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Chapter Text

The Burg buzzed like a disturbed beehive after the stock market crash, as did the whole of Berlin. The severe financial crisis caused the economic situation in the country to deteriorate dramatically. The surge in unemployment, poverty and debt led to higher crime rates, which meant that the police were busier than ever. Organised crime, black-market trade and smuggling, robberies and burglaries, and of course murders: the police officers and street constables found themselves buried under an avalanche of incidents.

Gennat was constantly looking for productive, loyal and motivated people who could reinforce Inspektion A during these hard times. First of all, he had to choose competent candidates for the Forensics Unit, as both Ullrich and his assistant were suddenly out of the picture. Without the assistance of forensics experts, the detectives felt swamped, as the amount of work to be done exceeded their resources. It was especially unfortunate that the key figure in the Homicide Unit was away from the office: Böhm had taken long-term sick leave to recover from the nervous breakdown that had followed the terrible scene he had made at the stock exchange when he discovered that all his money had turned to ashes overnight.

During the autumn of 1929, inflation had spiralled out of control, and by the end of the year, newspapers had begun to use the term "hyperinflation" to refer to the catastrophic phenomenon. The prices and the cost of living were increasing rapidly, but salaries hadn’t increased proportionally, so ordinary citizens were feeling the consequences.

Charlotte was one of the millions of Germans who were affected by the economic crisis, surviving on very little money and barely making ends meet. She was still in her probationary period at the Burg, and her salary was considerably lower than those of her colleagues who held permanent positions as criminal assistants. Charlotte earned just enough to cover her rent and afford one simple meal a day. She became even slimmer than before, and the unhealthy paleness of her complexion suggested anaemia.

In the summer she had almost dared to believe that she had turned her life around for the better, but the subsequent months proved that she had reached that conclusion somewhat prematurely. And it wasn't just her low income and multiple failures in her qualification exams. She was in terribly low spirits because of her relatives, too.

Most of all, Charlotte was worried about her younger sister Toni, who had fled their shared flat and vanished. Toni had dropped out of school and was avoiding their old routes and acquaintances, preferring to live on the streets of Berlin alone rather than stay with Charlotte. The girl had no doubt got involved in prostitution or other criminal activities, or maybe she’d even been killed. A lonely, homeless youngster was easy prey for all kinds of crooks.

Their elder sister Ilse, who had almost lost her sight after the failed eye surgery, no longer kept in touch with Charlotte. And Charlotte didn’t visit Ilse either because she hated her insane husband Erich, who had once broken into the Homicide Unit and humiliated Charlotte in front of her colleagues, calling her a whore and blaming her for what had happened to his wife. Erich hit Henning in the face on being asked to behave and mind his language. The ugly incident had undermined her reputation and revealed her dubious background to everybody.

In spite of her colleagues' arrogant attitudes, the Burg remained Charlotte’s only safe haven, the place where she could stop thinking about her family and keep herself occupied with more intellectual activities. She knew that Gereon was dealing with his own problems too. She had figured out that he and his wife were separated and that he was recovering from their break-up. Although Gereon held back his emotions and never talked about his personal issues, Charlotte sometimes caught the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching and noticed something unsaid in his eyes.

Gereon was still a newcomer to Berlin, and making friends with the locals didn't come easily to someone as reserved and discreet as he was. Charlotte didn’t want to intrude and decided to give him all the time and space he needed. She was quite sure that he would eventually let it out and that she would get the chance to lend him her sympathetic ear, and perhaps her shoulder too.

*

They often understood each other without words and always enjoyed each other’s company. With each passing day it became more and more difficult for Gereon to keep his relationship with Charlotte strictly professional. When she was taken hostage by Ullrich, the whole of Inspektion A discovered that he had a soft spot for her. He didn’t realise how frantic he was during the hostage stand-off. So he was now trying to avoid gossip and prove to Gennat and all their colleagues that he and Charlotte were able to work as a pair, respecting the chain of command. Charlotte had once been appointed to assist Böhm, and Gereon didn’t want that to happen ever again.

Their interaction was less formal when they were one-on-one, although they still addressed each other using the formal "Sie", and Charlotte either called Gereon Herr Rath or used his rank. Her bright smiles and mischievous smirks projected positive energy and enthusiasm whenever she appeared in the doorway of his office, and Gereon couldn't help but smile back at her. In recent months Charlotte had been the only person who could make him smile and even laugh. When he was in a grumpy mood, her goofy little expressions and persistent attempts to cheer him up really did work wonders. And it wasn’t just her contagious laughter, brilliant sense of humour and witty, sarcastic comments. Just looking at her and having her by his side made him feel a lot better.

It would be silly to deny that he found Charlotte incredibly attractive. Like any other straight man, Gereon had his own preferences as regards the opposite sex. Even as a youngster, his eye had often been caught by slender, dark-haired girls with a pale complexion and expressive facial features. Charlotte had all these traits, and despite being short, she stood out from all the other women around him. In fact, he didn’t mind her height; it was nice to be the taller of the two.

He secretly (or he hoped at least not too obviously) admired Charlotte: her dashing looks and sense of style, her intelligence and passion, her vitality and playfulness. There was something mesmerising in the way she did ordinary things such as smoking, drinking coffee, turning the pages of a book and adjusting her soft, unruly hair. He liked her quick but graceful walk and how she used her clothes and make-up to make a statement about herself.

Whenever she stood close to him in the elevator or in a queue, he couldn’t help thinking how easy it would be to bend down a little and lock his lips with hers. They had kissed just once, last autumn, at Gräf's birthday party, but he remembered all too well the softness of her mouth, the gentle touch of her fingers on his cheek and the sparkles that danced in her eyes when she glanced at him afterwards. He had been leaning against the door frame, completely smitten with her, and she seemed to share his emotions.

At work, Gereon did his best to behave appropriately, staying in the position of Charlotte’s mentor and senior colleague. However, sometimes he found his hand unintentionally brushing a loose curl out of her face or touching her arm when they walked through a door together. She blushed slightly at such gestures but mostly ignored them or raised her eyebrow for a split second and then dropped it back, hiding a tiny, crooked grin.

They worked side by side six days a week and gradually got better acquainted. Charlotte eventually let her guard down and allowed him to learn more of what was underneath her social armour and who she was at her core. A warm-hearted person with a strong sense of responsibility who was determined to fight for the rights of people who were locked in poverty and injustice. She was familiar with their troubles and struggles, and always treated them with respect, even those who committed crimes. Her pity, compassion and kindness towards them never ceased to amaze Gereon. Even if Charlotte didn’t believe in God, she promoted peace and good will among people in accordance with His purposes to the best of her ability.

**

During the last week of December, Gereon and Charlotte were dealing with three different homicide cases simultaneously. Gereon was investigating the murder of a man who had died from a fatal gunshot wound behind the central railway station and the mystery of some unidentified skeletal remains that had been found in the woods behind a large warehouse in the southern suburb of the city.

The third case, the death of Frau Emma Hempel, was initially believed to be a tragic accident, as the woman had been burned alive in a fire at her home. Gereon entrusted the case to Charlotte to work on independently: she was to examine the scene, collect evidence and question the witnesses. If anything in the circumstances pointed to arson, the woman’s death had to be investigated as a homicide.

Early on in the investigation, Charlotte realised that the circumstances surrounding Frau Hempel’s death were rather suspicious. The poor thing couldn’t escape from the cottage because her bedroom door and the solid wooden shutters on the bedroom window were locked from the outside. The neighbour who called the fire brigade told Charlotte that the victim’s husband, Herr Hempel, had arrived at the scene when the house was ablaze but hadn’t made any attempt to get inside and look for his wife. Instead, he kept repeating that the roof could collapse at any moment and kill him. The fire brigade managed to extinguish the flames but couldn’t rescue Frau Hempel, who had already been charred to death.

Charlotte talked to Herr Hempel too and was surprised at his indifference at the loss of his wife. The new widower showed not even the slightest sign of grief. Even the couple’s neighbour seemed more disturbed by it than he was. Charlotte questioned Herr Hempel and noticed that his eyebrows were singed and that he had burns on his hands, even though he hadn't entered the house. He explained that he had hurt himself trying to save some dishes and furniture after the fire had been put out. That sounded rather peculiar too: the man was more concerned about his pots and chairs than about his wife of many years.

She collected Herr Hempel’s wristwatch and coat and took them to the Forensics Unit. Herr Lehmann, the new forensics expert who had filled Ullrich’s position, detected kerosene residue on both items. Charlotte’s intuition hadn't failed her. Frau Hempel’s death was not an accident; her husband had used the kerosene to kill her. They already had enough evidence to submit the case to the prosecutor, and now they only needed the man’s confession to make the process even easier.

“Well done,” Gereon praised her. “You solved the case on your own in just two days. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” a slight blush coloured Charlotte’s cheekbones. “Could you please detain and interrogate the suspect? He got very cross with me when I seized his watch and coat. I imagine he might become even more furious now if I go and deliver more bad news.”

Charlotte didn’t have her gun licence yet and wasn’t allowed to detain suspects on her own, even if she had a constable for back-up.

“I’ll bring him in,” Gereon nodded. “Shouldn’t be too difficult to extract the confession when we have such solid pieces of evidence on our side. I just need to figure out where he might be. Any clues?”

“He works as a lamplighter for Bardach & Harz,” Charlotte said. “One of his responsibilities is to top up the kerosene in the lamps when the level falls below the minimum. By the way, I’m fairly sure he sneaked some from work to start the fire in his own house.”

“I didn’t know kerosene streetlamps were still used in Berlin,” Gereon frowned sceptically. “Maybe he got his coat dirty at work?”

“Berlin is big, and a few of its more remote areas still don’t have electrical lighting. No, he couldn’t have got dirty at work. I contacted Herr Bardach, Herr Hempel’s boss, and he told me that all his employees wear protective overalls when they’re handling kerosene.”

“It was clever of you to ask that,” Gereon gave her a thumbs up, showing his approval. “What are these remote areas where I could look for him?”

“Herr Bardach said that Hempel has been appointed to work in Hellersdorf this week. It’s getting dark, he's probably out there already, lighting the lamps. Maybe you could drive along Hellersdorfer Straße and…”

“I’ll be fine, thanks,” Gereon raised his hand and smiled at her.

"Sorry, I'm chattering again,” Charlotte pressed her palm against her mouth in embarrassment. “I can’t wait to see this guy behind bars.”

“We’ll interrogate him together this evening if I manage to find him,” Gereon promised her, putting on his coat and hat.

***

Luck was on Gereon’s side that afternoon, and he was able to fulfil Charlotte’s wish without much trouble. He drove to Hellersdorf, arrested and handcuffed the lamplighter, and brought him to the Burg. He locked the man in a windowless, unheated interrogation cell and kept him there for a couple of hours. This simple method made even the cockiest suspects a lot more compliant and talkative. Gereon wasn’t playing good cop any longer. It had almost cost him his life once, and he had certainly learned his lesson.

At half past six Gereon and Charlotte started to interrogate Hempel. They presented their theory of the crime, supported by their evidence, and told the suspect that the results of their investigation clearly indicated his guilt. The man made a weak attempt to deny everything, saying that it would have been crazy to burn down his own house and make himself homeless.

“It's crazy indeed, but that’s what you’ve done,” Gereon insisted. “And now you are lying and wasting our time with lame protests of innocence.”

He threatened Herr Hempel with capital punishment and pressured him into confessing to the murder. He also mentioned that a sincere confession might reduce his sentence and that if a suspect co-operated, he could be released from prison in some fifteen years, with the opportunity to start his life anew.

The man eventually pleaded guilty to the murder, admitting that he had started the fire deliberately. When his wife was asleep, he had locked the bedroom door, spilled a bottle of kerosene on the stove and the kitchen floor, and thrown a burning match at it. He had then run to the nearby Bierhaus to have a mug of beer and wait for the fire to spread. The brutal crime was motivated by revenge. Herr Hempel had recently discovered that his wife had cheated on him with their neighbour (the one who had called the fire brigade), “broken their marriage vows and violated the family honour”. He hoped that the fire would spread to the neighbour’s house too, so as to kill both lovebirds with one stone.

Charlotte deciphered and typed out the text of the confession, Herr Hempel read and signed it, and Gereon called a patrol car and sent him to the detention centre. Simple as that.

“I want you to report on this case at the weekly briefing,” Gereon said. “Gennat should hear that you’ve done most of the work on your own. It’s important.”

“Sure, I’ll do it,” Charlotte promised. “Thanks for giving me the chance. It wasn’t the most complicated case in the history of the Homicide Unit, but it’s good to start somewhere.”

When they got back upstairs, the premises of Inspektion A looked pretty empty. Only Henning, who had arrived for the night rota, was yawning at his desk.

“Where is everybody?” Charlotte asked him. It was Tuesday not Saturday, and the working day wasn’t over yet, or at least not for everyone. “Is something going on?”

“They've gone home. It’s Silvester, so it's a short day.”

Gereon and Charlotte raised their heads to check the tear-off wall calendar. The last piece of paper showed that today’s date was December 31st.

“Right!” Charlotte slapped her head. “I completely forgot. Well, it's not like I was going to celebrate it anyway.”

“The typists and Constable Napp asked after you about an hour ago,” Henning said. “They’ve gone downtown to watch the fireworks, I believe.”

“Good for them,” she answered briefly and turned to Gereon, “I'm planning to sort out my report on Hempel’s case now, while all the details are still fresh in my memory.”

“And I’ll carry on with the skeletal remains,” he nodded. “A colleague from the Missing Persons Unit gave me a list of people registered as absent over the summer. Somebody’s description will probably match…”

Henning glanced from Gereon to Charlotte with a puzzled expression, unable to understand why anybody would care about charred corpses and skeletons at Silvester, instead of joining the living in their New Year’s Eve celebrations.

****

Shortly after 9 o’clock Charlotte entered Gereon’s office and handed him the draft of the report she had been working on. He read it through twice, made a few clarifications in the last section and added a whole load of commas.

“Good job. You make your case reports read like fiction,” he said.

“Pulp fiction with terrible punctuation,” Charlotte sighed, taking the papers out of his hand. “I've got a lot of room for improvement.”

At times she was really harsh on herself, and Gereon was afraid that her healthy self-criticism might evolve in a nasty direction and become confidence-sapping self-deprecation.

“You should see the case reports I wrote when I'd just started to work in the police. They looked like laundry bills. Yours are way better.”

He was the only detective in the unit who praised Charlotte for her accomplishments and didn’t take her efforts for granted.

“Thank you. I’ll prepare a clean copy of this in the morning. At this time of night I’m certain to make some silly misprints. Like spelling Herr Hempel as Herr Hamper.”

“That surname would suit him even better,” Gereon joked. “But you're right, it’s smart to get out of here before Henning gets an emergency call and drags us to some crime scene with him.”

They left the Burg together. The constable guarding the main entrance gave them a sour look, as if to say that it was ridiculous to spend the last evening of the year at the Burg when neither of them was on the rota. Gereon pushed open the heavy door, walked through it and held it for Charlotte.

During the day the temperature had dropped below zero. Soft snowflakes were floating in the crisp air, falling slowly on the pavement and covering it with a thin dusting. It was a rare sight in Berlin. Winters were usually mild, damp and chilly, without actual snow and frost.

“What a beautiful night!” Charlotte stretched out her hand to catch a snowflake. “It’s nice to get a white Silvester after a slushy, grey Christmas.”

A small misty cloud left her mouth as she spoke.

“Uh-huh,” Gereon agreed.

They were standing in front of the Burg, maintaining eye contact as if they were in a staring contest. Neither of them was willing to break the spell and fight the invisible force that was pulling them towards each other.

“Would you care for a glass of Glühwein?” Charlotte asked. “Unless your family are waiting for you at home…”

Gereon didn’t respond immediately, and she started to wonder whether her question was inappropriate or an invasion of his privacy.

“They are gone,” he said finally. “It’s only me now.”

He lowered his chin to his chest, as if to let her know that they had left for good and hadn’t just gone off for a winter holiday in Köln.

Charlotte felt warm despite the chill.

“In that case, I’m inviting you. What a day! What a year! We have definitely earned ourselves a treat. The best Glühwein in Berlin is served in The Dusty Jag on Zossener Straße. Do you mind walking?”

“Not at all,” he extended his arm and Charlotte slid her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“What did you do for Silvester when you lived in Köln?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Gereon pursed his lips. “I hate fireworks, so I just stayed inside.”

“…and went to bed at ten o’clock,” Charlotte teased him.

“At nine-thirty,” he nodded. “Earplugs and blackout curtains are the most important items on December 31st.”

“And a hot water bottle?”

“I certainly remember a bottle,” Gereon chuckled, “not sure about the water though.”

“The fireworks are all around the Brandenburg Gate,” Charlotte explained. “They can’t afford a huge display this year. I heard it's only going to last ten or fifteen minutes at most.”

It wasn’t just the fireworks and the noisy, drunk crowds. Gereon hated everything that Silvester represented because of his fear of time passing. Days, weeks, months and years slipped through his fingers like sand. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and realised that he had got older but wasn’t any wiser or happier. This year he had noticed the first grey hairs on his temples and distinct wrinkles around his eyes, clear signs of ageing. He hadn’t achieved anything in his life, anything at all.

