As I left he promised to check up on the licence plate of Schmalz’s Citroën.
The note for Brigitte was still hanging on the door. When I was lying in bed she called. ‘Are you feeling better? Sorry I couldn’t come round to see you again. I just didn’t manage it. How’s your weekend looking? Do you think you’ll feel up to coming to dinner tomorrow?’ Something wasn’t right. Her cheerfulness sounded forced.
22
Tea in the loggia
On Saturday morning I found one message from Nägelsbach on the answering machine and one from Korten. The number on the licence plate on old Schmalz’s Citroën had been allotted to a Heidelberg postal worker for his VW Beetle five years ago. Presumably the licence plate I saw originated from this scrapped predecessor. Korten asked whether I wouldn’t like to visit them in Ludolf-Krehl-Strasse. I should call him back.
‘My dear Self, good to hear you. This afternoon, tea in the loggia? You whipped up quite a storm for us, I hear. And you sound as though you have a cold. It doesn’t surprise me, ha ha. Your level of fitness, I’m full of respect.’
At four o’clock I was in Ludolf-Krehl-Strasse. For Inge, if it was still Inge, I had brought an autumn bouquet. I marvelled at the entrance gate, the video camera, and the intercom system. It consisted of a telephone receiver on a long cable that the chauffeur could pick up and pass on to the good ladies and gentlemen in the rear. Just as I wanted to sit back in my car with the receiver I heard Korten with the tortured patience you use for a naughty child. ‘Don’t be silly, Self! The cable car is on its way for you.’
On the ride up I had a view from Neuenheim over the Rhine plain to the Palatinate Forest. It was a clear day and I could make out the chimneys of the RCW. Their white smoke merged innocently with the blue sky.
Korten, in cords, checked shirt, and a casual cardigan, greeted me heartily. Two dachshunds were leaping around him. ‘I’ve had a table set in the loggia, it won’t be too cold for you, will it? You can always have one of my cardigans, Helga knits me one after the other.’
We stood enjoying the view. ‘Is that your church down there?’
‘The Johanneskirche? No, we belong to the Friedenskirche parish in Handschuhsheim. I’ve become an Elder. Nice job.’
Helga came with a coffee pot and I unloaded my flowers. I’d only known Inge fleetingly and didn’t know whether she’d died, divorced, or simply left. Helga, new wife or new lover, resembled her. The same cheerfulness, the same false modesty, the same delight over my bouquet. She stayed to have a first slice of apple cake with us. Then: ‘You men certainly want to talk among yourselves.’ As was right and proper we contradicted her. And as was right and proper she went anyway.
‘May I have another slice of apple cake? It’s delicious.’
Korten leant back in his armchair. ‘I am sure you had good reason for frightening security on Thursday evening. If you don’t mind I’d like to know what it was. I was the one who recently introduced you to the Works, if you like, and I’m the one to get all the puzzled looks when your escapades became known.’
‘How well did you know Schmalz senior? A personal message from you was read out at his funeral.’
‘You weren’t looking for the answer to that question in the shed. But fine, I knew him better and liked him better than all the other men in security. Back in the dark years we grew close to some of the simple employees in a way that is no longer possible today.’
‘He killed Mischkey. And in the hangar I found proof, the thing that killed him.’
‘Old Schmalz? He wouldn’t hurt a fly. What are you talking yourself into, my dear Self.’
Without mentioning Judith or going into detail, I reported what had happened. ‘And if you ask me what any of this has to do with me then I’ll remind you of our last talk. I ask you to go gently on Mischkey and shortly afterwards he’s dead.’
‘And where do you see a reason, a motive, for such action on the part of old Schmalz?’
‘We can come back to that in a minute. First I’d like to know if you have any questions about the order of events.’
Korten got up and prowled back and forth heavily. ‘Why didn’t you call me first thing yesterday morning? Then we might still have discovered something more about what went on in Schmalz’s hangar. Now it’s too late. It was planned for weeks – yesterday the building complex, along with the old hangar, was demolished. That was also the reason I spoke to old Schmalz myself four weeks ago. We had a little schnapps and I tried to break the news to him that we, unfortunately, couldn’t keep the old hangar, nor his apartment.’
