Babylon Berlin Summer Cases Chapter 1
This is an attempt to fill in the gaps between season 2 and 3 of the TV show Babylon Berlin. Although I have read some of the books this show is based on, I will not be following the characterizations and plots of the books. Hopefully, dear readers, you will have watched the show before you read this.
As we begin, it is late May 1929. Germany is a democracy but the forces of Communism and Nationalism fight to change this state. Our heroes, Berlin Police Criminal Detective Gereon Rath and Criminal Assistant Charlotte Ritter, find themselves at the center of forces that are trying to rip Germany's fragile democracy apart. At the same time their personal lives are imploding as secrets are revealed and feelings exposed. The story picks up with both Gereon and Charlotte in the hospital after the incident with the Sorokin's gold train.
The story will proceed from different viewpoints in each chapter. As always, this does not belong to me, but to the author of the books and the show's creators. By the way, reviews are nice, the good, the bad and the ugly. Enjoy.
Charlotte
All the news came as she lay in bed in the hospital. Gereon shot, but alive. Bruno blown up, dead. The train stopped, but the Sorokin's gold inside was fake, coal bars painted gold. Later she and Gereon surmised that the tanker car carrying the fake gold was really made of gold. But now it was gone, back to Russia and the Communists could do whatever the hell they liked with it as far as Charlotte was concerned. That damn train had almost cost her and murder squad Detective Gereon Rath their lives, twice over.
She had mixed feelings about vice squad Detective Sargent Bruno Wolter's death. He had helped her, getting her a clean criminal conduct sheet so she could apply to be a criminal assistant in the murder squad. But he had asked for something and she had paid the price. Charlotte was a part-time prostitute at the Moka Efti nightclub, but she was not registered with the police, which was a crime. Bruno held that over her head so she had let him have his way with her, several times, and she had even spied on Gereon for him. But later he was kind when her mother had died. Bruno had paid for the funeral and never asked for anything in return.
Then he killed Criminal Assistant Stephan Janicke and everything changed. Stephan was sweet on Charlotte and had helped her get a position as a steno/typist at police headquarters. But he was an internal investigator for August Benda, the political police councilor. Stephan was spying on Bruno and Bruno's nationalist pals in the Black Reichswher. He wrote everything in a notebook, which Gereon had found in Bruno's home after Stephan was shot dead.
She couldn't believe Bruno had done that, didn't want to believe. But then he had tried to kill her and Gereon, forcing their car off the road into a cold lake.
The horror of those few minutes would live with her the rest of her life. Trapped in the car as it filled with water, Gereon trying to break her free, trying to give her air to breathe…and failing, screaming as she died. She swallowed water and darkness came to her eyes and long she drifted in blackness.
Then…lips…on her lips…forcing her…to life!
The water came out and he held her tight, Gereon, soaking wet, holding her by the lakeside. Later, as he carried her in his arms down the road, she knew she was in love with him.
That was two days ago. Reinhold Graf, her crossdressing friend of the Berlin night life and the photographer for the police, came to the hospital and told her what had happened to the train. All she cared about was that Gereon was still alive.
"Where is he?" she asked as she put on her shoes while sitting on the hospital bed.
"Police clinic in Berlin."
"Is it bad?"
"Two bullets, both flesh wounds in the shoulders. He will live."
"Good. Let's go." She grabbed some flowers someone had put in a vase by her bed and headed to the door, but Graf didn't move. She saw the look on his face. "What else happened?"
"August Benda, the police councilor….is dead."
That shook her. "What? How?"
"Looks like a bomb in his house."
Charlotte felt a cold chill run up her spine. "Greta…my friend Greta works for him as a maid."
"Only the councilor and his daughter were killed."
"God. His daughter?"
"Yes. A child. Terrible. I…I took the pictures…it was…" But he could not say the words.
"Oh, Reinhold…that must have been awful."
"Yes. Gennat is on the case. He said he needs to talk to you."
That was a surprise. "Me? Why?"
"Your friend…the maid…"
"Greta."
"Yes, Greta Overbeck. She may be a suspect."
"What?"
"They found her at the scene, in shock, babbling about how it was all her fault."
"Impossible."
"Gennat asked the wife how she came to work there. She told him Stephan recommended her to her husband. Gennat asked around if anyone else knew her. Sorry, but I told him you and Greta were friends."
"It's okay. Greta…I can't believe she is involved in this."
"We must go. Gennat…"
"No. First to see Gereon."
"Charlotte…I know you have your heart set on him."
"What?" She felt her cheeks burning as he said this.
He smiled. "You can't fool me."