The future held the unknown, it was scary like a deep, black abyss. Would he even make it through the next year? What was more likely to kill him: drugs and Anno’s experimental treatments, a stab in the back or a bullet to the forehead? The life expectancy of a provincial cop serving in Europe's most crime-ridden city couldn’t be very long. If he didn’t learn to adapt to this world, he would be swept away by its current.

Charlotte seemed to be absorbed with her own thoughts too. She was smoothly navigating the streets of Berlin, and he was just following her lead. They walked side by side in silence, but that silence wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward. It didn't bother them. Even through the thickness of his coat, Gereon could feel the warmth of her hand on his sleeve. She wasn’t wearing gloves. She probably didn’t own any. Her left hand was deep in her pocket, but her right hand was exposed to the weather. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to be freezing. Charlotte was a warm-blooded person in every sense.

*****

The Dusty Jag turned out to be a secluded basement bar located in the working-class district of Kreuzberg. They entered through a non-descript back-alley doorway, followed some stairs down and found themselves in a cave-like room with tacky décor and garlands of coloured lightbulbs hanging all around.

A large, funky picture of a jaguar occupied most of the wall. The bar had almost certainly been named after this ridiculous animal, which wore a bright blue tuxedo and a large golden crown. The muffled sounds of music came from a wind-up gramophone sitting on the counter; Ma Rainey was singing about showing her black bottom. It was one of those shady, underground spots that Charlotte knew well. The kind of place that welcomed only those who belonged to the inner circle, where no outsider could enter by pure accident.

The small dive was packed with a mixed seated and standing crowd of beer-drinking, blokey types and younger guys holding whiskey glasses, presumably students. The patrons clustered around one of the tables were speaking loudly in some Slavic language, Czech or Polish.

“No luck,” Gereon said, “this place is jam-packed.”

“I’m sure Nowak will have a spot for us,” Charlotte steered him towards the bar.

“Charly!” the bartender waved at her. “Come here, darling. Where’ve you been so long?”

“I've been to the West and I'm coming back, I guess,” Charlotte flashed him a dazzling smile and tilted her head to one side, letting him kiss her cheek.

“Guys, squeeze up a little,” he addressed the men standing at the bar and they obediently made some space for the newcomers.

“I brought my friend for a glass of Glühwein,” she said.

“You are both very welcome,” the bartender clapped Gereon on the shoulder and gave him a wink. “I’ll pour you some right away. And if you stay until midnight, I’ll be happy to treat you to a glass of fizz.”

Nowak got to work immediately, reaching for some of the porcelain mugs that hung on hooks behind his back.

“Do you know all the bartenders in this city?” Gereon asked.

“I worked here a few years back,” Charlotte explained, “on Friday and Saturday nights when they needed extra hands. It was so much fun. I used to dress up as a guy and even glued on a fake moustache. Nowak and Kopecký, the other owner of this place, called me Charly, and most of the customers took the bait.”

“Aren’t you a little… too small to be mistaken for a bloke?” Gereon raised his eyebrow.

“Good things come in small packages,” Charlotte stuck up her nose and smacked him playfully on the forearm. “Besides, the masquerade served a very practical purpose: it meant I got more tips. It’s the queerest place in Kreuzberg, and a male server here gets a lot more than a female.”

“Now I know why you brought me here,” Gereon sneered. “To begin my initiation into the gay world.”

“Sadly, some men secretly like men but live in denial,” Charlotte became serious and scanned his profile rather attentively. “From time to time it’s good to examine yourself and make adjustments if you spot any shifts in your preferences.”

He wasn’t sure if she was teasing him again or genuinely suspected that he might be a latent homosexual. Of course he liked women. One particular woman to be precise. Fortunately, their conversation was interrupted by the bartender, who set the mugs of Glühwein down on the counter, right in front of them.

“It’s on the house,” he said. “Please enjoy and don’t hesitate to ask for a refill.”

A few more people came in, and Nowak asked the patrons to squeeze up even more. Now everybody was squashed against their neighbours, like sardines in a tin. Gereon preferred to get closer to Charlotte than to a pimple-faced student who was standing to his left, flirting clumsily with a bulky older man in a black leather jacket. Charlotte’s forehead was almost brushing against his chin. The warm scent of her hair and her proximity made him a little dizzy, but he couldn’t let himself get carried away.

“Maybe I should pay for my drink?” Gereon asked cautiously.

“No need. I earned them tonnes of tips, really,” Charlotte’s tone was confident and convincing. “So it’s only fair that my friend and I can grab something for free here every once in a while.”

“If you say so,” he didn’t argue. Did she really think of him as a friend, or had she just used that word without putting too much thought into it?

“Aw, I’m sorry I introduced you as a friend,” Charlotte seemed to be reading his mind. “If I’d said you were my boss, he would have asked me where we work,” her breath was warm and ticklish against his neck. “And I suspect he wouldn’t be too thrilled to find out about my new career path.”

“I’m your colleague,” Gereon corrected. “Not your boss.”

“If you say so,” she didn’t just repeat his recent words but also mimicked his intonation and facial expression. Strangely enough, it didn’t insult him at all; he found it cute and funny.

The wall clock chimed eleven, and the bartender called for everybody’s attention: “The last hour of 1929 has begun. Make good use of it. It’s time to look back and reflect on how this year went and make plans for the next one.”

Charlotte glanced at Gereon questioningly, as if expecting him to start speaking. When he chose to remain silent, she took the initiative in the conversation again.

“It’s been a tough year. My mother died and three of my friends got killed. I was hanging between life and death at least twice, not to mention being kidnapped and… some other things. Then a new workplace and a new home. I’m hoping 1930 will be less eventful.”

“I didn’t know about your mother,” Gereon frowned. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“She’s in a better place now,” Charlotte averted her eyes and let out a shuddery little gasp. “Is your mother alive?”

“No,” he shook his head. “She died during the influenza pandemic.”

Charlotte looked at her empty glass and signalled to the bartender for a refill. Nowak poured her some more Glühwein and then addressed Gereon, “The same for you, or something else from the bar?”

“I recommend a Hot Toddy,” Charlotte said. “Nowak’s version is even better than the classic recipe because he makes it with a twist.”

“That’s true,” the bartender stuck his chest out proudly. “I use the strongest Polish vodka instead of bourbon and include star anise for extra flavour. But the biggest secret is the special buckwheat honey from my father’s apiary in Kolbuszowa.”

“And special cold-hardy lemons from your grandmother’s garden in Wrocław,” Charlotte chuckled.

“You’ve got a very sharp tongue, Charly-boy,” the bartender leaned in and tweaked her ear. Then he poured hot water and a shot of vodka into Gereon’s mug, added two spoons of liquid honey and two of lemon juice, a stick of cinnamon and some star anise.

Gereon had no choice but to accept this new treat too. The cocktail was hot, sweet and spicy, and he couldn’t help smiling, savouring its taste on his tongue.

“I told you, it’s delicious,” Charlotte was pleased with his reaction. “May I have a sip?”

“Sure.”

Gereon liked sharing food and drinks with Charlotte. Perhaps it meant nothing to her, perhaps it was pretty normal among her friends to swap and taste each other’s portions. For him, it was something intimate and exceptional, as if he was sharing an indirect kiss with that other person. He didn’t mind doing it with Charlotte, but he would be horrified if any of his other colleagues or friends offered him a drink from the same mug or glass.

“Have you made any New Year’s resolutions?” Charlotte interrupted his reflections with a strange question. She had a habit of jumping from one subject to another, and sometimes he had trouble keeping up with her train of thought.

“What? No… And you?”

“Yes, I’ve made a few,” she revealed. “To get a gun licence and a permanent position in the unit. To start contributing to ongoing investigations more than to the paperwork, and generally to do things more independently, without constant supervision…”

“All your goals are connected with work,” Gereon pointed out.

“True,” Charlotte admitted. “But having a permanent position and a stable income is very important. It gives a person independence and confidence in the future. And it’s not only about the money. It’s more about the freedom to make choices.”

She took out a cigarette and Gereon lit it for her. He watched her smoking and pondered her words. When he started in the Police Presidium of Köln about ten years ago, his goals were quite different from Charlotte’s. Back in those days he was learning to cope in a post-war reality, and such notions as independence and self-reliance scared him. They meant isolation and loneliness, and probably eventual insanity.

A few years before the war his parents had bought a fancy bird cage with a single green parakeet in it. The bird didn’t look happy in their house and soon refused to eat. Gereon decided to have mercy on the poor creature, and when nobody was around, he took the cage to the garden and opened its door, letting the bird free. Surprisingly enough, the little prisoner didn’t hurry to get away from its jail. The bird hadn’t learnt to fly because it had been bred captive and kept in the same small cage all the time. It didn’t have the skills that the wild birds possessed, and its wings were far too weak. Gereon shook the cage, encouraging the parakeet to get away, but it dug its claws into the perch and stared at him with sad, shiny eyes as if trying to say I don’t know how to do that. A couple of days later Gereon found a dead bird on the floor of the cage.

His situation was quite similar to the parakeet’s. Instead of breaking free from his father’s house on the first occasion, he had stayed there for thirty years, which was at least ten years longer than necessary. He had room and board for free and didn’t have to worry about collecting money for rent or earning his bread and butter. He was saving his salary in the bank in the hope that he would one day marry Helga, purchase a home for them and start a family with her. A comfy two-storey cottage with modern conveniences cost quite a lot, and he needed to save up a quarter of the property price to get a mortgage loan for the rest. Those dreams seemed so distant and absurd now. Would Charlotte despise him if she found out that he had stayed in his nursery as an adult?

“You’re sleeping with your eyes open,” a troubled expression crossed Charlotte’s face. “It’s mean of me to keep you awake past your bedtime.”

Her words made him snap out of his trance-like state.

“I was thinking about what you just said… and listening to this song,” Gereon lied. “I like it.”

“Me too,” Charlotte chortled. “Ma is singing that she’s hanging out with women because she doesn’t like men. My friend who speaks English told me so.”

“Hmm…” Gereon looked confused.

“So, what do you think about my goals?” Charlotte asked. “Are they reachable?”

“Absolutely,” he said, without a shadow of doubt. “But getting more freedom in one area of life often means having more restrictions in another. Serving in the police is not ideal for pursuing personal interests and relationships.”

“I’ve told you already, I wasn’t cut out for steady relationships, and I don’t need another person to sustain me. Marriage and motherhood aren’t my path,” Charlotte shrugged her shoulders and sipped her drink. “I don’t have a maternal bone in my body.”

Gereon opened his mouth to remind Charlotte that she was still young and that she might change her plans many times, but then he decided to refrain from making such remarks. Charlotte was surely fed up with arrogant, narrow-minded people who didn’t take her words seriously.

He was grateful that she didn’t ask him about his plans or goals for the future. He painted it in the gloomiest of colours and would hardly dare to share any of his concerns with her. Fear, anxiety and uncertainty haunted his mind constantly because there were too many things he couldn’t predict or control. None of his dreams ever came true, and gradually he gave up on them all, giving up on himself too.

*

Shortly before midnight Nowak locked the door of the bar so that no new patrons would be able to enter. He and the other bartender took out flute glasses, filled them with Sekt and passed them out among the guests.

“Get your glasses, guys!” Nowak coaxed them. “Thanks for coming by and celebrating Silvester with us. Have fun and enjoy yourselves to the fullest. Remember, you’ll live through the new year the same way you see it in.”

When the clock showed one minute to twelve, Nowak raised his hand and started a countdown. The patrons joined him, loudly counting from ten to one, and when midnight struck, everybody raised their glasses in a toast and yelled, “Cheers to the New Year!”

Gereon and Charlotte clinked their glasses too. The cold sparkling wine tasted especially good in the stuffy room. The dim light, the sultry music and chaotic noises around, the snow outdoors, and the relaxed atmosphere of the bar brought them even closer together.

“Midnight is the time for kisses,” the bartender exclaimed. “It’s a fun tradition, and I know you guys like it a lot. If anyone’s too shy to kiss their neighbour, come over here and get a kiss from me!”

Gereon had never seen men kissing, and now they were kissing all around him. Not that he was prejudiced against homosexuals, but the situation he found himself in was somehow bizarre and uncomfortable. He didn’t know where to look and what to do.

Charlotte slid her hand along his arm, raised herself up on tiptoes and gave him a light, feathery kiss on the mouth. It was nothing more than a brief, soft peck, but it was a kiss all the same. Gereon sensed his cheeks getting red and felt a pleasant, fuzzy sensation in his chest. He was melting like a lump of butter on a hot stove.

Charlotte was clearly satisfied with the effect of her trick, her eyes twinkling with quiet joy.

“Sorry, I didn’t ask if you’d rather be kissed by Nowak,” she giggled, and when he couldn’t come up with any clear answer, continued, “it’s got pretty raucous in here, and someone is smoking crack, I’m starting to feel a little funny. Shall we go now?”

He nodded and helped Charlotte put on her coat.

It was nice to get out of the dark cavern and inhale the fresh winter air.

“Can I walk you home?” Gereon asked when they stepped back onto the street.

“Are you sure? I live on Spenerstraße. It’s about five kilometres from here.”

“I’m not in a hurry.” He didn’t want the night to end just yet.

The central avenues of the city were closed to vehicle traffic and given over to the celebrating crowds. Many clubs and bars were hosting Silvester parties, but lots of Berliners were dancing outside to the music of street performers. They were playing instruments and singing, entertaining the passers-by and gathering coins in the hats they had thrown on the ground at their feet. Gereon gawked at the scene; he had never seen such huge celebrations before.

Someone bumped into Charlotte and she stumbled. Gereon caught her by the sleeve, steadied her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, protecting her from any similar accidents.

“That’s a drawback of being short, I’m always getting under everybody’s feet,” Charlotte complained. “Luckily, you were there to catch me.”

“Those drunk arseholes aren’t looking where they’re going,” Gereon grumbled.

“It would be a very sad coincidence to get trampled to death on Charlottenstraße.”

“Charlottenstraße? Really? I remember directions by landmarks, but I don’t know the names of streets. You should teach them to me.”

“No problem,” Charlotte grinned. “This big one is Leipziger Straße. We’ll cross it soon and end up at the Gendarmenmarkt.”

**

The square Charlotte had named turned out to be a brisk marketplace bustling with trade activities. A few dozen vendors were selling a variety of food, ornaments and handmade items. Behind the even rows of tents and wooden stalls was a group of wheeled carts and small caravan cafés. On a cold winter’s night, the warm, delicious aroma of baked potatoes, hot cheese balls, pancake strips and roasted chestnuts was a wonderful treat in itself.

“Are you hungry?” Gereon asked. “It’s been a while since we had lunch.”

“True,” Charlotte answered thoughtfully. “We had it one day last year, not yesterday though.”

“What would you like?”

“Anything, you can choose.”

Gereon bought a bag of apricot candies and a cone of roasted chestnuts to share. But then he started wondering whether Charlotte wanted something more substantial than these simple snacks. He had little to no appetite because of the drugs he injected, but it might be sensible for him to eat something while they were out. Back at home he only had some schnapps and pickled cucumbers, and he hadn’t the slightest idea when he would next make it to the café or grocery store.

He caught Charlotte glancing in the direction of the cart with the baked potatoes: “Are they good?”

“Sure. What makes you think they wouldn’t be?”

Gereon paid for two portions. The potatoes were served on cardboard plates and seasoned with salt, pepper and butter.

“Thank you,” Charlotte said. “They’re delicious and great for warming your hands.”

He didn’t share her enthusiasm, “How do I eat it without cutlery?”

Charlotte laughed at his confusion, “With your mouth of course.”

“But how to peel it?” Gereon furrowed his brow.

“Oh, no, you don’t need to peel it. The skin is the best part of the potato, it would be such a waste to throw it away.”

At war Gereon’s fellow soldiers had baked potatoes in the campfire and ate them with their hands, but they always peeled the skin off because it was charred. This potato had perfectly crispy skin and a fluffy, starchy inside.

He took a tiny bite and chewed on it meticulously. No, it didn’t taste like war, it tasted more like home and brought to his mind a potato-related accident that had happened when he was little.

Until the age of seven he had eaten alone in the nursery, practising etiquette and good manners. It was a great thrill to finally be judged old enough to join the adult table in the dining room, but the first meal he shared with his family had ended in tears. He was cautious to avoid mistakes and consumed his portion of meat and vegetables slowly and neatly. But a slippery buttered potato had escaped from under his fork and landed on the table. He reached out to pick it up and put it back on his plate, but that was apparently the wrong thing to do. His mother slapped him on the wrist and called him a heathen. Anno pointed his finger at the ugly grease stain that the potato had left in the middle of the beige linen tablecloth. And his father said that from now on, his savage cave dweller of a son would have his meals outside with Thunar and Magni, the Weimaraners. Gereon burst out crying, horrified by the threat. He believed that his father really would make him gnaw raw and bloody bones in the garden with the dogs, the huge ruthless monsters that had been terrorising him since birth.

He had erased that painful episode from his memory, but now it bubbled to the surface completely out of the blue.

“What’s wrong?” Charlotte looked worried. “Did you burn your tongue?”