‘You were round at Schmalz senior’s?’
‘No, I asked him to come and see me. Naturally I don’t usually deliver such messages. But he’s always reminded me of the old days. And you know how sentimental I am deep down.’
‘And what happened to the delivery van?’
‘No idea. The son will have taken care of it. But once again, where do you see a motive?’
‘I actually thought you’d be able to tell me.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Korten’s steps slowed. He stood still, turned, and scrutinized me.
‘That Schmalz senior personally had no reason to kill Mischkey is clear. But the plant did have some trouble with him, put him under pressure, even had him beaten up; and he did show resistance. And he could have blown your deal with Grimm. You’re not going to tell me you knew nothing about all this?’
No, Korten wasn’t. He had been aware of the trouble and also of the deal with Grimm. But that was surely not the stuff of murder. ‘Unless . . .’ he removed his glasses, ‘unless old Schmalz misinterpreted something. You know, he was the sort of man who still imagined himself in service, and if his son or another security man told him about the trouble with Mischkey, he might have seen himself as obliged to act as saviour of the Works.’
‘What could Schmalz senior have misunderstood with such serious repercussions?’
‘I don’t know what his son or anyone else might have told him. Or if anyone just plain incited him? I’ll get to the bottom of it. It’s unbearable to think that my good old Schmalz ended up being exploited like this. And what a tragic end. His great love for the Works and a silly little misunderstanding led him to take a life senselessly and unnecessarily, and also to sacrifice his own.’
‘What’s the matter with you? Giving life, taking life, tragedy, exploitation – I’m thinking: “It’s not reprehensible to use people, it’s just tactless to let them notice” ’
‘You’re right, let’s get back to the matter at hand. Should we bring in the police?’
That was it? An over-eager veteran of security had killed Mischkey, and Korten didn’t even turn a hair. Could the prospect of having the police in the Works frighten him? I tried it out.
Korten weighed up the pros and cons. ‘It’s not only the fact that it’s always unpleasant to have the police in the Works. I feel sorry for the Schmalz family. To lose a husband and father and then to discover he had made a lethal mistake – can we take on the responsibility for that? There’s nothing left to atone, he paid with his life. But I’m thinking about reparation. Do you know whether Mischkey had parents he looked after, or other obligations, or whether he has a decent gravestone? Did he leave anyone behind we could do something for? Would you be willing to take care of it?’
I assumed that Judith wouldn’t particularly care to have anything of the sort done for her.
‘I’ve investigated plenty in Mischkey’s case. If you’re serious, Frau Schlemihl can find out what you need to know with a couple of phone calls.’
‘You’re always so sensitive. You did wonderful work on Mischkey’s case. I’m also grateful that you kept going with the second part of the investigation. I need to be aware of such things. May I extend my original contract belatedly and ask you to send a bill?’
He was welcome to the bill.
‘Ah, and another thing,’ said Korten, ‘while we’re talking business. You forgot to enclo
se your special pass with your report last time. Please do pop it in the envelope with the bill this time.’
I took the pass out of my wallet. ‘You can have it right now. And I’ll be on my way.’
Helga came onto the loggia as though she’d been eavesdropping behind the door, and had picked up the signal for saying goodbye. ‘The flowers are truly delightful, would you like to see where I’ve put them, Herr Self?’
‘Ah, children, drop the formalities. Self is my oldest friend.’ Korten put an arm round both our shoulders.
I wanted out. Instead, I followed the two of them into the sitting room, admired my bouquet on the grand piano, listened to the popping of the champagne cork, and clinked glasses with Helga, over the dropping of formalities.
‘Why haven’t we seen you here more often?’ she asked in all innocence.
‘Yes, we must change that,’ said Korten, before I could respond at all. ‘What are your plans for New Year’s Eve?’
I thought about Brigitte. ‘I’m not sure yet.’