She sighed. "No, I suppose not. Look, I know he has a wife and son."
"Yes. That is true. And?"
She felt deflated. "And nothing. Come. I can at least see him and give him these damn flowers."
"You know, I brought those damn flowers the first day you were here."
"Oh! Sorry. Thank you so much. I shouldn't…"
"No, it's fine. Give them to him."
"Good. Let's go."
But it was not to be. She came to the hospital, flowers in hand…and saw them, the wife and son, greeting Gereon with hugs and smiles as he left the hospital. Charlotte sighed, turned around, and left. She found Reinhold waiting by the car he had borrowed from the police garage.
"So?" he asked. "That was fast."
"He's gone already."
"Ah, well, you'll see him at work. Come. Gennat will have my head if we are any later."
Detective Lieutenant Ernst Gennat was called the Buddha by the members of the police department. Known for his rotund belly, love of cakes and sweets, and his high success rate at solving murders, Gennat now ran one of the most efficient murder squads in all Germany, if not all of Europe. His methods were cutting edge and Charlotte hoped to learn all she could from him so she could one day be a police detective in the murder squad. The first woman detective in the murder squad.
But now she sat across his desk from him like a suspect. Thankfully, Gereon was there as well, one arm in a sling, an injury from his efforts to stop the Sorokin train. She was surprised to see him as was he to see her.
"Charlotte…I thought…why aren't you in the hospital?" he asked, worry in his tone.
"Herr Gennat asked for me," she said. "How are you?"
"Sore," he told her. "And you?"
But then Gennat saw them in the squad room and told them to come into his office where they sat down at his desk.
"So…Bruno Wolter is dead," Gennat said to begin, his tone solemn. His ever present thick, smoldering cigar was in his right hand.
"Yes," Gereon replied. "Blown up with a tanker car on the train."
"A tragedy," Gennat said. "But given his corruption, his murder of one of our own, his attempt to kill you two, and his ties to the Black Reichswher, not someone who will be missed."
"His wife… I worry about her. Now that…, " Gereon began, but then faltered.
"She will get his pension," Gennat said, knowing what Gereon was driving at. "We would not put a widow of one of own, no matter how odious he was, out on the street."
"Good. She is…was…a friend."
"I spoke with her this morning," Gennat said. "She is in shock, naturally. Finding it hard to believe he did all these terrible things. And she worried about you, Herr Rath. She said you and Bruno had a terrible fight in their home. She thought Bruno wanted to kill you. What happened there?"
Gereon glanced at Charlotte and back to Gennat. "Yes. We fought. I was…I was looking for Charlotte, who had disappeared. I thought…I thought Bruno had killed Stephan and now he had killed Charlotte."
God, he fought with Bruno for me! Charlotte thought. She knew he had been looking for her but did not know this detail.
Gennat turned to her. "So…where were you?"
"Looking for information about Stephan's murder in his…"
His face turned into a scowl. "That is not your job, Fraulein…Fraulein…"
"Ritter."
"Ritter. You are a steno/typist, not a detective or even an assistant detective!"
Charlotte was struck speechless by his sudden anger, but Gereon came to her rescue.
"Sorry, it's my fault," Gereon said. "I found Stephan's notebook in Wolter's home. But it was written in shorthand. So I asked Fraulein Ritter to decipher it. That is how we found out the train was going to be robbed."
"Well, then all turned out for the best," said Gennat, calming down. "I expect a report on all this, Herr Rath."
"Of course, sir."
"Good. Now to more tragic business. Political Councilor August Benda's murder."
"I will take the case," Gereon said right away.
"No. You were too close to him," Gennat answered. "And you need to wrap up this train incident. I have been asked by the police president to handle this personally." His eyes turned to Charlotte. "We have a suspect, Greta Overbeck. Your friend, Herr Graf tells me."
"Yes," said Charlotte with a sinking heart. "It can't be true, sir. I know her. She is kind and gentle. Not a murderer, not a bomber."
"I believe you, Fraulein Ritter," Gennat replied. "But somehow a bomb was planted in Herr Benda's desk at home and now he and his child are dead."
Gereon spoke up. "Fraulein Overbeck could not have made this bomb."
"Agreed," said Gennat. "Someone with great skill did. A former member of the army, for instance. Someone who has handled explosives and has mechanical skill."
"That is not Greta," Charlotte told them.
"Do you know of any associates she has?" Gennat asked her.
"No…wait. She was seeing a guy."
"His name?"
"Ah…Fritz…sorry. That's all she told me. I never met him."
"So, I am off to question her," Gennat said as he stood. "Thank you for your insight, Fraulein Ritter."