“No, I’m fine,” Gereon blinked a couple of times and took another small bite of potato.

Charlotte didn’t ask any further questions or look his way again, busy with her own portion. They stopped by a circus tent and for a moment watched a stilt-walker, an acrobat and a fire-eater performing together.

“We do pretty much the same at the Burg,” she chuckled. “But we also have a clown, a juggler and maybe a lion-tamer.”

She noticed a drop of melted butter on Gereon’s chin, pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and carefully wiped it away. He stared at her wide-eyed, surprised by her lovely gesture and the tenderness that he felt in her touch.

“The handkerchief was clean, I swear,” she assured him.

What if he had been raised by a woman like Charlotte? One who wouldn’t have been so focused on etiquette and formalities, but on more important life skills. One who could find a way to spread kindness and civility to her child, while also teaching the values of confidence, awareness and respect by her own example. Would he have grown up a different man? It was absurd to think that way about a woman who was so much younger than he was and who had declared an hour ago that she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body.

Meanwhile, Charlotte had unwrapped the paper cone of chestnuts and inhaled their sweet flavour: “Perhaps I could stick it in your coat pocket? We both need free hands to peel them...”

“I can hold it,” Gereon took the cone out of her hand. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself again by revealing that he couldn’t remove chestnut shells without a pair of pliers.

Charlotte snapped off the shells and popped out the nuts without much effort.

“Here you are,” she stretched out her palm, offering him a couple of round, cream-coloured nuts.

Instead of picking them up with his fingers, Gereon bent over and took them from her hand with his mouth. He had rarely seen such an astonished expression on Charlotte’s face before. Was she scandalised by the idea that she was hand-feeding her boss in a public place? Or was she disgusted by his bold action? Did she find it gross?

Charlotte recovered quickly from the shock, pretending that nothing extraordinary had happened.

“Let’s walk through the Tiergarten,” she suggested. “It’s beautiful whatever the season and it must be quite spectacular now, when it’s covered with snow.”

She kept peeling the chestnuts and giving every other one to him, bringing it close to his mouth. It was… endearing. He saw that mothers did that with their toddlers, although not in his family. He had never been happy in his childhood and the first part of his adulthood had been a nightmare. Now he had a fluttering, pleasant tickle in his chest, a strange, unfamiliar feeling of being carefree and happy. And that was because of Charlotte, who was generously offering him her soft side, that of a kind, giving and nurturing person. It felt so good to be taken care of.

Gereon liked the route Charlotte had chosen. She was right, the park reminded him of a real winter wonderland. The branches of the trees were covered in frost, and a thin layer of greyish ice had formed over the surface of the Tiergartengewässer. The trails, alleys and bridges were lit by tall, old-fashioned lanterns. Such a peaceful scene would make a perfect illustration for the Grimms’ or Andersen’s fairy tales.

“When I was a kid, I thought Hansel and Gretel had got lost in the woods of the Tiergarten,” Charlotte smiled. “I once escaped from home and came here to look for a cabin made of gingerbread, candy and biscuits.”

“Very brave of you,” Gereon admired. “Weren’t you afraid of the child-eating witch who owned the cabin?”

“Not in daylight. But it was pretty spooky here after dark, and eventually I got lost. I was tired and I didn’t know where to go, so I lay down on a bench for a nap and fell asleep. An elderly lady came across me by accident and kicked up a huge fuss. She screamed in my ear that I had to wake up because otherwise I’d freeze to death. I thought she was the wicked witch from the fairy tale who was planning to cook me in the oven, so I screamed back at her and tried to run away.” Charlotte was clearly embarrassed to admit that she had mistaken her saviour for a cannibal.

“What an adventure…” Gereon was horrified at the thought that she might have passed away that night, sharing the fate of another fairy tale character, the Little Match Girl. If that random passer-by had found her just half an hour later, the outcome could have been tragic.

“For a granny, she was surprisingly agile. She caught me, grabbed me by my braid and escorted me to the nearest police station.”

“Why didn’t she walk you home?” Gereon asked.

“I didn’t know the address,” Charlotte answered. “I was barely six.”

“Did you spend the night at the police station?”

“I don’t remember.”

Gereon was quite sure that she did. They had probably taken Charlotte to the homeless shelter or an orphanage, where she would have stayed for a while, until the police figured out who her parents were and where they lived. Then they would have taken her back home. Perhaps her mother was panicking and crying, and her father irate. Had he whipped her with a belt or forced her to kneel on split peas? The rest of the story must have been raw if Charlotte didn’t want to disclose it to him.

They kept strolling through the fresh snow, talking about anything and everything. The conversation flowed freely and naturally. Charlotte told him about the places they were passing and shared some more of her personal anecdotes. She was also encouraging him to speak up and share his own experiences and opinions. They realised that they liked the same films and music, and Charlotte was curious to hear about Köln and the clubs and bars he visited while he still lived there.

“You looked a little perplexed in Holländer,” she recollected. “And I thought you didn’t like clubbing. But later, on the dance floor, I realised I was wrong. It’s probably just that the clubs in Köln are very different.”

“I served in the Vice Squad,” Gereon reminded her, “so I’ve been to different kinds of venues. But in Köln they are less…”

“Less boisterous? Less queer?”

“Less queer for sure,” he agreed. “When I saw Herr Gräf dressed like a woman, I was… taken aback, I must admit.”

“You never met cross-dressers in Köln, that’s why,” Charlotte concluded. “Tell me, what kind of venues do they have down there?”

He told her about the dance halls, restaurants and casinos he used to inspect on the left side of the Rhine and then mentioned a couple of notorious places on the right side. Charlotte wasn’t just passively absorbing what he was telling her; she was actively supporting the conversation and asking him for more details when he stumbled on his words. He wondered if she was honing her interrogation techniques or if she was genuinely interested in his fairly unremarkable recollections. Little by little, he was learning to relax around her. Charlotte never went too far in her curiosity. She observed him closely and always knew when he wanted to change the subject.

They crossed the Spree and reached Moabit at quarter past two.

“Here we are,” Charlotte breathed on her hands to warm them. “Thanks for walking me home. You’d better hurry up if you’re planning to take the metro. They run extra trains on holiday nights, but there’s usually a break between three and five o’clock.”

He didn’t want to part with Charlotte. It would be nice to stroll around Berlin with her until dawn and then walk back to the Burg together, but she was cold and probably exhausted, and it would be cruel and selfish to keep her freezing any longer.

“Where’s the nearest metro station?” he looked down at his wet boots, stifling a sigh of exasperation. The prospect of covering a couple of kilometres without Charlotte wasn’t tempting at all.

“No metro in Moabit,” she said. “You need to walk to the Stettiner Bahnhof and take line CII towards Tempelhof.”

“I’d rather hail a taxi,” Gereon mumbled.

“Good luck with that!”

She waved him goodbye and continued walking down the street, towards a grey five-storey building.

“Charlotte,” he called out.

“Yes?” she stopped, turned around and met his eyes again.

“Thanks for tonight. I had fun.”

“Me too,” she grinned. “And there’s more to come.”

On saying so, Charlotte sped up and entered a small Kneipe on the ground floor of the building where she lived. Was she catching up with someone there? Was she going to party until the morning? That young woman was definitely Berlin’s biggest mystery.

***

In spite of Charlotte’s pessimistic forecast, Gereon managed to find a vacant taxi. The driver charged him double because of the holiday and demanded tips too. It was insane that a few kilometres’ ride in Berlin cost as much as a train ticket to Köln, but he preferred to pay rather than get lost in a drunk crowd somewhere on his way home.

Nobody was waiting for him in his flat, and he felt very sharply how truly lonely he was. First, Kattelbach had moved out because it was too dangerous for him to hide in the same place for too long. And then, on Christmas Eve, Helga had arrived to pick up Moritz. Now every room was deserted. The kitchen cabinets and the ice box were empty, and only cold water was running from the tap, as nobody had fired up the boiler.

Why are you wallowing in self-pity? Find a way out of your misery.

Gereon had spent a few months persuading himself that he would be satisfied with the role of Charlotte’s comrade, and that it wasn’t a big deal to befriend a co-worker. He had a couple of friends back in the Police Presidium of Köln, and it wasn’t forbidden under the service regulations. All of his friends at his previous workplace were men, of course. They didn’t have any women there except a bunch of typists and cleaners. Was it even possible to befriend a young, attractive female colleague, whose mere proximity made his blood pump twice as fast? His self-deception was so deeply ingrained that he genuinely believed the false arguments he had made up for himself. The truth was that he was yearning for warmth, affection and connection more than ever. Charlotte gave him a small taste of those wonderful things, leaving him wanting more, making him wish for the impossible.

You’ll meet me when you need me the most, and by that time I’ll need you just as much.

For some bizarre reason, she seemed to like him. She even found him interesting. Interesting enough to spend Silvester with him. It was a short day at the Burg, and she could have left earlier and joined her friends to watch the fireworks near the Brandenburg Gate and then go on partying in the nightclubs. It felt unreal that she had chosen him over everybody else and had taken a few hours out of her life to spend with him. It made him wonder if there was something more in the air, from her side too. More than simple camaraderie. The uncertainty was so confusing.

That’s how you will torment both of us.

The first night of the year was special. Finally, he was admitting to himself that he was infatuated with Charlotte, very much so. And he allowed himself to dream and fantasise, to release his tension and ease his frustration.

He knew that self-indulgence was morally wrong. It was a sin against the Sixth Commandment, an intrinsically and gravely disordered action. He didn’t usually find it difficult to redeem his self-centred desires, but tonight he chose to submit to them. He was eager to open Pandora’s box and have a look inside.

You’d prefer to take care of yourself.

He turned off the light, peeled off his clothes and sank into bed, assuming a comfortable position. He closed his eyes and thought about Charlotte. Once, by pure accident, he had caught a glimpse of her naked body. He had gone to look for her in the public bath house, she had opened the bathroom door, facing him, with only a wet towel wrapped around her. They had engaged in a heated dispute and at some point, when she became irritated and started gesticulating, the towel had dropped. It took her a second to realise what had happened and cover herself, but he had seen enough. Enough to recreate that image in his head. Her breasts were the most perfect things his eyes had ever beheld.

He had never wanted any woman so badly, and no woman had ever turned him on so much. Not that he had been with a lot of women. Or had he? Anyway, they had all faded from his memory. None of them compared to Charlotte. Even his decade-long affair with Helga suddenly felt distant and unremarkable.

The ending of one thing is the beginning of another.

In his fantasy, Charlotte was passionate about him and so attracted to his body that she couldn't keep her hands off him. He wanted to lose himself in their long, hungry kiss and new, pleasurable sensations. Her hands would tuck themselves against him, one pressing against his chest and the other sliding up his neck to cup the back of his head. He would grab her by the hips and push her into another kiss, desperate, deep and maybe a little wild. Without a moment’s hesitation, she would shimmy out of her clothes, exposing herself to his greedy gaze.

Other details of his imaginary, illicit encounter with Charlotte remained vague. He felt the familiar pressure building up inside him and knew that he was getting close to finishing and that there was nothing he could do to delay or prevent the inevitable. He had no choice but to surrender to it. He let out a gasp and arched his back involuntarily as a wave of sharp, tingling pleasure coursed through his body.

That’s how it’s meant to be.

For a brief, fleeting moment, everything was right in the world. He was incredibly content and relaxed but drained too, of course. He didn’t have the energy to get out of bed and clean himself up. He wanted to enjoy his floaty bliss a little longer. Or a lot longer.

Would he fall asleep without his usual shot of drugs? He had to switch on the light and reach out for his injection kit, but his head was too empty, and his limbs were too heavy for such complex actions. Instead, he took the pillow from under his head, put it next to him in bed and wrapped his arm around it.

There, in the pitch-black darkness of his chilly bedroom, he was deceiving himself again, pretending that he had that special girl right beside him, that he was holding onto her and giving her peace and security. That their feelings for each other were reciprocal. It was a bittersweet dream and a hopeless one too, but it felt good all the same.

I’m waiting for you. I’ve been waiting for you all these years. Our time is now.

Chapter Text

The first weeks of 1930 weren’t much different from the last weeks of 1929. Gereon and Charlotte spent most of their time at the Burg and in the city, deducing, investigating, interrogating and reporting. They treated each other with friendly politeness, just as before, even though Charlotte had promised that more fun was to come.

Once Gereon invited her to the cinema, but she turned him down. A week later she refused to accompany him for an after-work beer, and he didn’t dare ask her out for a third time, afraid of making an idiot out of himself. He came to the conclusion that Charlotte didn’t regard their Silvester outing as a date and that she had no further plans for them. It was so painful to have got to know her better, developed an attachment to her and then find out that she was indifferent towards him after all.

Or was she just giving him tit for tat? After they had kissed at Gräf’s birthday party, he had shunned her the next morning at the Burg. He was ashamed of his inappropriate behaviour during the evening, of his bold advances, of the disgusting weakness he had displayed to everyone. He had been drunk and desperate that night, and he thought that Charlotte’s kiss was nothing more than a simple act of sympathy. Besides, his long-term relationship with Helga had just ended in the most dramatic fashion, and at that point it felt wrong to rush into something new as if he was looking for a rebound. Now the situation was different, but Charlotte didn’t seem to read his signals or, even worse, she wasn’t interested.

Fortunately, she didn’t refuse to accompany him for lunch. They usually went to Aschinger or some other diner close to the Burg and spent half an hour together, eating and chatting. Sometimes he paid the whole bill before she could take her purse out of her handbag. He didn’t mind paying every time, but he knew that it would upset Charlotte, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

*

One afternoon Charlotte was too busy to join him for lunch. She had a slice of bread and a cup of coffee right at her desk without disrupting her work. He spent a while watching her decipher a long stenograph, wondering how on earth she could identify every word written in that illegible shorthand. To him, it looked completely unreadable, worse than Chinese characters or Khmer script. Not a big deal for Charlotte though.

Gereon was in no mood to go to the diner alone. Instead he used his break to visit the pharmacy and top up his prescriptions. The pharmacist guided him to the back room, measured his blood pressure and gave him a paper bag with a dozen vials, a bottle of sleeping pills and some powdered medication to treat his migraine. Gereon didn’t like the man, whose eyes were red like a rabbit's. The pharmacist spoke Kölsch but stuck "wa" on the end of all his questions and otherwise treated him in an overly familiar way, which annoyed him greatly.

What else could he expect from Anno's "reliable" contact? The man belonged to the large criminal network his brother had weaved in Berlin, and Gereon regularly used his services instead of raiding his den and throwing him into prison, where he surely belonged. Anno was forcing him to break the law, exploiting the opportunity to collect evidence of his professional misconduct that could be used as blackmail. Gereon was trapped in his web and became even more entangled in its sticky strands with every move. If he should ever dare to rebel, he would immediately lose his job and freedom. And probably his life too.

When Gereon returned to work, Charlotte was nowhere to be seen. They were investigating the double murder that had taken place in front of the casino at Potsdamer Platz, and one of the key witnesses had arrived at the Burg to talk to them. Charlotte usually took notes when he was talking to the witnesses and asked some questions of her own. A little more practice and she would be able to conduct such procedures independently from beginning to end.

Gereon knew that Charlotte used every spare minute making extra money as a typist. He went to look for her downstairs because he didn’t want to make the witness wait for them too long. Gereon entered the archive quietly and heard Charlotte and Gräf’s muffled voices; they were having a conversation behind the shelves stuffed with boxes and files.

They couldn’t see him, and he approached without making a sound. It was one of the few useful things he had learnt in the army, to walk without being heard and to sneak up on people without giving himself away. Not that he was intending to eavesdrop but...

"...a hundred more pages of protocols for you," Gräf said. "But they have to be done by Saturday morning."

"Great, thanks. I’ll take them," Charlotte was satisfied with the offer.

"You work non-stop," Gräf complained. "I haven't seen you dancing for ages. Come to Eldorado tomorrow, they’re arranging Faggots Ball, a huge American-style party. Flo Velez, the Latino drag queen from Harlem, is visiting Berlin. You can’t miss it! I’ve bought a new frock and a curly blonde wig for the occasion. It would do you good to wind down a little.”

"No time for fun," Charlotte answered.

Gräf let out an exasperated sigh.

"And you’re definitely sure about not working nights anymore?" he lowered his voice so that Gereon had to strain his ears to distinguish his words. "Wouldn’t that be an easier way to get some cash? I know you’re struggling, bunny."

Gereon clenched his jaw. Great advice from Gräf, to serve in the police at day and to sell sex at night.

"It’s too risky. If I get caught, I’ll lose my job here,” Charlotte answered.

“What about those small underground venues that are not open to the general public?” Gräf wasn’t giving up.

"They’re too vile even for me. Once I urgently needed money and I took a gig in Luxor that was worth a hundred marks. No, never again."

"A hundred marks per job,” Gräf gave a long, low whistle of surprise. “I imagine they pushed you to the limits of your tolerance."

"In Moka Efti, booze and crack helped me a great deal. In Luxor I was sober and blindfolded, and then there was a gang of ten and some old pervert watching the action and jerking off.”

Gereon quickly escaped from the archive. He couldn’t step into that kind of conversation. Charlotte was being so open with Gräf. It was a level of communication that she never afforded him.