‘That’s wonderful, my dear Self. Then we’ll be in touch with each other again soon.’
23
Do you have a tissue?
Brigitte had prepared beef stroganoff with fresh mushrooms and rice. It tasted delicious, the wine was at a perfect temperature, and the table was lovingly set. Brigitte was chattering. I’d brought her Elton John’s Greatest Hits and he was singing of love and suffering, hope and separation.
She held forth on reflexology, acupressure, and Rolfing. She told me about patients, health insurers, and colleagues. She didn’t care in the least whether it interested me, or how I was.
‘What’s going on today? This afternoon I scarcely recognize Korten, and now I’m sitting here with you and the only thing you have in common with the Brigitte I like is the scar on your earlobe.’
She laid down her fork, put her elbows on the table, rested her head on her hands, and began to weep. I went round the table to her, she nuzzled her head into my belly, and just cried all the more.
‘What’s wrong?’ I stroked her hair.
‘I . . . oh . . . I, it’s enough to drive me to tears. I’m going away tomorrow.’
‘Why the tears about that?’
‘It’s for so terribly long. And so far.’ She raised her face.
‘How long, then, and how far?’
‘Oh . . . I . . .’ She pulled herself together. ‘Do you have a tissue? I’m going to Brazil for six months. To see my son.’
I sat down. Now I felt ready to weep, too. At the same time I felt angry. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘I didn’t know things would turn out so nice between us.’
‘I don’t understand.’
She took my hand. ‘Juan and I had intended to take the six months to see whether we couldn’t be together after all. Manuel misses his mother all the time. And with you I thought it would just be a short episode and over anyway by the time I left for Brazil.’
‘What do you mean, you thought it would be over anyway when you left for Brazil? Postcards from Sugar Loaf Mountain won’t change a thing.’ I was quite bleak with sadness. She said nothing and stared into space. After a while I withdrew my hand from hers and got up. ‘I’d better go now.’ She nodded mutely.
In the hallway she leaned against me for one last moment. ‘You see, I can’t go on being the raven mother that you never liked anyway.’
24
She’d hunched her shoulders
The night was dreamless. I woke up at six o’clock, knew I had to talk to Judith today and thought about what I should tell her. Everything? How would she be able to continue working at RCW and hold on to her old life? But that was a problem I couldn’t solve for her.
At nine o’clock I phoned her. ‘I’ve wrapped up the case, Judith. Shall we take a walk by the harbour and I’ll fill you in?’
‘You don’t sound good. What have you found out?’
‘I’ll pick you up at ten.’
I put coffee on, took the butter out of the fridge, and the eggs and smoked ham, chopped onions and chives, warmed up milk for Turbo, squeezed three oranges for juice, set the table, and made myself two fried eggs on ham and lightly sweated onions. When the eggs were just right I sprinkled them with chives. The coffee was ready.
I sat for a long time over my breakfast without touching it. Just before ten I took a couple of gulps of coffee. I set down the eggs for Turbo and left.
When I rang the bell, Judith came down straight away. She looked pretty in her loden coat with its collar turned up, as pretty as only an unhappy person can be.
We parked the car by the harbour office and walked between the rail tracks and the old warehouses along Rheinkaistrasse. Beneath the grey September sky it all had the peacefulness of a Sunday. The John Deere tractors were parked as though they were waiting for a field chaplain to begin the service.
‘Will you please finally start to tell me?’
‘Didn’t Firner mention my run-in with plant security on Thursday night?’
‘No. I think he’d gathered I was with Peter.’
I started with the talk I’d had with Korten yesterday, lingered over the question of whether old Schmalz was the last link of a well-functioning chain of command, had crazily set himself up as the saviour of the plant, or had been used, nor did I spare the details of the murder on the bridge. I made it clear that what I knew, and what could be proved, were leagues apart.
Judith strode along firmly beside me. She’d hunched her shoulders and was holding the collar of her coat closed with her left hand against the north wind. She hadn’t interrupted me. But now she said with a small laugh that cut me even further to the quick than her tears would have done: ‘Do you know, Gerhard, it’s so absurd. When I took you on to find out the truth I thought it would help me. But now I feel more at a loss than ever.’