They left his office with him and then walked across the busy murder squad room after saying goodbye. Several members came up to Gereon and shook his hand. Almost all the comments were about Bruno and how he had murdered Stephan and how Gereon had done a good job getting his killer. They also had good words to say about Gereon's partners Henning and Czerwinski, who had helped him stop the train, and they took it all in with pride.
Gereon nodded to his office and she followed him inside and they sat opposite each other at his desk. Gereon opened his cigarette case and offered her one and helped her light it and then lit his own. "So…all better?" he asked as they smoked.
"Yes. Thanks to you."
He smiled and she felt her heart skip a beat. "Of course."
"Gereon…I just want to say…thank you."
"Not at all." They shared a knowing look, one for people who have come close to death but have cheated it for now. "Now to business. You still haven't told me what happened to you."
"I…"
"But I can guess," he said, cutting her off. "We had some unexpected guests at the train."
"Oh…who?"
"The Armenian and his men. He is the owner of the Moka Efti nightclub. Involved in some shady businesses as well."
"I know who you mean," she said quietly.
"Some of those we arrested have spoken. They knew about the train and wanted the gold as well. How did they know where the train would be?" His tone was accusing. Did he know she worked there, that she was a prostitute at the club? Maybe he thought she told them about the gold so she could get a share! She had to tell him the truth, quickly.
"God. I'm sorry. They captured me and held me…"
He was instantly angry. "What? Who? Where?"
"His men. They took me to Moka Efti, held me in a freezer for a whole day."
"We were there looking for you. Me and Bruno," he said, frustrated. "Why did they take you?"
"They saw me at the Sorokin's train in the train yard, asking questions. One of the railway workers is part of the Armenian's gang. Thought I knew something about the gold. I had to tell them what I found in Stephan's notebook! They were going to kill me!"
"It's okay…all is okay," he said in soothing tones. He came around his desk and looked like he was about to hug her, but offices in the murder squad had glass walls that all outside could see through. He sat on the edge of the desk next to her.
"Did they hurt you?" Gereon asked quietly, his voice tender, not angry.
"No. They scared me. And it was so cold. I didn't even know what they were talking about until I remembered I had Stephan's notebook in my coat pocket and began to read it. Once I told them about the train and the planned robbery they let me go."
"Why didn't you tell me after you got away?"
"They threatened my sister! She was eating dessert with him when they released me. She had not a clue why she was there, but I knew. To keep me silent."
"Bastards," he cursed, his anger rising again. "I'm sorry I involved you."
That shook her. "What? No, I asked for this. I want to be a criminal assistant."
"Well, good. So, now we have to write a report for Gennat."
"Do we have to say what happened to me?" She was worried if the police knew she told a gang of criminals such information she would never be allowed to join them.
He thought for a moment and then took a puff on his cigarette and put it out in an ashtray on his desk. "No. Let us just say they showed up and no one knows how they got there."
She smiled, put out her cigarette in the ashtray. "I will get my pencil and pad."
He grinned. "Good. Let's get to work."
Greta
The interrogation room was on the second floor of the police headquarters. Greta Overbeck sat there now, alone, but not alone, with all the horrors of what she had done flooding her mind. They said her employer August Benda was dead…and so was his daughter Margot.
The explosion had been so terrible. Never had she heard anything so loud in all her life. Greta had been on the street rushing home to warn Herr Benda when it happened. It had thrown her through the air as debris rained down around her. Greta could not believe it, had sat there stunned as the screams came from the house, was still there when the police and fire department arrived, and then she remembered nothing more until she was in a cell in a nearby police station.
No, she remembered one more thing…Fritz…at the train station, alive, not dead, a Nazi, not a Communist. Protesting the mayor of Berlin for something. Shouting with others like him. All in their brown uniforms, the SA. If one lived in Berlin one could not help but know of the street wars between the Nazis and Communists. Stories filled the newspapers of their doings from time to time.
She thought Fritz had died, killed by….
The door opened. A short fat balding man in a rumpled suit came in, accompanied by a young blond woman with a steno machine. He sat across from her while the stenographer set her machine up and sat down. The steno looked at the fat man and nodded she was ready.
"Fraulein Overbeck, I am Detective Lieutenant Ernst Gennat, head of the Berlin police murder squad," the man said as the steno's fingers moved on her machine, making marks on a roll of paper.
Greta said nothing, waiting for him to continue.
"You are being questioned about the deaths of August Benda and his daughter Margot. Do you understand why you are here?"
"Yes," Greta said in a small voice.
"So," Gennat said. "First, you have the right to a lawyer."