He was shocked at what he had just overheard, unable to get rid of the terrible images that were flashing through his head as he climbed the stairs to the interrogation room. He felt sympathy for poor Charlotte, who had been brutally exploited for the sake of her rather ungrateful relatives. She had sacrificed herself for people who didn’t care about her happiness and safety. Instead of showing some gratitude, they had come to the Burg with accusations, called her names and embarrassed her immensely. What fear she must have experienced there, in the dark, sleazy brothel, blindfolded and ravished by a gang of predators.

Gereon was deeply ashamed of his own behaviour too, because he also considered Charlotte a sexual object. He wasn’t any different from any other man who wanted to use her for his own pleasure. For other women, beauty was a blessing, but for Charlotte it was more of a curse. She awakened dark desires even when she didn’t intend to.

Gereon didn’t know how long Charlotte had been selling her body to strangers, probably years. How could anyone ever get used to being treated like a piece of meat in a butcher’s shop? Like a product that had a price tag and a best before date? A product that one day would lose its freshness and quality and end up in the bin. He became furious at the thought.

Her life was a bloody battlefield, just like his own. They were birds of a feather. At that moment Gereon wasn’t dreaming about a secret workplace romance or a new fair-weather friend to hang out with on Saturday nights. He was dreaming about an ally, the one person who would stand by his side no matter what, whom he would protect and cherish too, in spite of any obstacles and shortcomings. If only he and Charlotte could open up to each other before it was too late.

**

Gereon’s conversation with the witness was brief but productive. The croupier described the perpetrators and the vehicle they used to flee the crime scene. It was a luxury beige car, a Mercedes-Benz 630K, a six-seater. The witness recognised the model because the casino owner, Herr Kretschmann, used to drive a similar car, although his was a four-seater. There weren’t many vehicles like that registered in Berlin, so it was possible to check each of them and perhaps track down a suspect.

Gereon promised to contact the croupier later and let him go. After that he returned to the office and found Charlotte back at her desk.

"Please could you make a list of all the beige six-seater Mercedes-Benz 630Ks registered in Berlin and its suburbs?" he asked. "I’ve just questioned the croupier, our key witness. According to him, the perpetrators escaped in that kind of vehicle.”

Charlotte listened to him and jotted some notes down in her pad.

"How many people did he see at the scene? Had he memorised the licence plate? You talked to the croupier without me. I thought we agreed I’d come along," Charlotte frowned.

"You weren’t here when he arrived," Gereon shrugged. "He heard shots, ran out of the casino and saw two bodies stretched out on the pavement and two men emptying their pockets. One of the perpetrators was about 190 centimetres tall with an athletic build. The other was of average height, big-boned, with a sturdy frame. They were both wearing black coats and balaclavas. When the croupier shouted at them, they jumped into the Mercedes and drove away. There was mud covering the licence plate so he couldn’t make it all out, but he was quite sure it started with the letter B. B for Berlin."

"I’ll check the register right away," Charlotte promised.

"Thanks."

At quarter past eight Charlotte entered his office with a list of vehicles in her hand.

"One hundred Mercedes-Benz 630Ks are registered in Berlin," she reported, “but only thirty-two are beige. Fifteen of the beige cars are six-seaters, the rest are four-seaters."

Gereon could hardly conceal his amusement at how quickly and effectively Charlotte had compiled the list. What surprised him even more was that she showed him a map of Berlin and its suburbs with red circles corresponding to the addresses of the car owners.

"Great. I’ll send Henning and Czerwinski to talk to the owners of the vehicles tomorrow. Maybe some of them will have alibis and our list will get even shorter."

"They should remember to ask the owners if anyone could have borrowed their cars on the night the murders were committed. If someone else had access to the keys…"

"Right."

Gereon wondered why that idea hadn’t crossed his own mind. When he was younger, he used to borrow his father’s Horch without permission. He used to snatch the key from the cabinet in the hallway, sneak out of the house and go for a drive. On one of his secret outings he had hit a parked car and his father had been liable for the damage resulting from the accident. Perhaps the owner of the Mercedes was sleeping peacefully in his bed while one of his relatives was driving his car around Berlin and shooting people.

"Anything else I can do today?" Charlotte enquired in her usual business-like manner.

"It's getting late, so that’s enough for today, thank you."

"Good night, then," Charlotte collected her coat and hat from the rack but didn’t put them on. She walked out of the door, and soon he heard her footsteps echoing down the empty corridor.

Gereon knew that she wasn’t going home but was heading instead to the archive to type up the texts of the protocols that Gräf had given her. He didn't like the fact that Charlotte would spend a few hours alone down there. After Ullrich had almost killed her, he was constantly afraid that something awful might happen to her again and that he wouldn’t be around to help her. He decided to carry on with his own paperwork and check on Charlotte a couple of hours later before leaving for home.

Shortly after 11 o’clock Gereon locked his office and went downstairs. The Burg’s corridors were gloomy, with hardly any light. After the end of the working day they were illuminated only by yellow emergency lamps in order to save electricity. The archive was the only room in the building that still had all its lights on. Charlotte was asleep at the typist’s desk near the typewriter, her head resting on her folded arms. She didn't hear him approach, and didn’t respond when he called her name.

"Charlotte," he repeated, tapping her on the shoulder.

She shifted in her chair but didn't raise her head. Gereon’s chest tightened as a sudden wave of fear coursed through him. What if she was poisoned or hurt again? He grabbed Charlotte by the shoulders and pushed her backwards, “What’s wrong with you?”

Charlotte opened her eyes and blinked at him but didn’t utter a word.

"Are you feeling unwell?” he asked. “It's quarter past eleven. I’ll give you a lift home."

"I’m fine, just a bit tired," she said in a small voice, her face completely bloodless. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not leaving yet. I need to re-ink the ribbon and get back to work. I’ve got ten more pages to do today.”

“Alright then. I’ll wait for you here until you’re done.”

Charlotte stared at him in disbelief, floored by his stubbornness.

“Please leave,” she hated using that stroppy, begging intonation. “I can’t re-ink when I’ve got someone watching, it’s a very delicate and messy process. If I spill the ink, it’ll be a disaster.”

“I can turn my back on you,” he said, making it clear that he wouldn’t carry on their futile debate. If necessary, he would wait for her until the break of dawn.

“It seems you can’t,” she grumbled and gave up.

Charlotte put the typewriter into a leather storage case and left a note for the next user saying that the ribbon had dried out. Then she sorted her papers and arranged them into two different files, trying not to mix up the original document with its carbon copy. Gereon noticed that her fingers were less dexterous than usual. She was not just a bit tired but truly exhausted.

“Let’s go, then,” Charlotte stepped towards the door and wobbled dangerously. Gereon grabbed her just in time, preventing her from falling. He helped her put on her coat and offered her his arm, which she reluctantly accepted.

The constable guarding the front door gawped at them, but Gereon didn’t care. Fortunately, he had parked his car in the courtyard of the Burg that morning, so they didn’t have far to walk. He opened the door for Charlotte, let her in and examined the glove compartment in the hope of discovering something edible, but there was only a packet of cigarettes and a bag of apricot candies inside.

“Would you like a sweetie?” he asked. “We bought them at Silvester, remember?”

Charlotte gave a feeble smile when he said the word “sweetie”. She took one from the bag, tore off the wrapper and stuck it in her mouth.

Gereon started the engine and left the parking space. Charlotte gave him directions to Moabit. Navigating Berlin with her help was smooth and easy; she always knew the shortest routes.

“Would you like a sweetie too?” she asked. “I can unwrap it for you.”

“Yes please,” Gereon opened his mouth and she fed him one of the candies as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Be careful, it’s quite hard, don’t break your teeth.”

They drove along the central streets of Berlin, eating their way through the candies. Gereon hoped that Charlotte’s sister was waiting for her at home, that their flat was warm and that the table was laid for a late dinner. Or that she had at least kept some food for Charlotte if she had already eaten. But if not? What if nobody was waiting for her there and she would be going to bed cold and hungry?

In the summer Charlotte had suffered from pneumonia, having nearly drowned. She had been wheezing and coughing for weeks, especially when carrying something heavy, climbing the stairs or exerting herself physically in any other way. Perhaps the accident had caused lasting damage to her lungs. What if she caught cold again and developed more complications, becoming chronically short of breath? Gereon's mother had asthma, and he knew how exhausting the disease could be, how it affected and limited the sufferer’s life. He didn't want that for Charlotte.

It probably wouldn’t do any harm for him to ask about her sister. Just to make sure she’d be alright and taken care of.

"Will your sister be at home now?"

"No, Toni isn’t staying with me anymore," a lonely tear rolled down Charlotte's pale cheek. “She ran away and it’s completely my fault. I wasn’t caring for her well enough and she did some really stupid things. We had a huge fight and I slapped her round the face. Then she left and never came back.”

Gereon could hardly picture Charlotte hitting a kid in the face. Her sister must have said or done something truly nasty to elicit such a reaction. But who was he to judge Charlotte for her outburst of anger? When he got mad at Moritz, he grabbed him by the lapels, yelled at him and shook him like an apple tree. Besides, he often neglected the boy and used him as a weapon, first to manipulate Helga and then, after she had moved out, to exact revenge on her and hurt her feelings. He could hardly be called uncle of the year.

"I’m sorry," Gereon said. “Youngsters can be extremely trying. My nephew gets in trouble all the time too. If something is forbidden, dangerous or off limits, Moritz is always involved in it. It sounds like your sister and my nephew are two of a kind. Aren’t they quite close in age as well?”

“Moritz? The boy you brought to the Burg?” Charlotte asked. “I thought he was your son.”

“What?” Gereon’s eyebrows shot up in feigned surprise, as if he had never introduced Moritz to his colleagues as his son. “No. He’s my brother’s son, that’s why we have the same surname.”

“I see,” she watched him with an expression of uncertainty, as if expecting some further explanation, and when he gave none, she heaved a short sigh of disappointment.

When they reached Spenerstraße, Gereon parked on the roadside and switched off the engine.

“Here we are. Thanks for giving me a lift. Good night.” She got out of the car and stepped out onto the pavement, still a little shaky on her feet. Gereon didn’t like it.

"Can I show you to your door?" he locked the car, implying that he wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

Charlotte seemed amused by his forwardness but didn’t raise any objections.

“Alright, but first I need to pick up my key from over there,” she pointed at the door of the small Kneipe on the ground floor of the building where she lived.

Gereon wondered why she didn’t carry her key with her like everybody else but kept it at the Kneipe instead. That was a strange arrangement. But now he knew why she had gone there on Silvester night. To get her key.

***

“I rent the attic room,” Charlotte said. “Lots of stairs to climb.”

Gereon wrapped his arm around her shoulders and supported her up the stairs. They paused briefly after every couple of flights to give Charlotte a moment to recover and summon up some strength. When they reached the attic, her skin was tinged with green, her forehead was beaded with sweat, her breathing rapid and heavy. The exertion had drained the last dregs of her energy.

“Can I come in for a moment?” Gereon doubted that he would get much sleep later on if he had to leave Charlotte on her own, wondering whether or not she was alright.

“Sure. You’re welcome to.”

They entered Charlotte's flat and Gereon helped her to remove her coat. He put his own coat and hat on the hook behind the door and noticed a few items of men's clothing hanging there: a tweed jacket with patched elbows, a navy-blue blazer and an eight-piece cap.

"Is someone staying here with you?" Gereon asked cautiously.

"I share this place with the guy who works in the Kneipe downstairs. We agreed that I’d stay here at night and he’d use it during the day," Charlotte said. "The rent is half as much that way."

"Oh," Gereon was lost for words yet again. How could it be that he knew so little about Charlotte's life even though he spent most of the day with her? “And where do you sleep after you've been on the night rota?"

“Sometimes at the cinema or at a friend’s place. Or I go to Herr Litten’s office, enjoy a quick nap on his sofa and then help him with some paperwork.”

Sleeping at the cinema could hardly be very restful. Sleeping at a friend’s place was fine unless the friend was a horny idiot like that obtrusive medical student. But napping at Litten’s office didn’t sound good at all. What if Charlotte developed a crush on the young lawyer, who was intelligent and charismatic and shared her passion for defending the rights of the poor?

Charlotte’s flat was the perfect reflection of her personality: modestly furnished and somewhat chaotic, but also functional and very cosy. A wooden bed against the wall. A small metal stove and a few open shelves with kitchenware, a bistro table and two folding chairs, a tall chest of drawers for clothes and linen with a big old-fashioned gramophone on top. A few framed pictures on the walls: garden flowers and a painting of a river scene. She had probably inherited the embroidered tulle curtains from her mother.

It was cold in the room, almost as cold as it was outside, and Gereon asked Charlotte if she wouldn’t mind him lighting a fire. She was bemused by his offer but didn't turn him down. There was a basket and a bucket with coal stuffed between the stove and the wall, and Gereon wasn’t sure which of the two belonged to Charlotte.

“The coal in the basket is mine,” she said. “And here’s a newspaper.”

“Thanks.”

The stove was empty and cold inside. Charlotte’s roommate clearly hadn’t heated the room that day.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting guests and I don’t have any nibbles to offer,” she apologised.

“Don’t worry, I’m not hungry,” Gereon lied. “But you go ahead and have your dinner. Do you need the stove for cooking?”

“No,” she shook her head, opened the kitchen cabinet and took out two raw carrots.

Could that really be her dinner? She had had a hectic schedule at work and had skipped lunch. A piece of bread and a few cups of black coffee weren’t enough to maintain her energy levels. No wonder she was fainting from fatigue and malnourishment in the evening. Charlotte preferred to starve rather than resume gigs in the clubs and basements, as Gräf had urged her to consider doing. She used to do those things to provide for her family, and now that she was all alone, she wouldn’t earn extra cash to cover her own needs in that way.

Gereon had never lived on such a tight budget that obliged him to choose whether to buy food or coal because he didn’t have enough money for both. It was so wrong that someone who worked over sixty hours a week and did the night rota couldn’t afford regular meals and a flat without a roommate.

Charlotte fished a knife out of another drawer of the kitchen cabinet and set to work peeling the carrots, scraping a thin layer of skin off them.

“Would you like the other one?” she met his eyes and smiled at him bashfully.

Charlotte was willing to share her very last morsel of food with him because she didn’t want him to feel unwelcome in her home. He nodded and accepted the carrot. It was sweet and crunchy. It didn’t feel real to be here, at Charlotte’s, in the middle of the night, chatting with her and munching a carrot. Was he dreaming or hallucinating again?

When Charlotte was done with her carrot, she fished out a clean spoon and poured some oil into it.

“It’s linseed oil,” she explained. “A trick to cheat your stomach after a single carrot dinner. Why are you frowning?”

“I’ve never tasted linseed oil,” Gereon said, “but when I was a kid, they forced a spoonful of fish oil down my throat every evening. It was disgusting.”

“Poor you!” Charlotte pitied him. “I wish I’d been there to save you and swallow that vile oil on your behalf.”

“You couldn’t have been there, Charlotte,” he chuckled, “because you weren’t even born yet.”

“Right,” she agreed, slightly amused by the fact that he had already faced his first challenges in the time before she existed.

The heat from the stove was slowly spreading outwards, the flames were strong, blue and perfectly even.

“You’ve really tamed this fickle stove!” Charlotte said admiringly. “It’s burning hotter than ever, and the smoke isn’t coming into the room. You must be a magician.”

At war Gereon had failed to light a fire when they were camping in the damp forest. His fellow soldiers cursed him for his clumsiness and called him a worthless piece of rubbish. Nobody advised him on how to do it better, and he had to learn the technique on his own, by observing others. Charlotte’s words of praise were like ointment on his old sore. He hoped he hadn’t used up her week’s supply of coal and that she wouldn’t have a few cold nights ahead because he hadn’t been thrifty enough.

While he was pondering these things, Charlotte climbed into bed and burrowed under the covers.

"Turn off the light and come here," she glanced at him imploringly, only her eyes peeping out from under the bedspread.

After a brief moment’s hesitation, Gereon obeyed. He reached for the switch and the room went dim. The door of the stove was ajar, and the flames gave out a yellowish, twinkling light. It was time for Charlotte to get some rest and for him to set off home. He crossed the room to her bed and opened his mouth to say good night.

"This bed is like an igloo,” she complained, her teeth chattering with cold. “I’m freezing. Could you hold me until I warm up? Toni always did.”

His mouth became dry and his heart skipped a beat. Was Charlotte really asking him to lie down in her bed and hold her? It was definitely a very dangerous idea. But she seemed miserable and was shivering with the cold. Charlotte was allowing herself to be vulnerable around him, something she didn’t normally do, and he knew that if he rejected her now, she would never ask him to do anything like that in the future, would never let him into her private space again, would never open up to him like she had that evening. He would either grasp the chance she was giving him or he would waste it and regret it for the rest of his life.

Gereon removed his jacket and gun holster, arranged them on the chair and laid down on the bed next to Charlotte. If they remained decent and almost fully dressed, was there anything to worry about?

Charlotte turned her back on him and repeated, "Hold me, please."