I envied Judith the purity of her grief. My sadness was pervaded by a sense of weakness, of guilt, because I’d delivered Mischkey to the dogs, albeit unwittingly, a feeling that I’d been used, and a strange pride at having come so far. It also saddened me that the case had initially connected Judith and myself then entangled us so much with one another that we’d never be able to grow closer without a sense of awkwardness.
‘You’ll send me the bill?’
She hadn’t understood that Korten wanted to pay for my investigation. As I explained this to her, she retreated even further into herself and said: ‘That fits perfectly. It would also fit if I were to be promoted to Korten’s personal assistant. It’s all so repulsive.’
Between warehouse number seventeen and number nineteen we turned left and came to the Rhine. Opposite lay the RCW skyscraper. The Rhine flowed past, wide and tranquil.
‘What do I do now?’
I had no answers. If she managed tomorrow to lay the folder of letters in front of Firner to sign, as though nothing had happened, she’d come to terms with it.
‘And the terrible thing is that Peter is already so far away, inside. I’ve cleared out everything at home that reminded me of him, because it hurt so much. But now my loneliness feels tidied away, too, and I’m getting cold.’
We walked along the Rhine, following it downstream. Suddenly she turned to me, seized me by the coat, shook me and said: ‘We can’t just let them get away with it!’ With her right arm she made a sweeping gesture encapsulating the Works opposite. ‘They shouldn’t be let off the hook.’
‘No, they shouldn’t be, but they will be. Since the beginning of time, people with power have got away with it. And here perhaps it wasn’t even the people with power, it was a lunatic, Schmalz.’
‘But that’s exactly what power is, not having to act yourself, but getting some lunatic to do it. That can’t excuse them.’
I tried to explain to her that I didn’t want to excuse anyone, but that I simply couldn’t pursue the investigation.
‘Then you’re just one of the somebodies who does the dirty work for those people with
power. Leave me alone now, I’ll find my own way back.’
I suppressed the impulse to leave her there, and said instead: ‘That’s mad, the secretary of the director of the RCW reproaching the detective who carried out a contract for the RCW, for working for the RCW. That’s rich.’
We walked on. After a while she put an arm through mine. ‘In the old days, if something bad happened, I always had the feeling it would all be okay again. Life, I mean. Even after my divorce. Now I know nothing will ever be the same again. Do you recognize that?’
I nodded.
‘Listen, it really would be best if I go on walking here on my own for a bit. You needn’t look so worried, I won’t do anything silly.’
From Rheinkaistrasse I looked back. She hadn’t moved. She was looking over to the RCW at the levelled ground of the old factory. The wind blew an empty cement sack over the street.
Part Three
1
A milestone in jurisprudence
After a long, golden Indian summer, winter started abruptly. I can’t remember a colder November.
I wasn’t working much then. The investigation in the Sergej Mencke affair advanced at a crawl. The insurance company was hemming and hawing about sending me to America. The meeting with the ballet director had taken place on the sidelines of a rehearsal, and had taught me about Indian dance, which was being rehearsed, but otherwise only revealed that some people liked Sergej, others didn’t, and the ballet director belonged to the latter category. For two weeks I was plagued by rheumatism so that I wasn’t fit for anything except getting through the bare necessities. Beyond that I went on plenty of walks, frequented the sauna and the cinema, finished reading Green Henry – I’d laid it aside in the summer – and listened to Turbo’s winter coat grow. One Saturday I bumped into Judith at the market. She was no longer working at RCW, was living off her unemployment money, and helping out at the women’s bookshop Xanthippe. We promised to get together, but neither of us made the first move. With Eberhard I re-enacted the matches of the world chess championship. As we were sitting over the last game, Brigitte called from Rio. There was a buzzing and crackling in the line; I could barely make her out. I think she said she was missing me. I didn’t know what to do with that.