"I…no," she said, right away knowing she wanted no lawyers…not for what she was about to do. A lawyer would just try to talk her out of it. She needed to do it.
"I would suggest having one," Gennat said. "This is a serious situation and you need advice."
"No. I am ready to confess."
That seemed to stop his next question on his lips, and he merely nodded. "Confessions are good. Every policeman in the world loves a confession. Makes our job so much easier. Yet it sometimes does not lead to the truth. And the truth is what I seek here, Fraulein Overbeck. So, no lawyer…for now. Our Fraulein Doris here will take notes of all we say, so in the future a lawyer can review them. Now, let us start at the beginning. How did you come to be employed by Councilor August Benda and his family?"
An hour and a half later and they were done, with her speaking and he asking many questions. She held nothing back. She had told him it all. How she got the job with Stephan's help, how he invited her and Charlotte to the lake, how she met Fritz and Otto. All of it, Fritz's death by political police bullets, Otto planting the bomb to get revenge, how she saw Fritz at the train station, alive, how she tried to stop it all but was too late. Benda died…
"And Margot," she whispered at the end, tears flowing down her cheeks. "They were not supposed to be home. Frau Benda and the children."
Silence for a long moment. Then Gennat spoke. "These men, Fritz and Otto. They said they were Communists?"
"Yes. I also saw Fritz march in one of their funerals after the May 1 riots."
"But you saw Fritz in a Nazi uniform, the SA, at the train station. After you thought he had been killed. Are you sure it was him?"
"I'm sure. But he said he didn't know me, that I was mistaken. I didn't understand why he would say that. Now I know why. I was duped…used…by them to get what they wanted."
Gennat nodded. "Did you meet them before or after you took the job with Councilor Benda?"
"Sorry?"
"Was it before or after you started working for the Benda family that you met the two young men?"
Greta was confused for a moment, then remembered. "Before. I had the job interview with Frau Benda the day after the lake trip."
"Then they did not know you worked for Herr Benda when you met them?"
"No. But…I think I said something about my job interview…and with who."
"Ah, so that means the lake meeting was by chance, and afterwards they made their plans."
Greta sighed. "Yes. They found a stupid maid to fool and do their dirty work." She hung her head, unable to look at the detective.
"So, Fraulein Overbeck," he said at last. "We are done for now. You will be taken to the women's prison to await the results of our investigation. I will see that a lawyer is appointed, for despite your wishes to confess, there will most likely be a trial, and you will need a lawyer. We will investigate further this information you have given us and may need to speak to you again."
Then it was over. Gennat opened the door and told a police officer outside the room to take her. Out the door she went, where more police waited. They put hand cuffs on her and escorted her through halls and down stairs to a waiting police van. She was shoved inside with another police officer sitting beside her. Greta said nothing and neither did the police officer.
Two hours later she was inducted into the world of woman's prison in Germany. Her clothing was taken away, she was given a thorough scrubbing, deloused with a foul smelling powder, and then examined by a woman doctor, who noted her Caesarean birth scar on a paper form she filled out. Then Greta was given new, rough, dull grey clothing and black shoes, fed a quick meal of bread, jam, and weak tea, was given a pile of bedding, a towel, soap, and a toothbrush, and then was shoved into a cell by a hulking ugly brute of a woman guard. The only good thing was she was alone at last. After she made her bed, she looked out the barred window.
It was late afternoon and the sun was soon going down. She wondered if this was the view for the rest of her life. Then she remembered. She had helped kill two people…an important man and his child. They would take her life for that. And she found she did not care. It was a just punishment. She wondered if Fritz was really dead, or alive, or if it had all been a dream.
Gennat
The girl's story was a tragic tale, of a young woman used by men for their own evil ends. Not the first time he had heard such a story. But this one was different, for the obvious reason a high ranking member of the political police department had been murdered.
The Berlin police got its style from the old state of Prussia, and was currently divided into the criminal and political police forces. Criminal police, naturally, dealt with crime, while the political police dealt with issues of a political nature. This usually meant matters involving foreigners on German soil, and other such things, such as providing security for visiting dignitaries. Councilor Benda's replacement had to be someone with skill in such areas. When Gennat heard the replacement's name, he was not impressed.
The office of Reich President Paul von Hindenburg let it be known they wished to name Benda's replacement. Germany was a democracy but a young one, only ten years old, and the old imperial ways died hard. President Hindenburg, a hero of the Great War, had certain executive powers invested in the constitution, and when he asked for something, he got it. Retired Colonel Gustav Wendt, Hindenburg's former aide, was given the job.