He put his arm around her waist, and she pushed herself back into his embrace. Although they were separated by a few layers of fabric, he felt the shape of her body, and his heart began racing like crazy again. Charlotte slotted into his arms perfectly, fragile like a little bird. Soon she relaxed and went limp beside him. The world around her sank into darkness, and a few minutes later she was sound asleep.

Gereon enjoyed having her so close, but at the same time he felt extremely nervous and unsure. The strange combination of happiness and anxiety made him lightheaded and restless. He made a desperate attempt to control his breathing and bring down his heart rate. Charlotte was unwell and exhausted, and needed only some warmth and sympathy. She would surely be shocked to discover that instead of treating her as a friend, he was turned on and torn down by his primitive, bodily desires.

In recent weeks he had allowed himself to dream of making out with Charlotte and even worse, when doing so, he had indulged in dirty, sinful activities. Most of his fantasies were pretty irrational and dumb, as if he was a wanton youngster rather than a grown man in his thirties. Once he imagined that he was having secret sex with Charlotte at the Burg. They established intense eye contact, met in a secluded interrogation room and quickly got down to business. She hitched up her skirt, he undid his trousers and bent her over whatever was around. Afterwards they went back upstairs and acted like it had never happened.

Another wild fantasy involved a spontaneous encounter in the Tiergarten on a summer’s night, with their clothes still mostly on. He was walking her home after they had been clubbing somewhere downtown, both hot and tipsy, and she initiated the kind of intense kisses they had never shared before. Their craving for each other was so all-consuming that they didn't waste any time seeking out somewhere private or taking their clothes off.

And then there was a third dream, the most sacred one. In that fantasy, he was telling Charlotte about all the terrible things he had ever gone through and crying hard on her shoulder. She listened and comforted him, and then she made love to him while his tears were still drying. Now, when he was holding her close, nothing seemed impossible. He shut his eyes and prayed that God would help him battle his selfish desires.

****

Gereon didn’t know when he had dozed off or how long he had been asleep. When he opened his eyes again and slowly regained consciousness, the stove had gone out and the room was dark. Charlotte had turned around in her sleep and was now lying close to him, her face buried in his chest and her arm draped over his shoulder. Their bodies were entwined, and he was hard in response to their closeness. He tried to extricate himself from underneath Charlotte's arm.

She stirred and clung to him as he pulled away from her, "Don't go."

"I won’t."

"It's so hot in here, I’m sweating," Charlotte sat up in bed and peeled off her woollen cardigan. She slipped off her dress too, stripping down to her thin camisole, stockings and underwear. His eyes gradually grew accustomed to the darkness and he could make out the contours of her body, which awoke a new wave of longing in him.

"You must be boiling too. Ditch your waistcoat," she commanded, and Gereon obeyed before it occurred to her to help him with it. That would simply be too much.

Now Charlotte was lying beside him half dressed, which was both heaven and hell. A pang of desire tugged at his stomach, and he hoped it wouldn’t be obvious how aroused he was.

"What’s wrong?" she sounded worried. "You’re panting. Did you have a nightmare?"

He didn't respond, afraid that his voice would reveal his unbridled lust. His breathing was becoming more and more ragged. Charlotte rested her elbow near his pillow and stroked the backs of her fingers along his cheek. She pressed her lips to his neck, trying to soothe him, but her touch produced exactly the opposite effect, increasing his agitation. He didn't have a clue what would happen next, but he no longer had the strength to fight it.

"Please…" he choked, not knowing what he was pleading for.

Did he want her to stop or was he asking for more? He clutched her hand and let out a small, shaky gasp, the only signal that Charlotte seemed to be waiting for. She leaned forward, closing the last few centimetres of the distance between them, capturing his mouth in a slow, steamy kiss. It was too wonderful to be true, simply unreal. He felt like he was stuck in one of his erotic dreams, drifting through the hazy, somnolent motions of a feverish hallucination. Could this be another cruel delusion fabricated by his sick imagination?

Charlotte made a quiet, strangled sound in her throat, which spurred him on even more, their kissing growing more intense with every passing second. The sensation of her tongue rubbing against his was explosive and he couldn’t get enough of it. But he wanted more than that, he wanted more of Charlotte.

Gereon reached for her in the dark, grabbed her waist and drew her on top of him, so that she was straddling his hips. His hands were everywhere, kneading her bottom, slipping under her camisole and pushing it up, fluttering over the delicate curves of her body, fondling her breasts though the fabric of her brassiere. Charlotte adjusted her position and felt the effect she had on him, the obvious bulge in the front of his trousers. He groaned and jerked away from her, absolutely mortified.

"Shh…" Charlotte shushed. "What’s natural is not dirty.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured and squeezed his eyes shut.

She cupped his head in her hands and brought her mouth back to his.

“Believe me, I don't mind at all,” she smiled against his lips and chuckled softly. “I just hadn’t seen this coming, and we can’t go all the way right now. But I’d like to make you feel good if you’ll let me."

What a proposal! A deep blush spread to his cheeks, and he was glad that the room was too dark for Charlotte to see how embarrassed he was. At this time of night Gereon was suspended somewhere between drug-induced dreams, reality and fantasy. He wasn’t in full control of his mind and so surrendered eagerly to his repressed sexual impulses. He opened his suspenders, unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down, together with his underpants. He hadn’t had such a strong erection since he was twenty.

"Gereon, let me touch you," Charlotte whispered.

Her words were met by a whimper, the only sound he could manage. She called him by his Christian name, and it was music to his ears. What else could he do but give in to her?

Charlotte reached out to enclose him in her hand, to feel his size and shape. She began stroking him with a painstaking slowness, and the anticipation of what was to come made him ache. His face screwed up in a mixture of delight and agony such as he had never experienced before. Charlotte seemed to pick up on how desperate he was and decided to grant him mercy and not tease him for too long.

She slid down his body and settled between his thighs, ready to please him, her tousled curls tickling his lower stomach, her warm breath ghosting over his exposed skin. He felt her sealed lips creeping up and down his length in a series of light and gentle kisses. The first lingering and thoughtful touch of her wet, agile tongue against his flesh was dizzying. Gereon wasn’t used to such sensations. Whenever he engaged in self-indulgence, he never treated himself so carefully and gently. His grip was always firm and harsh, and his strokes fast and furious because he knew he was committing a sin and deserved punishment, not pleasure.

“It would feel so good to have you inside me,” Charlotte said in a low, quiet voice, as if she were thinking aloud and letting him overhear the voice inside her head.

She unsealed her lips and guided him into her mouth. The combination of warmth, wetness and tightness sent pulsating vibrations up and down his spine. It was accompanied by that special, sweet feeling of being desired and looked after. Charlotte assumed absolute control over his mind and the most sensitive parts of his body, and he had no option but to lie back and let her do things her way, whatever they were going to be.

Now gliding back and forth, she swirled her tongue from side to side, caressing him in the most unthinkable ways, varying the speed and pressure she applied. His thighs tensed and his knees jerked when she sucked him particularly hard. It was something of a sensory overload, and it felt as if she was literally sucking the life force out of his body, but in such an incredibly pleasurable way.

Gereon felt his orgasm approaching. His fingers twitched at the bedspread, and he heard himself moaning as he almost exploded at the sensation of her hot, slick mouth around him. Just when he was about to fall apart, now extremely close to the edge, he tried to withdraw again, but Charlotte stopped him.

“It’s fine, let yourself go.”

Her suggestion made him shudder. He had never finished in a woman's mouth before. To be precise, he had never been treated orally like that before either. It was considered filthy and sinful in his religion: the Catholic Church prohibited it, even for married couples. Helga would never touch his member with her mouth, and he would never pressure his partner to do something that would undermine her dignity. He didn’t expect Charlotte to do any of these things either. Did she feel subservient or degraded to be performing them on him?

Charlotte seemed to sense his hesitation, his ongoing struggle with his doubts and insecurities, “Trust me, it’s all good."

She stepped up her pace, drawing him as fully into her mouth as she could, letting him enter her throat. Was it uncomfortable for her? Challenging? He didn’t want to hurt her in any way and forced himself to remain still. Charlotte did her best to help him, holding him steady as she fell into a rhythm, sending a hard quiver through him and bringing him closer and closer to the edge again.

His hips bucked forward involuntarily, seeking more of her mouth, and his hand tightened in her curls. Gereon did just as she told him, he closed his eyes and let himself come in the depth of her mouth. The release came as an explosion, and his body convulsed at the intensity of the sensation. Charlotte slowed down but didn't stop caressing him straight away. She kept him in her mouth for a few more seconds, letting him enjoy himself to the fullest. Finally, she pulled away from him and he heard her gulping. Had she really swallowed everything she had in her mouth?

For a while, he couldn't move and could barely breathe; the pleasure that had erupted through his entire body was like nothing he had ever felt before. It claimed all of his thoughts, making his vision fade in and out. She had given him more than any other woman had ever done. Forbidden fruit was surely the sweetest of all.

Gereon didn’t know what he was supposed to do next: kiss her, apologise, express gratitude... His mind was completely blank, and he couldn’t compose any kind of coherent phrase. It was probably better to stay silent than to say something irrelevant and awkward. He pulled his trousers up and buttoned them, feeling awfully messy and embarrassed.

"Try to get some sleep now,” Charlotte coaxed him. “We still have a couple of hours before the alarm."

She settled into his side as if she belonged there, fitting against him like a missing piece. Having been shaken so deeply, Gereon, went out like a light. He was quite sure that when he opened his eyes again, he would find himself in his chilly bedroom, recollecting the details of another vivid dream about Charlotte.

*****

The ruthless alarm clock rang at 6 o’clock sharp. Charlotte stretched out her hand to switch it off, then quickly checked on Gereon.

"Morning! How are you?"

"Umm… Why do you ask?" he cleared his throat and turned his face away from her. "It was you feeling unwell yesterday."

"I feel fine now, good as new," Charlotte said briskly and added, "let's not make things complicated. We got a little carried away, but it’s no big deal.”

Gereon got out of bed and set about tidying himself up. He pulled his suspenders over his shoulders and buttoned them in place in the front. Then he fixed his tie and put on his waistcoat. Charlotte watched him getting dressed and wondered what was going on in his head.

It took him a while to adjust the straps of his holster so that they were tight around his body. He was obviously in a great hurry to leave, and she didn’t know what she could say or do to remedy the awkward situation.

“Gereon,” Charlotte’s voice betrayed her uncertainty. She wasn’t sure whether it was appropriate to address him like that or not. "Since you and I are single adults, perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm if we… helped each other out from time to time. What do you think?"

He froze on the spot and gave her a fleeting concerned glance before averting his eyes again, his expression troubled and disoriented. An uneasy tension filled the space between them. He dropped his gaze to his hands. They were trembling slightly.

"Excuse me,” he ducked his head, the worried crease between his eyebrows growing more pronounced, “I need to go now."

Gereon collected his coat and hat off the hook and rushed out of Charlotte’s flat, leaving her with mixed feelings. On the one hand, he had been attentive and kind to her the day before, when she had felt exhausted and weak. She hadn’t even dared to dream that she might manage to bring him home so spontaneously and easily. She had spent so many lonely nights tossing and turning in her cold bed, thinking about how it would feel to lie in his arms, right beside him, and now she knew it was far better than her wildest expectations. He hadn’t rejected her when she asked him to join her in bed, even though he could have wished her good night and walked away if he didn’t like the idea.

On the other hand, Gereon seemed to be regretting that he had let her do all those inappropriate things to him; the consternation on his face revealed his muddled emotions. She detected unease, confusion and something else. Maybe disgust. Was he put off by her brazenness and disturbed by her advances? Did he think she was too good at what she was doing? She had behaved like a whore rather than a lady, and he had probably lost all respect for her because of it.

It was clear from Gereon’s hasty retreat that he was uncomfortable around her. Instead of giving him space and attempting to save face, she had been stupid enough to offer her services again in the morning. She thought their friendship was developing into something else, something that would make them both happier, but now everything was ruined. She had caught him off guard in the middle of the night and imposed herself on him, and he had responded out of a primal desire, not because he wanted to propel their relationship to another level. She had no choice but to return to square one and resign herself to being colleagues and friendly acquaintances again, pretending that last night had never happened.

*

Gereon hurried home to wash, get changed and have his morning shot. He was too mixed up to focus on anything, trapped in a torturous loop of shame and self-loathing. He blamed himself for taking advantage of Charlotte at her moment of weakness, when she was lacking in common sense and had done things that she would surely regret later.

He wished he could be the right man for Charlotte and not just a cowardly wimp, a trembling junkie, unworthy of friendship and intimacy. What a woman! Someone to die for... She had suggested helping each other, but Gereon knew he couldn’t help her because he was broken and dead inside. A mere pawn on Anno's chess board, addicted to drugs and brainwashed, half-way to being transformed into a human machine. He was no longer living his life, but dragging out his existence from one day to the next. He had no hopes, no goals left, no expectations for the future, no purpose in life, nothing to give to anybody.

And Charlotte knew none of that. Well, she knew about his shellshock and how he was dealing with it, but nothing of Anno and his dehumanising, experimental treatments. He was now facing a dilemma: whether to open up to Charlotte and involve her in the huge mess that was his life or else hurt her feelings again, shunning her like a heartless moron. He had done it once before, and he had done it this morning too. She looked disappointed and perplexed because he hadn’t treated her right.

When Gereon arrived at the Burg at 9 o’clock, Charlotte was at her desk. She had apparently been working for a good while, surrounded by all sorts of files and papers, a few cigarette stubs lay in her ashtray and another half-smoked cigarette was clenched between her lips.

Charlotte spotted him watching her through the blinds of his office and met his eyes. She seemed to understand that he was no longer caught up in the drama of the previous night but was instead pondering more serious issues that he perhaps wanted to share with her. It would certainly be safer and easier to let it be, to say nothing, for him to shrink back into his shell and put on a mask of indifference, but Charlotte didn’t approve of such a plan.

She marched into Gereon's office and closed the door behind her, "What is it? I need to know."

He furrowed his brow at her request, "I beg your pardon."

"Everything," Charlotte commanded. "The truth. Whatever it is."

Gereon was driven into a corner. He looked down helplessly, dreading Charlotte's piercing gaze. The word truth sent an electrical impulse through his brain; Anno was always demanding the truth during their psychotherapy sessions.

"I’m waiting," she insisted and leaned forward, resting her hands on her hips assertively, as if ready for action.

It was useless to resist in the face of such determination. He shrugged, sagged into his chair and tore a piece of paper from his notepad.

"Alright. You’re a smart person, Charlotte, so I’ll cut a long story short. I’ll write down a few words, you come here and read them. And then I’ll burn this piece of paper. Think about what you see and ask questions if you have any. But later, please. Not now, and not here at the Burg."

Her eyes shone triumphantly. "It’s a deal," she promised. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep things professional when we’re at work.”

Charlotte sat down in the chair opposite him and prepared to wait, thoughtfully weaving her fingers through the tangles of her soft hair.

When Gereon had finished writing, he beckoned her to come up. He held the paper in his hand so that she could read the words arranged in an uneven column:

brother

Helga Rath

war

betrayal

death

drugs

Berlin

resurrection

psychotherapy

human machine

There was one more word down below, hidden under Gereon's thumb. She opened her mouth to ask him to show it to her, but he was already setting his lighter to the paper. The moment before the paper turned to ashes, he let her see that last word - Charlotte. Her own name.

She gave him a meaningful nod and a smile, "Oh yes, we’d better chat after work."

**

Over the rest of the day they kept to their agreement not to discuss any personal issues at work. Fortunately, there were plenty of other things to keep them occupied. Early in the morning the duty officer had received a call about a possible assault that was still going on and later encountered a man stabbed to death in his flat on Koenigsallee. Gereon, Charlotte and Gräf drove to the Grunewald and spent a few hours there, examining the crime scene and interviewing the victim’s neighbours. Gräf photographed the man and the knife that had been used to kill him, while Charlotte talked to the lady who had called the police upon hearing the sounds of a brawl coming from her neighbour’s flat. Gereon processed the scene and collected evidence, ensuring that all important details were properly recorded.

Later that afternoon, when they were back at the Burg, Henning and Czerwinski brought in a new suspect, the owner of a Mercedes-Benz 630K who had no alibi. The interrogation yielded little, as the man denied his involvement in the murders and swore that he had never parked near the casino.

At 6 o’clock in the evening, when the other members of staff were on their way home, Charlotte needed to go to the archive to finish the protocols that Gräf had given her the day before. She asked Gereon to pick her up a few hours later, which gave him time to prepare himself mentally for their upcoming conversation.

He paced the premises of the unit restlessly, kicking the chairs and bins out of his way and smoking one cigarette after another, failing to focus on work and shift his thoughts away from the anxieties that were playing over and over in his head. He couldn’t predict the questions Charlotte might ask, but he knew that she would have a lot of them. She expected him to be candid and straightforward and would hardly be satisfied with his regular strategy of being deliberately ambiguous.

At one point, Gereon felt so panicked that he seriously considered escaping from the Burg without catching up with Charlotte. He was immediately ashamed of this impulse and of himself too. What a coward he was! A man who was in the habit of running away from difficulties instead of tackling them head on. He had to work out how to repay her kindness and to convey to her how much he valued her help and opinions.

