. Definitely not. Only decent people live here.’
    Rath tipped his hat.
    ‘Many thanks.’
    Strange, he thought, as he made his way via Skalitzer Strasse back in the direction of Kottbusser Tor. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who’d had his sleep disturbed by a Russian.

4
     
    The new month had got off to a good start. Rath was sitting at his desk, cup of coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other. In front of him were the photos. The print of Wilhelm II was the only one still with a question mark; a little secret he shared with Wolter. They had managed to identify all those who had been snapped, even the ones who had given them the slip during the raid. Yesterday, after he had softened up Old Fritz in the interview room, Rath had presented Uncle with a list of names.
    For the first time since his arrival in Berlin, Rath felt halfway decent about himself and at one with the world. His gaze wandered out through the window, past the railway platform to the dark wall of the courthouse.
    The day off had done him good, even if he had squandered it in fruitless inquiries. At least he had been able to avoid Elisabeth Behnke. She had cooked for him that evening, and he had told her about his futile search over a bottle of wine. This time he hadn’t drunk too much, but had simply planted on her cheek a goodnight kiss that left everything open while promising nothing. The next morning, yesterday morning, he had arrived at work feeling fresh and well rested for the first time in weeks.
    Wolter had pressed for results because time was short. ‘We need to get a move on with our questioning. 1A will need plenty of space in the cells tomorrow. On the first of May our friends will be transferred to Moabit. We need to have something we can use by then.’
    Well, now they did.
    Section 1A, the political arm of the police, was in charge of the May actions, and obviously reckoned on making a lot of arrests. The communist press had been agitating for days. Commissioner Zörgiebel, meanwhile, had responded with an appeal that almost all the city’s papers had carried: If the communists have their way the streets of Berlin will be paved with blood . I am determined to assert the powers vested in me by the state and use all