Wendt was not and never had been a policeman, which was part of the problem, but not too serious, as he would have good men under and over him. But he was a cold fish as far as Gennat was concerned and many would agree. Wendt had a ready smile but his eyes were always cold. A prominent scar on his left cheek enhanced his eerie look. Wendt always claimed he got the scar in the trenches but Gennat had heard another story, that he got it in a saber duel between him and another officer over a woman before the Great War. As duels were strictly forbidden, the act was covered up as a training accident by Wendt and his officer friends.
He was waiting in Gennat's office when he returned from questioning Fraulein Overbeck.
"Colonel," Gennat said in greeting.
"Detective," Wendt replied, a sort of insult, as Gennat's rank was much higher, but he let it pass.
Gennat waved to chair and as Wendt sat Gennat also sat and lit up half a cigar left in his ash tray. He took his time as Wendt waited patiently. "So, what can a lowly detective do for the new head of the political police?"
"The Benda case. We will take over."
Gennat nodded. "I see. So…this is the wish of the police president?"
"It is."
"Shall I call him and ask?"
"By all means. He may say he has not authorized this, but he will. A political murder falls in my area of responsibility."
"How do we know it is a political murder?"
"Come," Wendt said with his cold smile. "A bomb in his home? What else could it be?"
"A jealous lover, an old business partner seeking revenge, a criminal Benda put away years ago. The possibilities are endless."
"And how many criminal murderers used a bomb this year? Or even in the last ten years?"
"None," Gennat admitted.
"So, we can assume it has political overtones. What did the girl say? The maid?"
Gennat grunted. "I have just finished the interrogation."
"And?"
"I am not ready to discuss the case."
Wendt smiled again. He stood and straightened his dark necktie. "You know, detective, it would not be good to get on my wrong side so early. We must be as one to face the troubled times ahead."
"I have seen the result of this being 'as one'," Gennat answered sternly. "A train full of poisonous gas in the middle of our city, various parties squabbling over a non-existent fortune in gold, a good young detective assistant murdered in cold blood, an attempted assassination of a visiting leader and one of our top politicians, and now the murder of August Benda and his daughter."
Wendt stared at him for a long few seconds. "Where did you serve?"
"In the war? Here, doing as I do now. But I was much younger and thinner in those days."
Wendt grunted. "We who served in the trenches know where our loyalties lie. To a greater Germany."
"As do mine…and its people."
Wendt smiled again. "Good. Then we should have no problems. I expect the Benda case file tomorrow, including the interrogation notes. Good day…detective."
As soon as Wendt was gone Gennat called his boss, Police President Karl Zorgiebel .
"It's going to happen whether we like it or not," Karl told him over the phone. "Let him have the case. This is a political situation after all."
"As you wish, sir," Gennat said as he hung up. He didn't like it but he tried to stay out of politics as much as possible. Crime, particularly murder, was his area of expertise.
It was almost time to end the day of work but one more duty fell to him. A member of the personnel department arrived with a list of changes and new hirings for his approval. One name caught his eye.
"Fraulein Ritter, Charlotte," he said out loud just as he was about to sign the paper. "She wants to be a criminal assistant in the murder squad?"
"Yes," said the woman from personnel with a sour look. "We told her it was impossible, sir, but she applied anyway. She has a clean record and a good recommendation from Detective Rath. But I thought you should know about this. I think we can send her to the woman's police or perhaps vice."
"No," Gennat said, an idea on his mind. "Give her the job she asked for."
She looked surprised. "As you wish, sir. I will make the appointment of Charlotte Ritter as a criminal assistant for the murder squad. Normal probation period for four months."
"Very good."
He knew there would be resistance to a woman joining the murder squad. But it was time. She and Rath seemed to have a good working relationship. She would be his new assistant. He just hoped she was tough enough to handle it.
Gereon
It was a week since Detective Gereon Rath came out of the hospital, a long week of shocks and surprises, the last one being the worst.
The first shock was the reaction of the people to his testimony in the case of the public against the police. He expected it but it was still unsettling.
It all went back to the killings on May 1, when he and Bruno had witnessed policemen gun down two women in a Communist neighborhood of Berlin. The memory of that almost made his hands shake, seeing their blood, holding one in his arms as she died, running through a hail of bullets to find a doctor, a doctor who later followed them to the morgue and almost came to blows with Bruno as she accused the police of murder.
Her name was Doctor Volcker and she was also a politician for the German Communist Party. Now she sat directly behind him as he gave testimony in court, claiming he and Bruno were fired on by Communist gunmen. The court erupted in anger, many shouting at him, calling him a liar and a traitor, Volcker's voice the loudest.
When he left the court he got another shock. Helga was waiting for him. He had not known she was coming to the trial.