When he went to pick her up from the archive, Charlotte had already finished her assignment. She was arranging the papers into the file and tidying up her desk.

"Would you like to get dinner?" Gereon asked.

“Sure. We can grab something in the kiosk by the metro station,” she suggested. “Maybe more candies and carrots.”

“Actually, I’ve booked us a table,” he said cautiously, “but I’m not sure what they have on the menu … Hopefully something edible.”

“A table?” her face lit up, intrigued and excited. “Where are we going?”

“To Charlottenburg,” Gereon grinned and held the door for her.

He walked behind Charlotte, unable to stop staring at her perfect legs. She was wearing a knee-length striped dress, well fitted, but not really figure-hugging. Anyone else would have described her black-and-brown outfit as modest, perhaps even a little boring. But not Gereon. It was a real challenge not to think about what was hidden under it: buttery-cream underwear with intricate lace trims and a pretty silk camisole, soft as rose petals. Yesterday he learned that Charlotte didn’t wear a girdle; instead she rolled her rayon stockings down using an elastic ribbon above her knee. He pictured his hand sliding under the hem of her dress, stroking the bare skin of her thighs, creeping up until it cupped the curve of her bottom. Gereon stifled a chuckle. Despite his nervousness and the seriousness of the impending conversation, he was lusting after Charlotte, haunted by the memories of what they had done last night. He was hopeless.

“Will you tell me the address of the place? In case you need help with navigation…”

“I know the route,” Gereon assured her, unwilling to sate her curiosity just yet. A little suspense would do no harm. He wanted to keep her rapt with anticipation a tiny bit longer.

He drove Charlotte to Cauerstraße and parked near an old building with an elaborately decorated baroque façade and a spectacular colonnade. The L'Inattendu restaurant that occupied its ground floor was their destination.

Charlotte’s eyes widened in astonishment on seeing the ruby-red carpet and the security guard at the front door, “Seriously?”

"I’ve never been to this restaurant before, but I heard foreign diplomats make their dinner appointments here," Gereon attempted to justify his choice. "It's one of those rare places in Berlin where people can talk over their food without being overheard."

“Gosh. I’m not dressed for that kind of venue,” Charlotte sounded worried.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not wearing black tie either.”

The host welcomed them in the foyer, took their coats and invited them to follow him to the private dining room that Gereon had booked for the evening. He led them through the spacious lounge with its simplistic yet stylish interior. The vaulted ceilings, oak panels, glass chandeliers and marble mosaic tiles created an aura of elegance and grace. A piano trio was entertaining the restaurant’s wealthy customers, who were speaking in low voices and enjoying the live music, delicacies and cocktails. Charlotte had been in similarly luxurious places before, like the Armenian’s night club, but seldom as a patron. She was more accustomed to being an item on the menu, something that could be ordered along with the desserts and beverages.

The host showed them into a charming small dining room and introduced the waiter who had been appointed to serve them for the evening. The round table for two was covered in a snowy white tablecloth and was set for dinner with fine china, silverware, shiny Bohemian glasses and two tall candles in brass candleholders. The waiter escorted Charlotte to the table and guided her into her seat, pulling out a comfortable upholstered chair with rounded wooden legs. The large window next to the table gave them a panorama of the Spree and the Landwehrkanal.

“Madame, Monsieur,” the waiter gave them menus that were translated into French, English, Spanish and Italian.

Charlotte flicked to the German version and raised her eyebrows as she looked down the price columns. They were ridiculous. Any dish on the list cost more than she spent on food in two weeks. But Gereon had chosen this place and invited her, which meant he could afford it. She would allow him to treat her. It would be wrong of her to upset him with unnecessarily critical comments.

“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked.

“Not yet,” Gereon shook his head. “Could you recommend us something?”

“Today’s specials are grilled lobster and une entrecôte avec des champignons et des asperges,” the waiter said. “Those don’t feature on the regular menu, as we change our specials every day.”

Charlotte felt confused. She didn’t know how to eat a whole lobster and didn’t understand the other option that the waiter had suggested, as she didn’t speak French.

“I’ll have the meat dish,” Gereon cast a quick glance at her, as if to check whether she had had enough time to read the menu. “Have you decided what you’d like?”

“The same for me, please,” Charlotte beamed. The meat must be good. She couldn’t afford quality meat or poultry, even once a week. When she was younger and her parents still worked at the slaughterhouse, they used to have nice cuts of pork, beef or lamb for their Sunday dinner. But those days were gone, and nowadays she bought only cheap sausages, chicken wings and occasionally ham on the bone.

“We have three starters that pair perfectly with that dish,” the waiter produced a polite smile, “pear and blue cheese salad, goose liver pâté and oysters with chopped shallots and mignonette sauce.”

“I think I’ll skip the starter,” Charlotte said, and Gereon did the same. He asked her to choose the wine, and she randomly pointed at a bottle in the reds section. Not the most expensive, but not the cheapest either.

The waiter scribbled the order in his pad and disappeared, leaving them alone in the dining room.

"This place is classier than Aschinger," Charlotte quipped, gazing around in awe and fidgeting nervously with the edge of the tablecloth.

It would be great to have dinner with Gereon here, but under different circumstances, without a troubled mind and properly dressed for the date. The privacy of the small room and its soft candlelight would set the mood for flirting and romance. Charlotte furrowed her brow, banishing these silly dreams. They were here for a serious conversation and she shouldn’t let a gorgeous venue distract her attention.

"I’ll tell your story based on my speculation, and you’ll correct me," she suggested.

Gereon nodded in agreement, grateful that she was sparing him the pain of saying so many difficult things out loud for himself.

"You had an elder brother and Helga was his wife,” Charlotte opened. “They had a son together, his name is Moritz, you told me. During the war you served in the same division as your brother, and you did something that was later considered a betrayal. He died. After the war you came back to Köln and turned to drugs as a way of dealing with your jagged nerves and guilty conscience. Also, you started bonking Helga."

Gereon couldn't help but let out a bitter chuckle at her word choice: "Right."

"Then you moved to Berlin and got involved in some trashy psychotherapy. But what’s this nonsense about a human machine? It sounds like some trope from science fiction. Biological engineering, an alien invasion, human machines – I thought these things only existed in H. G. Wells novels."

“Shelley’s Frankenstein might be a better comparison,” Gereon sighed. “It’s more of a horror story about a scientist who created a monster. And that monster is me, a device with no willpower or intelligence, a tool in the hands of its creator.”

“What the hell?” Charlotte’s eyes glowed with anger. “Who’s doing this to you and why did you agree to that kind of treatment?”

Gereon cracked his knuckles and leaned in closer to Charlotte, "My supposedly dead brother Anno is alive.”

“No way!” Charlotte gulped in disbelief.

“I met him last summer here in Berlin. He’s the doctor who doles out this therapy. In the end he’ll destroy me and probably himself too. Once we’re both dead, he’ll pursue me in the afterlife. I’ll never get rid of him.”

“What about Helga and Moritz? Don’t they know?”

“No,” Gereon shook his head. “He forbade me to tell them. He prefers to remain dead, hiding under a fake name. Do you remember Doctor Schmidt, who came to the Burg to conduct a criminal telepathy session?”

“I do. He’s the freak who hosted the satanist orgy in Dahlem and established a connection with the murdered actress. He’s nuts.”

“That’s my brother.”

A look of suspicion crossed Charlotte’s face, as if she expected him to say that it was all just a joke, but Gereon pursed his lips and remained silent.

“I thought my siblings were a mess, but now I see that they are holy lambs compared with your relatives.”

“Anno has weaved a criminal network in Berlin. A bunch of prominent politicians, industrial tycoons, bankers and gangsters of all sorts have fallen under his influence. We’re all mad here, it seems. Or many of us, at the very least.”

“Alfred Nyssen might be one of his patients,” Charlotte was thoughtfully coiling a strand of her hair around her finger. She often did that when her mind was operating at full capacity. “He is a real psychopath. I was watching him in Moka Efti when we were investigating the train case. He had a huge crush on Sorokina, but later, after Swetlana had fled, he switched his affection to Helga. Last September I saw her going into the hotel that his family owns, and a couple of weeks ago I spotted Herr and Frau Nyssen’s wedding announcement in the newspaper.”

“That’s correct. Helga has married Nyssen,” Gereon confirmed. “But I have no idea if Anno has anything to do with that arrangement.”

Charlotte wished she could help him get over the break-up and somehow ease his pain.

"If he does, he did you a favour. She’s not worth the sorrow."

"What do you mean?" Gereon asked, puzzled. 

"Helga had an abortion shortly before we solved the murders in the Babelsberg film studio. She aborted your child because she was getting serious with Nyssen, right? I bumped into her by accident in Wedding. Madame Cziczewicz, who used to be our neighbour from the barracks, performs abortions in her flat. I’d gone there to track Toni down because she has a daughter, Renate, who is one of Toni’s best friends. But guess who I saw in the back room, with her legs spread apart, bleeding and sweating? Helga recognised me and wasn't happy to have crossed with me there."

Gereon was too stunned to say a word. His mouth dropped open, but no words came out.

"Oh…she lied to you that it was a miscarriage, didn’t she?"

Their conversation was interrupted by the waiter, who knocked at the door and wheeled in a marble-topped cart bearing their food and wine.

“Les Piliers Cabernet Sauvignon from the Loire Valley, produced in 1923,” he declared, wiping the dust and cobwebs away from the neck of the bottle with a napkin to reveal the label.

“That’s great, thanks.”

The waiter uncorked the bottle and placed the cork in front of Gereon for inspection. He then poured a small splash into his glass, inviting further examination. Gereon swirled and sniffed the wine and took a sip to check its mouthfeel and notes. He considered the wine acceptable and nodded to express his final approval. The sommelier poured some wine into Charlotte's glass and then returned to top up Gereon's.

Gereon followed the rituals smoothly and nonchalantly, his manners impeccable and yet somewhat old-fashioned.

“Medium rare steaks with sautéed mushrooms and roasted asparagus,” the waiter set their plates on the table and lifted the cloches. “Bon appétit!”

Once he was gone, Charlotte resumed their conversation: “What’s Anno's plan? Can you refuse to go on with his treatments?"

"I have no idea. His gangsters saved my life and have got me out of trouble here in Berlin quite a few times. If I refuse to continue the treatments, Anno will send them to kill me."

“Or maybe he’ll invent a more sophisticated method of execution.” Charlotte was too anxious to take her first mouthfuls of steak and wine. She nervously twisted the linen napkin in her lap and wriggled her toes inside her shoes.

"Now you can see why I wanted to be discreet about the whole thing. Knowing too much is dangerous."

"The last word you wrote. I saw it. "Charlotte". So?"

Gereon clenched his jaw and bit his lower lip, hesitating again, "Charlotte... I can’t offer her anything but my confusion."

"It's good that you told me the truth. High time! You’re not alone now," she reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "Gereon, we'll figure this out somehow."

"He induces hypnosis in me and broadcasts our psychotherapy sessions on the radio so that his other patients can listen to them. The Armenian provides me with the radio frequencies, and I follow some of Anno's broadcasts too."

"I want to hear the next one," Charlotte’s eyes shone with determination. Challenge accepted. Nothing thrilled her more than solving creepy mysteries.

"No! It’s too dangerous. You already know too much." He shook his head in dismay, clearly regretting opening up to her.

"You saved my life twice, putting yourself at risk," she reminded him. "You would do anything for me, and I would do anything for you. It’s simple as that.”

“Charlotte…”

“I’ll be here for you until the end. We won’t surrender without a fight."

Gereon felt a lump in his throat and tears stinging his eyelids. The word we, the confident tone of her voice, her warm fingers gripping his hand – Charlotte was offering him so much more support than he could ever have expected.

"And I’m pretty sure we can help each other," she grinned and raised her glass. “Out with the old.”

Gereon smiled back and joined her in a toast, “In with the new.”

***

After leaving the restaurant Gereon and Charlotte strolled along the Landwehrkanal. The sky was cloudy and moonless, the night was unpleasantly chilly, still and damp. For a while they stayed silent, digesting the details of their recent conversation. Charlotte hooked her arm naturally through Gereon’s, and they could have been any other couple of Berliners enjoying a slow night-time stroll. Charlotte appreciated the fact that Gereon had shed some light on the dark side of his past and present, but she still had a great many questions to ask and a strong yearning for explanations. However, she didn’t want to be pushy and put Gereon under more pressure by demanding too much too soon.

Besides, Charlotte knew that it was time for her to open up too. She was trying to summon up the courage to embark on her own confessions, praying that the truth about her past wouldn’t scare him off. It would be wrong of her to conceal something so significant from him, especially after he had been so honest with her.

"Gereon," she murmured.

His body stiffened a little, "Yes?"

"Thank you for confiding in me. I’ll do my best to merit it. And I have something to tell you, too.”

Charlotte found it easier to speak while they were walking because she didn’t have to make eye contact or see his immediate reaction to her words.

"You don’t have to," he protested.

"I want to. But I feel no remorse and I don’t need any sympathy. The only thing I regret is that I spied on you when Wolter was blackmailing me."

"That happened when we barely knew each other, it’s forgiven and almost forgotten," Gereon said reassuringly.

"I needed a clean criminal register certificate to apply for the position at the Burg. And Wolter offered his help. Do you know why I had marks against my name in the criminal register?"

"I do. When you disappeared with Jänicke’s notebook, Bruno took me to look for you in Moka Efti."

Now it was Charlotte’s turn to be shocked.

"Gosh!” she held her breath for a moment. “So you’ve known for ages.”

"It doesn’t matter.”

He knew. But he’d never revealed that he did, always treating her with respect and never posing any awkward questions.

"Are you not appalled?" Charlotte asked. "I’ve had more men than I can remember."

He held tight to her hand and interlocked his fingers loosely with hers. Charlotte didn’t dare raise her head to meet his gaze. She kept her eyes fixed on the dark waters of the canal and the reflections of the streetlamps in them.

"I don’t think you have had any," he said in a low, calm voice.

These words sent a chill through her body. He was right. Even though she had sold her body to strangers and at times got involved with some of them for fun, she had never truly cared for any man, and men always saw her only a source of physical pleasure. It was safe to keep her interaction with them on that level. No expectations, no illusions, no tears. And then she met him, this new inspector from Köln with fathomless green eyes with heavy bags underneath. So upright and courageous, yet vulnerable and wounded. Subconsciously, she recognised a kindred spirit in Gereon the very day she came across him trying to fight off a seizure on the dirty bathroom floor. And she fell for him almost straight away, although it was a while before she could admit it to herself.

Gereon stopped walking and drew her into his arms. They enjoyed their tight embrace for a couple of minutes and then he whispered in her ear, "Let’s go back to the car."

He enveloped her hand in his again, and this time it felt more intimate than hugging or kissing. Charlotte couldn’t remember any man treating her like that before. Another first.

Soon they reached the car. Gereon opened the door to let her in and then went around to the driver’s side. Once seated, he put the key in the ignition and flicked a glance in Charlotte’s direction, “Where would you like to go?”

"I don’t want to stay alone tonight," she answered quietly.

"Neither do I. Maybe my place for a change?"

She nodded in agreement, feeling the huge relief that he hadn’t rejected her.

****

They arrived at his flat shortly before midnight.

Gereon invited her in and helped her to take off her coat. Ever so courteous, even more gallant when nobody else was around.

"Excuse the mess. It’s been a hectic week," he shrugged his shoulders.

“Never mind. It’s nice to be invited.”

He switched on the lights in every room and showed her around. Charlotte’s first impression of his flat was that it was rather austere and definitely too big for one person. A family of four or five people could live here happily and comfortably. There was a master bedroom, a bedroom for Moritz and a smaller spare room that had a bed too. Probably a guest bedroom or a potential nursery.

“Your living room is enormous!” Charlotte exclaimed. “You could have a great dance party in here.”

Gereon cursed himself when he noticed his bathrobe abandoned on the couch, and a tourniquet and vials lying broken and forgotten on the floor. A real junkie’s den, what an utter disgrace.

He steered Charlotte towards the kitchen, “Would you like a cigarette?”

He was glad he had recently removed the ash and cinders from the boiler and had got rid of all the empty beer and wine bottles he had been storing under the dining table. Unfortunately, his kitchen was still rather chaotic and untidy: breadcrumbs on the countertops, a mountain of dirty dishes in the sink and a pile of envelopes, bills and payslips on the windowsill.

Gereon decided that they would sleep in the bedroom that had been Kattelbach’s. He didn’t want to take Charlotte to the master bedroom that he used to share with Helga.

"It’s getting late. I’ll make up the bed," he said. "I can fire up the boiler if you’d like a bath."

"I’d love one,” she nodded gratefully. “You did so well with my stove last night. Maybe I could return the favour and deal with your boiler while you’re making the bed?”

Gereon showed her where he kept the coal, how to use the thermostat and check the temperature, and then he got down to his least favourite chore, changing the bed linen. At his parents’ home the housemaid did it every Friday, and he hadn’t had to worry about the bedding when he lived with Helga either. Since she had moved out he had changed the sheets just twice. The whole procedure could be done in about fifteen minutes but required days (or even weeks) of mental preparation.