"Did you hear?"
"I did," she said, her eyes sad. "Come. Let's go home."
Home, a small hotel room for his brother's widow, their son, and him, living a lie. Helga and he had been lovers for ten years, a secret few knew, but she was his brother's wife. The boy, Moritz, knew now, though he kept the hope that his father was still alive. Anno Rath went missing at the front in France in the last days of the war. More than ten years and no word from him. The German government finally declared him dead a few weeks ago after all avenues of hope had been exhausted.
In the car Helga began to speak as he drove. Her first question was like a knife to the guts.
"Why did you lie?" she asked. She knew the truth about May 1. He had told her it all when she came to Berlin from their hometown of Cologne, as she held him as he lived though one of his shaking nightmares of war and death.
"I had to protect the people and institution I work for."
"Why? They murdered innocent people."
A long silence as he struggled with an answer. "You don't understand," was all he could come up with.
"Try to explain."
"The people I work with, they would ostracize me if I told the truth. No one would want to work with me. And then some dark night as we raided a drug operation or a criminal gang's hideout I would get a bullet in the back."
That shocked her. "That can't be true!"
"It is. It happens. It does. And then where would you be? I lied to protect you and Moritz as well as myself."
She said nothing more the whole way back to the hotel. When they parked, he looked at her.
"I want you to start looking for an apartment," he said. "Something bigger, but no more than 30 marks a week."
"I have money. We can do better."
"What money?"
"Anno's life insurance came in at last now that he is officially declared dead."
It was a gut reaction. "No, I…I can't."
"Gereon," she said gently. "He is gone, we must move on. This money is for me and Moritz. And you. I want to find a nice place."
He sighed and nodded. "But I see it first before you sign a lease."
She smiled. "Of course."
"Good. I must go back to headquarters. Some unresolved issues with the train case."
She kissed him good bye, got out, and he drove back to the city center. When he got to the murder squad office everyone congratulated him on his testimony. Then came a nice surprise. Charlotte's application to become a criminal assistant was accepted. When Gereon told her and handed her a badge and ID card, Charlotte had turned pale and looked away. When she turned back the look of joy and disbelief on her face made her seem more beautiful than ever.
Yes, he found her attractive, and thought of kissing her and doing many other wonderful things with her. But he fought those feelings for two reasons. He was living with another woman, one he truly loved, and many people thought Helga was his wife. And he was Charlotte's superior at work. That was a line he knew he should not cross. After Stephan's death she had been distraught and he had comforted her, and they had almost kissed. Both had pulled back at the same time, and the look in her eyes told him that she and he both knew it was wrong, but also both wanted it badly. Then when she was missing and he thought she was dead, how wild he had been, and then the lake and after he had saved her, how much he had wanted to do all he knew he should not, to hold her in his arms and never let go. So he knew these feelings were growing. And now she was his assistant! He would have to be strong to control his desires.
They had to wrap up the loose ends of the train case and Svetlana Sorokin's whereabouts was one thing they had to answer. As they drove to Svetlana Sorokin's apartment Charlotte was full of questions about her new job.
"Do I get a gun?" was the first thing out of her mouth after he pulled the car out of headquarters onto the street.
"No!" he blurted out before he could think of a more gentle way to say it.
"Why not?" she asked in an indignant tone. "Stephan had one. All of the assistants have one. Is it because I am a woman? Are they afraid to let me have a gun?"
Gereon ignored the question because the answer was most likely yes, they did not want a woman with a gun. At least he never heard of a police woman with a gun. The woman's police of Berlin was a small unit, and mainly dealt with crimes against children. They carried no weapons as their work was investigative, not enforcement. Often when they worked cases in rough neighborhoods a male police officer went with them in case of trouble.
He looked at her, then back to the road. "Have you ever handled a gun?"
"No," she admitted.
"Maybe best if you don't. Might shoot off your finger…or worse."
"I want a gun. I'll practice. Please."
Gereon knew she would not give up. "Let me talk to the police master of arms. He controls all weapons, storage, cleaning, registering, and so on. He must agree and you must take a course with him."
"He'll agree. I'll just smile and…poof, putty in my hands."
He had to laugh at that. Yes, her smile did warm many hearts. Charlotte with a gun! Berlin would not be safe.
"How much do I get paid?" Charlotte asked next.
"I believe the rate is 12 marks a day for a criminal assistant."
"That's not much more than I made as a steno."
"It's more than many people make," Gereon told her. "And it is full time, with a chance for promotion."
"True. How long before promotion?"
"It's a probation period. Four months," he explained. "Then the rate goes up. I think so anyway. Check with the personnel office. You have to also pay into the pension plan and life insurance plan, and maybe a little income tax. So not all your pay is take home money."
"Of course. What about health care?"
"Free at the police clinic."
"For family as well?"
"Only if you are married."
"Oh," she said, sounding a bit disappointed. Gereon did not know much about her family life except that her mother had recently died. But that was something they had never talked about.
"Meanwhile, you need to study," he said.
"What? Study what?"
"Everything."
"Everything? Why?"
"Do you want to be a detective?"
"Of course!" she said with enthusiasm.
He smiled. "Then study. In four months you can take the detective's exam."
"Good. Where do I start?"
"Mainly with criminal law and procedure. Crime scene analysis, fingerprints analysis, and so on. Gennat and Herr Ulrich from records will be your teachers."
"And you?"
"Me you will follow and assist on all cases, learn as you go, mainly about procedure. But you do not have a crime scene permit yet. So you cannot investigate crime scenes without me or another detective. Got it?"
"Got it."
"That means no entering apartments without a search warrant or the owner's permission, no questioning of suspects without me, no…anything illegal. Now you are a police force member, you must be clean in all things."
She was quiet for a while until they stopped at a traffic intersection. "Gereon…about my past…I…"
"Stop. I don't want to know. Whatever you did to live, you did. End of story." But as he drove through the intersection he sensed she wanted to tell him more.
"I worked at Moka Efti," she finally blurted out. "In the basement."
He sighed heavily. "I know. Bruno and I went there to look for you. The lady in charge, the other girls…I got the gist."
"I'm sorry. Does this mean I can't be in the police?" She sounded like a child pleading for a light punishment after getting caught with a hand in a cookie jar.
"Of course not," he reassured her. "If every police man or woman had to have a perfect past there would be no police at all."
They laughed a bit about that. "And you? What is your dark secret?" she asked.
Gereon shook his head. It was too soon for that, maybe never. "Mine is mine to keep. Ah, here we are." He parked across the street from Sorokin's building.
"Oh, one more question," Charlotte said as they were about to get out of the car.
"Yes?"
"Can you teach me how to drive a car?"
She was grinning at him and he just sighed. "When we have time. Come. Let us find Svetlana Sorokin."
They saw the apartment building supervisor sweeping the sidewalk outside and flashed their badges. Charlotte seemed a little enthusiastic to show him hers, since this was the guy who had reported her to the local police when she had broken into the Sorokin apartment a few weeks ago.
"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" he asked as they walked up to the second floor. "Saying you were police and showing your badge?"
"Yes," she said with a grin.
"Just remember not to abuse it. And Charlotte…"
He stopped walking and so did she. "Yes?" she asked.
"Sometimes people will ignore you, badge or no badge."
"Because I am a woman?"
"Yes, but mainly because they hate the police. All police. So always be careful."
"That's why I need a gun!"
"Later we will discuss it. Come."
Inside the spacious apartment they found nothing but disarray and dust. Sorokin was gone.
Then he saw the Sorokin family painting. As he and Charlotte looked at it came the second shock of the week. They surmised that Svetlana Sorokin was not really a Sorokin family member. They had eight sons, no daughters. She might be the daughter of their chauffeur. And the gold…it might be that the tanker car was made of gold!
Of course they had no way to prove any of it. The train was gone back to Russia and the Soviets would never let it back again for certain.
"What do we do?" Charlotte asked.
"Nothing. Not even in the report. It's just a theory, not fact."
They spoke to the supervisor and he told them Fraulein Sorokin had come in like a whirlwind two days ago, packed a few bags, and asked him to get her a cab to the train station. She did not say where she was going.
As they drove in the car back to headquarters Charlotte had an interesting question. "Did Sorokin actually commit a crime?"
"Uncertain," Gereon replied. "That bullet you found in a book, under the window. Could have been from a gun she had. But we have no gun to match it and none turned up in our records check. And who was carrying the book that stopped the bullet?"
"Kardakov!"
Alexei Kardakov was a Russian musician and the leader of an anti-Stalinist organization in Berlin. He had disappeared after his organization members were all murdered in a print shop they used as their headquarters.
"Perhaps. But the band leader Tretschkow said they were in love. Why would Sorokin want to kill him?"
"Maybe she was a spy," Charlotte said. "She secretly worked for Stalin! That's how they knew about the print shop!"
Gereon was about to dismiss this idea, but then thought, could it be? "Maybe," he said. "We need to find her."
"I bet she went back to Russia."
"We'll put her on the wanted list."