But there was not a thing he wouldn’t do for Charlotte. She was his guest, and it would be her first time sleeping under his roof. It wouldn’t be good to invite her into a bed where he’d been sweating and drooling for three or four weeks.

When Gereon opened the closet and pulled out a couple of pillowcases and flannel covers, a small pouch of dried lavender dropped onto the floor. Helga put little sachets like that in the closet to keep the linen fresh. How would she react if she learned that he’d brought another woman into the flat? Would she be angry, upset or indifferent? When Helga came to visit him at the hospital and saw Charlotte sitting on the edge of his bed, she didn’t conceal her annoyance. It’s you, she hissed in Charlotte’s face, instead of introducing herself. Helga had apparently decided that he was seeing Charlotte every time he came home late or spent the night out. Although that wasn’t true, it no longer bothered him that Helga had come to the wrong conclusion. It was good for her to have a taste of her own medicine of unfaithfulness, Gereon gloated.

He made the bed, hid a couple of clumps of dust under the carpet and checked the ceiling and walls for spider webs. It wasn’t the cosiest of bedrooms, but not a filthy lair either.

When he was more or less satisfied with the result, he joined Charlotte in the kitchen. She was sitting on the floor in front of the boiler, browsing through the women’s magazines that Helga had left behind. He used them to kindle the fire and never paid any attention to their content, but Charlotte seemed to be enjoying reading them. Soft little giggles were spilling out of her mouth as she turned the pages.

“What’s so funny?” Her laughter was so contagious that Gereon just couldn’t help smiling at her.

“I never buy mags like this,” Charlotte explained, “and I’m clearly missing out on a lot, because they’re hilarious. There’s a few pages given over to home economics, they write about bring-a-dish potluck dinners and thrift gardens. Then there’s a section with fashion tips for ladies who can’t afford off-the-peg garments. They teach you how to knit a smart set of a coatee, a jumper and a hat using the same red wool. And finally the best spread of all – the letters sent in by anxious wives.”

She skimmed over the columns of text and snorted again.

“What are they worried about?” Gereon smirked.

“Mostly about their husbands, it seems. Frau S. from Duisburg sent the following message: “I have been married for five years, and although my husband is kind and good, he never kisses or makes love to me, yet he seems to like kissing other women. It is breaking my heart. What shall I do?””

“And what do they advise?”

“We’ll never know. The next page ended up in the boiler,” Charlotte sighed. “But if Frau S. is wearing a knitted Red Riding Hood costume and babbling away to her husband about beetroot and church potlucks, I can’t say I blame him.”

Duisburg was a city in Gereon’s own region, and an image of Frau S. came to him easily. Most women married early there, and she was likely to be Charlotte’s age or slightly older, a typical middle-class Hausfrau who dressed like a nun or a nurse, obeying the tips listed in the magazines. A dull hairstyle, no make-up and endless gossiping about the other parishioners over lunch and dinner. Her husband spent his days at work and his nights gallivanting, hanging out with the other women his worried wife was complaining about. His father was one of those men, and the same had almost become of Gereon. If Helga had chosen him over Anno, he would have been one by now, no doubt about it.

“The water is warming up,” Charlotte pointed at the thermostat. “I’ll run myself a bath. Could you please lend me a towel and something clean to change into?"

“Sure.”

He brought her a towel and one of his cotton shirts, "Will that do?"

Charlotte thanked him and headed to the bathroom. It felt wonderful to sink into the hot water, to have a moment to herself, to relax and to gather her scattered thoughts. No one was watching or rushing her here, and she didn’t have to keep one eye on the clock like in the public bath houses. She could soak for as long as she liked and then wash without a hurry.

Pine soap, the only kind of cleanser Gereon owned, made her skin tingle. It wasn’t the best option for her hair either. It would be disastrously frizzy the next day. She dried herself with a towel and pulled on Gereon’s shirt. It was big and baggy on her, but the clean fabric felt divine against her clean skin. Charlotte didn’t have a toothbrush with her, so she had to use her finger. She dipped it into the jar of toothpowder and carefully rubbed her teeth and gums until they were clean.

Charlotte wasn’t sure why Gereon had chosen to make the bed in the smallest room of his flat rather than inviting her into the master bedroom. Perhaps he still considered it his and Helga’s sanctuary and didn’t want any random women in there.

When she entered, Gereon was lying in bed, with only the collar of his poplin pyjama shirt peeping up over the top of the blanket. His eyes were shut, and Charlotte wondered if he really had fallen asleep or whether he was just pretending for some reason. She switched off the bedside lamp and joined him under the blanket but kept some distance between their bodies. They had just a mind-blowing conversation and exposed some of their most private secrets. Neither of them was currently in the right frame of mind for getting intimate.

Charlotte didn’t touch him or attempt to involve him in cuddling, instead respecting his personal boundaries. Of course, snuggling and lying in each other’s arms would have been lovely, but it wouldn’t do any good to force things. Gereon needed a lot of space to feel safe and at ease, and she had to learn how to connect with him without causing him anxiety. Unlike the night before, this time they kept to their own sides of bed, though sharing the same blanket.

*****

A couple of hours later Gereon woke up to the sound of Charlotte screaming in her sleep. She was having a nightmare.

"Charlotte, wake up," he reached for her arm in the darkness and squeezed it.

She opened her eyes but couldn’t see past the last fragments of her awful visions or figure out where she was.

"You had a bad dream," Gereon said and switched on the bedside lamp. He noticed that Charlotte’s pillow was wet with tears, "Come here." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, “I’ve got you.”

Charlotte buried her face in his chest and clutched at him like a lifeline, sobbing violently. Her skin was clammy and her muscles were stiff with tension. Gereon patted her hair and stroked the back of her neck, "What was it?"

Charlotte made a desperate attempt to overcome her turmoil and assert control over her emotions but failed to do so and wept even louder.

"They were tugging at my arms and legs, they punched me in the face and ripped my clothes," her bitter sobs broke Gereon’s heart. "They were gripping me so tightly I couldn’t move."

"Sounds like a terrible dream," Gereon spoke in a quiet, comforting voice. "But you’re safe now."

Charlotte had been through a lot, and the horrors of her past still pursued her at night. He held her in his arms for several minutes until her tears subsided and her sobs became sniffles.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you," Charlotte said, wiping her nose with a handkerchief that he had given her.

"It’s fine. I have vivid nightmares too, especially when I’m drugged up. Sometimes my hands are covered with blood, sometimes with dry cement. I know how real it can feel."

"When I fall asleep, it’ll start all over again," she whimpered.

"Let’s have a smoke. It might help."

He brought his cigarettes, lighter and an ashtray. For a while they smoked in silence.

"Do you think you could try sleeping now?" Gereon brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. "We can leave the lights on if you like."

"No, no, I’ll be fine.”

Gereon switched off the bedside lamp, lay down beside Charlotte and reached for her hand under the blanket. Even in sleep, they would be there for each other.

*

When Gereon woke again, the luminous hands of the alarm clock showed half five, and Charlotte was still sound asleep. He sneaked out of bed, trying to move around as quietly as possible. First of all he crept into the bathroom to wash, shave and comb his hair because he didn’t want Charlotte to see him looking so dishevelled. He even applied a dash of cologne beneath his collar bone.

His unremarkable appearance wasn’t something he could change. If he wanted to be deemed acceptable, he had to care for himself better. Good hygiene and tidiness were important, as well as neat clothes and a fresh haircut. Charlotte was attentive to these things; she had a keen eye for detail.

Gereon still had time to clean up and arrange the kitchen. He washed the dishes, wiped down the table and countertops, and swept the floor. His flat had failed to make a positive first impression on Charlotte, just as he himself had done when they first met.

He brewed some coffee and enjoyed his first cigarette of the day in just his trousers and undershirt. In the Rath family, nudity was one item in a long list of serious taboos. Since early childhood he had been taught that he was not supposed to let anybody see his unclothed body, with the exception of the doctor, of course. Helga’s distaste always showed in her face whenever she saw him unbuttoned or in any way unkempt, and she had never let him see her naked either, not even when they were making love. Recently, when alone in his flat, Gereon had discovered that wearing less in the morning was quite refreshing. It was invigorating.

He heard Charlotte stepping into the kitchen and turned around. The shirt he had lent her reached down to her mid-thighs, and he couldn’t help but gawk at the slender legs that were now exposed to his gaze.

"Good morning, handsome man," she chided, smiling. "I woke up and you were gone."

Gereon grinned. No one had ever called him handsome, but she said it so effortlessly and sincerely that it made him feel wonderful about himself.

“Morning. I’ve made us some coffee. I’m afraid I don’t have anything in for breakfast.”

He sounded apologetic again, as if nothing he did was ever enough.

“It’s no problem. Coffee and a cigarette make a perfect breakfast,” Charlotte went to the windowsill, drew a cigarette out of the pack and borrowed his lighter.

She untangled her messy curls with her fingers while she smoked, and nothing in her expression reminded him of the terrified, tearful girl he had soothed in the night.

“I haven’t got any milk or cream, I’m sorry,” Gereon poured her a cup of black coffee.

“Thank you,” Charlotte nodded and gave him another heartfelt smile. “Let’s focus on what we do have instead of what we don't.”

She watched his bare arm and traced her index finger over the scar on his shoulder. It was still purple and fresh-looking, even though it was over half a year ago that he had been shot.

“Wolter?” Charlotte knitted her eyebrows.

“Uh-huh.”

“I thought bullets left round scars, but this one is more like a stab wound.”

“They had to cut it out,” Gereon admitted reluctantly. He hated talking about his scars.

“Did you bleed a lot when he shot you? You could have bled to death!”

“It was a nasty hole,” he mumbled, sipping his coffee. They hadn’t discussed any of these things after they had resolved the train case, and he had no idea that Charlotte was so concerned about his wound. It wasn’t a big deal. The bullet hadn’t hit any of his vital organs, and he had been able to go home once it had been extracted.

“How did you staunch the bleeding and make it to the hospital?”

“I poured some gunpowder into the wound and ignited it,” Gereon answered. “They taught us that method in the army. It usually helps to stop the bleeding.”

“You’ve been in a lot of pain,” Charlotte winced.

“The pain wasn't that bad,” he lied. “The hardest part was doing it to yourself without getting too revulsed.”

“Poor you,” she pressed her cheek against his scar and kissed the skin beneath it. “I was in hospital back then and somehow I sensed that you were hurt.”

“Really?” Had she really had the energy to worry about him even though she had just survived drowning herself?

“I truly did. And my intuition didn’t fail me.”

Perhaps one day he would tell Charlotte that a bullet in his shoulder wasn’t the most dangerous thing that had happened to him that evening. Before being shot, he had dropped from the roof of the train and got stuck between two carriages.

Charlotte kept examining his arm rather attentively. Gereon followed her glance, which led to the track marks. Instinctively, he jerked away and hid his arm behind his back.

“You know that I know,” Charlotte said softly. “No need to hide them from me.”

“I need to get dressed…” Gereon’s hot wave of shame made it difficult to speak, and his throat went tight and dry. “My shirt…”

"Right, I’ve borrowed your shirt,” Charlotte tapped her forehead with her fingertips. “Thanks for letting me borrow it. You can have it back now."

She unbuttoned the shirt and shook it off, stripping naked in front of him. The sudden sight of her bare body made Gereon choke on his cigarette. Charlotte removed it from his mouth and stubbed it out in the ashtray. She was absolutely comfortable with her nakedness, her face expressing only self-confidence. Gereon’s cheeks, ears, neck and upper chest flushed profusely, and he averted his eyes in bewilderment as he gathered his warm, creased shirt from her hands.

"I think I see a feather in your hair," Charlotte cooed. "It must have escaped from the pillow. I’ll get it out if you bend down a little."

The shirt dropped onto the floor as Charlotte leaned on his shoulder and raked her fingers through his hair. She lifted her head up to meet his eyes. Her pupils dilated in excitement, and the golden flecks around her irises glimmered brighter than usual as she stared at him without blinking. Charlotte was hypnotising him, and silently asking whether he wanted her to retreat or to go on with whatever was on her mind. Gereon gaped. Everything had escalated very quickly, from an innocuous chat over morning coffee to something intense and risky.

Do not lust in your heart after her beauty, the priest had said to him when he confessed his sin of self-indulgence and mentioned his intrusive, obscene dreams about his female colleague. Too late. He couldn’t renounce his desires any longer, as his lust had already blazed out of all control.

His lips formed Charlotte’s name, but no sound came out. He slipped his arms around her and drew her into a kiss. The pressure of his mouth against hers was fond and affectionate. Gereon shut his eyes and kissed her slowly and tentatively, gradually opening up and responding to her question.

Charlotte encouraged him to be bolder, sucking teasingly on his tongue, biting his lower lip and pressing her hips closer to his. When Gereon’s breath was close to running out, he broke their kiss and buried his face in her neck, savouring the scent of her skin. Even in his wildest fantasies, he hadn’t expected this outcome: that Charlotte would be naked in front of him in his kitchen, seducing him and asking him to do all the wonderful, forbidden things he had been dreaming about.

They were going to cross the line he thought they would never cross and do something he had craved from the very first moment he had laid eyes on her. He was eager to hurl himself into this hurricane and get trapped in it, but there was something still holding him back.

The nasty little voice at the back of his mind whispered that he wouldn’t be able to satisfy Charlotte, that she was certain to be disappointed with his lack of skill and poor performance. Would she resent him if he lasted just a couple of pathetic minutes? No, she would probably pity him and remember that he had once wet himself in front of her. A wretched invalid, a miserable trembler who couldn’t even control his own body.

Charlotte discerned a questioning expression that darkened his eyes but couldn’t deduce what was going on in his head. She initiated a new kiss, a hard and forceful one, impressing upon him not only her lips but also her needs and desires. Her hands tugged on his undershirt, pulled it loose from the waist of his trousers and delved beneath it, lingering here and there. Her fingernails grazed his back in the most seductive manner.

"Shall we go to the bedroom?" Charlotte asked with a suggestive smile, and when Gereon didn't react immediately, she added, “If you want to, I mean...”

“I do,” Gereon broke out of his stupor and let her steer him towards the bedroom.

Charlotte was amused at his shyness and speculated about its underlying reasons. Perhaps the prospect of getting intimate with a new woman sent his nerves into a spin. She had no idea what it felt like to start with a new partner after many years with the same one. It might be intimidating to swap a prudish Hausfrau for a pushy girl from a brothel.

She suspected that Gereon’s encounters with Helga, the lady in the shapeless checked hat that reminded her of a wrinkled mushroom, could hardly have been very sophisticated. Devout Catholics were supposed to refrain from extramarital affairs, and they did it burdened by guilt, in the darkness under the blanket, or else in daylight but fully clothed. Many of Charlotte’s former patrons were married and visited prostitutes so as to rejoice in something their wives would never agree to perform for them.

She had waited so long for their first time, and she didn’t want to do anything that might turn him off. It was definitely the wrong moment to showcase the tricks she had learned in the basement of Moka Efti.

When they stepped into the bedroom, Charlotte switched off the lights to make Gereon feel more secure. She kissed his neck and stroked his shoulders, and when he relaxed a little, she reached out for his undershirt again.

“Would you mind?” Charlotte purred, and when he raised no objection, she grabbed the hem and pulled it up over his head, exposing his torso to her touch. Her fingers skimmed along his ribs and stomach as she peppered his face with kisses.

Although Gereon always hid his physique under several layers of clothing, she knew that he had a toned and lean body and nice proportions: a narrow waist and broad shoulders. She had secretly admired the line of his back and his biceps before, and now she discovered that he had a well-defined chest and taut abdominal muscles too. He was neither too buff nor too slim, just right in fact. Charlotte only wished she could see him better. It would be such a feast for her hungry eyes.

Gereon folded her into his arms, hugging her tight. She could feel the thumping of his heart against her chest. The sensation of his bare skin against hers drove her crazy, and he seemed to share her emotions. They moaned at the feel of one another.

“I’m going insane,” Gereon gasped, his eyes fluttering shut again. Making out with Charlotte was exciting and confusing but amazing overall. An inward knowledge that they would soon take things even further was enough to completely blow his mind.

His head span as Charlotte undid his belt and attacked the buttons on his trousers. She knew what she was doing, and a few moments later his trousers pooled around his feet.

"I can’t wait any longer," Charlotte said between frantic kisses, the blazing heat smouldering in her veins all-consuming in its intensity. “If we don’t do it right away, I’ll explode.”

Her hands dipped below the waistband of his underpants, and Gereon helped her remove them. She felt him hot and hard against her thigh, and the corners of her mouth tipped up. He was impatient too, although he didn’t say it out loud.

He laid her down on the on the bed and pinned her beneath him. Charlotte drew him into another bout of kisses and guided his hand along her side. She wanted him to caress her. He read her signal and complied with her wish. His lips explored her body slowly, nibbling at the hollow of her throat, gliding along her breasts, lingering at her belly button.

Gereon was very careful doing these things, overly cautious in fact, behaving like a man who had stepped into new, uncharted territory and didn’t trust his orientation skills. He was treating her as if she were frail and could shatter into pieces if he applied too much force or pressure. He gauged her reaction after every touch of his mouth and hands, observing how satisfied she seemed to be at any given moment.