Two days later they got their answer. Henning, Czerwinski, and Charlotte inquired at all the train stations as Gereon was stuck in the office going over the whole gas train affair report Gennat was pestering him for. The three trooped into the murder squad room and Gereon came to meet them as they hung up their coats.
"Well?" he asked.
"Paris," Henning said.
"France," Czerwinski added.
Henning gave his partner an annoying look. "He knows where Paris is."
Gereon looked at Charlotte, hoping for a more sensible answer. "A woman with Svetlana Sorokin's description boarded a train for Paris four days ago. Maybe. No one was certain."
Not for certain. Rail passenger tickets could be bought by anyone, going anywhere, and there were no names on tickets and no records kept of who bought tickets or who boarded trains. If the train was crossing an international border, at the border it would be stopped and all passengers needed a passport for the border inspection, but no one checked passports when the passengers boarded the train in Berlin.
Gereon thanked them for their efforts and then he and Charlotte finished the report for Gennat. After that he was beat. He left headquarters and headed out into a pouring rain, walking to the nearby street car stop for the tram that would take him home.
Now came the third shock. The worst of all. Someone tried to kill him. Then he learned his brother Anno was alive!
Kardakov
He knew she could not stay out of the spotlight, knew she tried to redirect the gold car to Paris, not Istanbul to Trotsky. He found her performing in a Paris night club. Now she would pay for her betrayal.
Svetlana was at her makeup table when he entered the dressing room. She saw him in the mirror's reflection. She did not seem surprised.
"So, Alexei. You live," she said.
"So do you. But not for long."
The pistol came up, small, an automatic, fitted neatly in his hand.
She stood and turned to him, fire in her eyes. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get on with it!"
"I want answers first! Where is the gold?"
"In the train, back in Russia now." She said the last part in disgust, her precious gold, her fortune, gone back to the Motherland.
"No. There was no gold in the train."
"What?" she said in surprise. "No, I saw it there. You looked in the wrong car. I switched the numbers to confuse the Germans."
"I know. I opened the wrong car, got a lung full of gas. I almost died."
She shrugged. "So? I tried to kill you once as well."
"Bitch! You betrayed us all. You never believed in the movement. You always spied for Stalin!"
"Of course. Do you want me to apologize?"
"No, I want to know where the real gold is before you die!"
"In the…"
"No! It was fake! It was coal painted with gold!"
Now he could see the look in her eyes he had waited all these days for. "What?" she gasped. "Impossible. I saw the boxes, bars of gold, more than a ton. A fortune."
"So you keep saying. All lies. It was painted coal."
"What? How do you know if you did not open the right car?"
"The stupid Berlin police finally did something right. Everyone knew about your train, your gold. The German army stopped the train as it was heading to Russia, tried to rob the gold, but the Armenian's gang stopped them, and the police stopped the gang. Soldiers dead, gang members arrested, an explosion, a police detective killed. But no gold. Coal, painted gold. A diversion. You never intended to give us the real gold!" The gun came up higher, pointed at her head. "Where is the real gold? Where did your father hide it?"
She laughed and that shook him. "My father? My father was not a rich man. He had no gold."
"What?" She was trying to confuse him.
"Do you really think a member of the Sorokin family would be allowed to live after the revolution? I was never Svetlana Sorokin. I was never part of that family. They had no daughters."
"But…but…who…"
"My father was their chauffeur. He knew all their secrets, knew where Sorokin hid his gold. In the train car!"
"Then your father lied to you."
"Impossible."
"There is no gold, Sveta. Just coal."
She nodded, sighed heavily, seemed to accept the truth. "Then it was all for nothing. Sorokin fooled us all. He hid his real gold somewhere else." Now she looked behind him, nodded. "Take him."
Suddenly a gun was at his head and rough hands grabbed his arms and knocked the pistol from his grip. Three big men surrounded him, held him tight. Kardakov struggled but they were too strong, and he was too weak, his body damaged by the gas and other injuries.
"Not here," Svetlana said to the men. "There is an alley out back."
"No. He is for Moscow," one said.
Kardakov felt his stomach clench in fear. Moscow, to be tortured and die with a bullet to the back of the neck. "Who are you?" he asked them, his voice betraying his fear.
Svetlana answered. "Soviet agents. They have been waiting for you. I knew you didn't die. The Berlin embassy men came that night to move your body but you were gone. I told the Soviet embassy here that you might try to find me, come here looking for me. You are on their most wanted list."
They started to drag him out.
"Wait!" They stopped. He looked at her. "Sveta. You will betray me again? To these criminals of the revolution?"
She said nothing.
"Sveta! Who are you?" he shouted as they dragged him away.
She smiled. "Some one you should have never trusted."