Charlotte knew he was just as aroused as she was, and she wouldn’t have blamed him for hurrying things along and getting what he wanted as quickly as possible. But he chose to go slowly because he didn’t want to hurt or upset her, to cause her pain or discomfort. In that way, he showed her that she wasn’t just another notch on the bedpost, but rather the woman who mattered to him, and it felt indescribably good.

His hand feathered down her hip and along her thigh as he kissed his way back up from her belly to her neck. He pressed his mouth against the rapidly beating pulse he felt below the line of her jaw.

After a barely perceptible moment of uncertainty, he dared to ask her a question, “Can I…?”

His voice was barely a whisper, but Charlotte heard him clearly enough. She squirmed against him, needy and desperate, consenting to his request, "Yes, yes.”

She lay on her back with her legs wide, and Gereon didn’t need any more of an invitation. He positioned himself over her, filling the space between her thighs. Neither of them stifled their moans. All the boundaries that had separated them before were broken and forgotten, and all the fuzziness of everyday stress faded away. There was only one thing happening in the world, and it was this wonderful experience that they were in.

The sensation of him slowly pushing into her made Charlotte shiver. His body was rock solid against hers as he entered her, and his hands beneath her shoulders held her tightly to him as he paused to allow both of them to adjust before beginning a rocking motion.

After some minutes of moving carefully in and out, he abandoned his control and thrust deep and hard into her, feeling the overwhelming pleasure of being entirely inside her. That was exactly what Charlotte needed. She dug her nails into his back as she bucked her hips towards his for more friction, scratching him and arching her body in enjoyment at the pace he had set. She knew how to build the tension during the act by squeezing her inner muscles tightly around him and then relaxing them as her body let in more and more of his length. The pleasure they were imbibing from each other was intoxicating. Stronger than crack and sweeter than champagne.

Their bodies were fused together, and Gereon sensed that the same feverish rush of desire was cascading through Charlotte too, and that they were equals in the face of their lust. Despite his previous worries, he felt safe in that emotionally and physically vulnerable moment, literally held by Charlotte’s whole body.

But inevitably their delicious unison couldn’t last forever. The orgasm that had been building in Charlotte right from his first push quickly consumed her, and she felt herself falling, plummeting over the edge as if from a great height, before she even realised what was happening. She whimpered, shaking through the release that slammed into her so suddenly and heard herself gasping his name as he continued to move inside her.

Gereon’s mouth was on hers in a clumsy kiss and his rhythm changed, becoming even faster and more erratic. Finally, his own climax hit him. He clutched her hips and buried his head in the crook of her neck, spending himself inside her. For a while, everything was suffused with gold and purple light, and he saw a burst of black and white stars in the periphery of his vision. Then they faded.

Charlotte had given him such an overwhelmingly pleasurable sensation that he murmured "Thank you" before he had even had a chance to slide out of her.

"Thank you", she echoed and smiled against his shoulder.

They lay still for a while, his body heavy against hers, pushing her into the mattress, her arms around his shoulders, reluctant to let him go.

"Is it alright that I didn’t...?" he rolled over, gradually regaining his breath.

"Yes, it’s absolutely fine, I’m being careful," she stretched in the bed next to him and rubbed her hand over his back, soothing the indents and scratches her nails had left there.

Gereon felt messy, gloriously and delightfully messy. No shame or remorse this time. He embraced Charlotte and pressed his lips against hers again, expressing his appreciation and gratitude. The softness of her skin against his body as he held her and the warmth of her breath on his face when they kissed were sensations that he wanted to commit to memory and recollect on the days and nights they would spend apart.

Charlotte wished she could snuggle with Gereon longer, relaxing into a deep and pleasant slumber. But she knew they had to be at work very soon. Gennat had kept the weekly briefing at 8 o’clock sharp, and they couldn’t be late for it.

"Don’t fall asleep," Charlotte nuzzled her nose against his and lightly kissed his cupid’s bow. “We have to get up in five minutes.”

"No way," he protested feebly, suddenly feeling drowsy and heavy, as if the bones in his limbs had turned to jelly. "I need to rest longer, I’m half dead.

"A third dead at most,” Charlotte chuckled. “Trust me, if we spend any longer resting, we’ll be ready for another round and we’ll get stuck in bed until the afternoon."

**

Despite Charlotte’s concerns, they arrived at the Burg just in time. Other members of the Homicide Unit were settling down around the large table. The weekly briefing was about to begin, and only Gennat himself was missing.

Charlotte dropped into a chair between Gräf and Henning and wished them both good morning. Gereon sat down opposite her and opened his file to rearrange his papers. He lowered his head, hiding his contented smile and pink cheeks, but he couldn’t help sneaking a peek at Charlotte every now and again.

Gräf observed them silently them for a minute or two and then leaned down to Charlotte’s ear, "The ice has been broken, I assume."

"Is it that obvious?"                                                                                                                

"I know you well so, yes, it’s obvious to me. And you are wearing the same dress as yesterday.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wearing the same clothes on consecutive days,” Charlotte demurred.

“Come on, you two are sitting right under my nose and making goo-goo eyes at each other, do you really think I’d be oblivious? Don’t frown. I’m happy for you, little darlings." Gräf studied Gereon from under his lashes, "Was it a hot date? How was he?"

Charlotte gave him a kick under the table and jostled him with her elbow. Fortunately, she didn’t have to answer his awkward questions, as Gennat entered the room and the briefing commenced. They were supposed to go through all the cases that were currently under investigation in their unit.

Charlotte became aware that Gereon was struggling to compose himself and say anything coherent about the case they were working on, so she decided to bail him out. She hadn’t had chance to tell him what she had found out from the casino’s financial records. Far more important topics had taken priority last night. And this morning, well, she hadn’t wanted to distract him on the way to the Burg, given that he was pretty absent-minded as it was, constantly weaving in and out of the traffic.

When Gennat mentioned the double murder, Charlotte asked for permission to speak.

 “Yesterday I examined the recent financial records brought from the casino and discovered that one of their patrons had paid off his numerous debts two days after the murders. The sum of his debts corresponded roughly to the amount of money and chips the victims had in their possession on the night they were killed.”

“It might be a coincidence,” Gennat never accepted things at face value and always questioned what he was told.

“I don’t think so,” Charlotte retorted. “I assume that the murderer spent the evening at the casino observing the potential victims. He saw that Herr Fölsch and Herr Neuse were gambling together and won a certain sum of money. He also noticed that they had purchased a few valuable chips. The murderer concluded that the risk was worth it. He and his accomplice left the casino and waited for the victims near Herr Neuse’s car, which was parked nearby. When Fölsch and Neuse walked out of the casino, he and his accomplice shot them dead and robbed them.”

“This hypothesis is supported by the forensic evidence and the statement made by our key witness,” Gereon joined in the conversation and presented the arguments that supported Charlotte’s theory. “According to the ballistics report, both victims were shot with the same gun, which means that only one of the two perpetrators did the shooting. The croupier, who arrived at the scene on hearing the gunshots, saw two men searching the victims’ pockets. He described the vehicle that the perpetrators used to escape. It was a beige six-seater Mercedes-Benz 630K.”

“We contacted the owners of all the vehicles of that kind that are registered in Berlin and its suburbs, and most of them have a solid alibi,” Charlotte continued. “However, the surname of the patron who paid off his debts after the murders coincides with the surname of one of the Mercedes owners. Joachim Steinberger is the patron I’m talking about, and his father, Bernhard Steinberger, owns the car on our vehicle list.”

Gennat smiled broadly at Charlotte and nodded approvingly, “It seems we’ve got ourselves a motive and a suspect. Bring both Steinbergers in and interrogate them separately.” Then he turned to Gereon and added, “Kommissar Rath, you are doing a good job at mentoring our new recruit. Your advice and guidance are helping your assistant to develop the skills I expect her to acquire during her probationary period. You clearly have a talent for pedagogy. Perhaps in the future you might mentor our other young colleagues too.”

Gereon didn’t answer and rolled his eyes in annoyance, failing to conceal what he thought of that absurd suggestion.

Straight after the briefing Gereon and Charlotte borrowed a vehicle from the fleet and drove around different locations in Berlin in search of Joachim Steinberger. They spotted him on the university campus on Opernplatz. Ironically, as well as being a reckless gambler, the young man was also a law student.

They drove him to the Burg, and although the suspect behaved arrogantly, he quickly tied himself up in knots, unable to clarify where he had obtained the money to pay off his debts. After an hour of interrogation Steinberger confessed to the robbery but claimed it was his friend who had shot the men they had robbed.

“Well done,” Gereon praised Charlotte when the interrogation was over. “Once again, assistant Ritter joined the dots.”

Charlotte beamed at his remark. His compliments about her professional accomplishments were her favourites.

“We still have to find and detain his mysterious friend,” she pointed out, buttoning up her coat. “Too bad I can’t stay any longer tonight. I need to collect the dry cleaning before the laundrette closes at 7 o’clock.”

Gereon checked that nobody was around, stepped towards Charlotte and discreetly took her hand in his.

“Thanks for today,” his expression was tired but happy.

“The pleasure was all mine,” Charlotte gave him a sly wink. “Quite literally!”

Chapter Text

On Saturday Gereon was taking a day-off as he was on the rota the night before. He woke up at noon to notice that sleeping too long caused him a headache. He kept his injection kit at the bedside, so that he would be able to have a shot without leaving bed. Gereon thought that his usual morning injection would help to struggle the pain, but he was wrong, this time it triggered a migraine. The daylight suddenly became so bright that he needed to squint. The street sounds got too loud, distant tire noise and footsteps provoked him to anger. Both his hands were frozen into half-clenched fists and hideous numbness slowly spread down to his legs and feet.

Gereon knew that this severe pounding headache would worsen and last hours. At some point he tried to get up but slipped out of bed, whacking his head on the nightstand. After a few minutes of unconsciousness, he came round to find himself stretched on the floor seeing the flashes of light mixed with terrifying hallucinations. French soldiers pointing their guns at him and screaming, Mains en l’air, capitulez. His father whipping his dapple-grey pony, the crack of the whip mixed with the pony’s pained roar. A giant flash of light and a loud bang. The train carriage exploded tearing Bruno Wolter into pieces. A cloud of bats covering the sky. Helga in a bloodstained camisole watching him with despite.

The realistic gruesome images of death, sufferings, horror, and blood were running through his veins, filling every cell of his brain. Gereon felt that the terrible throbbing pain moved from one side of his head to the other, causing a new wave of nausea and dizziness. He had not been eating for many hours, so he managed to throw up only a bit of fluid, and then dry heaves took over again. He was fatigued and stopped struggling leaving up to God's mercy.

By the evening his headache subsided. He felt wiped out, weak and sore. Most of all Gereon wanted to have Charlotte beside him, holding his hand and speaking to him in a low quiet voice. But she was not there, he was alone and collapsed, unable to break the infinite curse of his past. Sadness, shame and guilt were his only companions.

On Sunday Gereon was still unwell but he couldn’t stay in bed any longer. He had to dress up and arrange himself for the appointment with Kattelbach who contacted him last week and spoke about some new important pieces of evidence he had recently obtained. Gereon was fully aware that their secret alliance against Wendt and Black Reichswehr would surely put them in trouble. The enemy was powerful and ruthless, able to harm them badly or even eliminate. But he couldn’t give up halfway and let down so many people who relied on his help.

*

On Monday Charlotte’s desk in the Burg was piled high with the paperwork as Gennat asked her to send the materials of the casino case to the prosecutor’s office as soon as possible. Gereon’s mission was to spot Steinberger’s accomplice, so he was out of the office and didn’t see Charlotte. He was thinking of her all the time, experiencing fluctuating feelings. Happiness was mingled with suspense and doubt. First, they got incredibly close to each other but then spent a few days apart, and now Charlotte looked somehow distant and estranged. What if the scales fell from her eyes and she finally saw how pathetic and miserable he truly was! As days went by, his suspense grew into anxiety, and anxiety deepened into agitation.

When Gereon arrived at the Burg on Wednesday he noticed that Charlotte became even more tense and somber. She was focused on work, her fingers quickly hammering the keys of the typewriter. Her posture was too straight as she rather formally and abruptly greeted Gereon without a usual smile. Two deep furrows nestled between her eyebrows. What happened to her? Had he done something wrong? Gereon couldn’t ask any private questions as there were plenty of their colleagues around. He thought that Gräf might know the reason for such a swing in Charlotte’s mood.

Gereon headed to the dark room where the photographer was spending most of his time. Anyway, he needed Gräf’s help with two new films obtained from Kattelbach last Sunday. When Gereon entered the dark room, Gräf was hanging up some photos to dry and humming the popular American song, “And what I feel in my heart they tell sincerely, no other words can tell it half so clear-early”. He greeted Gereon with a broad smile and locked the door behind him, ready for another confidential assignment.

"I have a couple of films for you," Gereon said and added in a lower voice, "My private investigations."

Gräf nodded and hid the films in his stash pocket, "Alright, I will try to develop them by the end of the day."

"Thanks," Gereon clapped Gräf on the back and immediately took more casual tone, "Charlotte looks bothered this week. You know why?"

"I thought you know better about her nowadays," Gräf smirked and shrugged his shoulders. He noticed that Gereon was worried about Charlotte and wanted to help him but didn’t know how.

Suddenly they heard someone knocking at the door, "Reini, it’s me. Let me in." Charlotte. Excellent timing.

Gereon hastily looked around as if searching for a place to hide. Gräf immediately assessed the situation and showed him a small storage closet separated from the rest of the room by a black velvet curtain.

"One moment, please," Gräf shouted.

Gereon squeezed into the closet, and Gräf carefully covered him with the curtain. Then he let Charlotte in, "Hi bunny. Sorry, I am developing. Do you have to fetch the photos for Böhm?"

"Yes, once again I’m running errands for him," she sighed and frowned.

"You look troubled. Has something else happened?" Gräf sounded sympathetic. Charlotte didn’t suspect anything as she was used to discussing private and sensitive topics with him.

After a moment’s hesitation she confessed, "Soon I will be homeless. The bartender who I share the flat with wants to have it all for himself. I can’t do anything as he signed the lease."

"Aw heck! In case of emergency you can stay with me and Fred."

"Thanks, Reini. I’ll try to find a solution, but I don’t have much time to look for a new place. Rents are crazy these days. I’m afraid I will have to get back to my night job," she sounded pained. "How ironic, not that long ago I swore to you that I was not doing it ever again. Never say never."

Gräf shortly glanced at the curtain covering the closet praying that Gereon wouldn’t reveal his presence. It would be a major catastrophe in the middle of such an arduous conversation.

"And Rath?"

For a few second Charlotte was silent. "If I get back to whoring, I can’t be with him anymore. Not in that sense. I just can’t."

These words were punctuated by Charlotte’s muffled sobs, and Gereon was hardly able to stay still in his refuge.

"Poor bunny. Take my handkerchief," Gräf said hurriedly. "Tell him what you’ve just told me. You will find a way out together."

"No, no, I don’t want to burden him. He has his own mess and doesn’t need mine."

"But he cares about you, Lotte. And you got attached to him, whatever you say. If you abandon him because of your pride, it will be a huge mistake."

Gereon raised his eyebrows in the darkness of the closet as he didn’t expect Gräf to guard his interests so eagerly.

"No, I will never abandon him, Reini. He is not just my lover," Charlotte tried to find the right words. "He is blood that streams through my vessels".

"Blood pumped by your heart," Gräf’s voice sounded gentle.

Charlotte said nothing, took the photos and left Gräf’s room softly closing the door behind her. Gräf drew the curtain back and let Gereon out.

"It was mean of me to let you eavesdrop,” he sighed. “But well, you have heard it all which is probably for the better."

Gereon touched the brim of his imaginary hat expressing gratitude and left the dark room.

**

The scheduled lunch break approached and Gereon decided to invite Charlotte to Aschinger. To his relief she agreed to accompany him though she was not her usual talkative self.

When they got seated and placed their orders Gereon said, "Your eyes are red. Has something happened?" He was attentive and empathic, ready to listen to her.

"Nothing much. Nothing to worry about," Charlotte was reluctant to tell him about her trouble. As stubborn as a mule.

"We agreed to be honest, whatever it is," Gereon reminded. “Once there is deal, it is forever. I see you are holding something back.”

Charlotte’s lips thinned to a straight line as he was clearly insinuating that she was dishonest. She didn’t want to lie, she simply preferred to leave some uncomfortable facts unsaid. But would that destroy his trust? She couldn’t take such a risk.

"You remember I share the flat with the guy from the kneipe? He wants the whole place for himself as his fiancée is moving to Berlin. I need to get out before she steps in."

"When?"

"Next week," she answered and after a short pause continued, "Gereon, I don’t regret anything that happened between you and me but..."

"But?" he looked at her warily.

"We’d rather not get involved like that anymore," she averted her eyes and obviously didn’t mean what she was saying.

"Why? You said we could help each other, and now I actually think so too. What made you change your mind?" he asked calmly yet persistently.

Their order arrived but neither of them touched the cutlery.

"My circumstances changed,” Charlotte went pale and started blinking rapidly. “I need to get back to the basement to cover the rent. That’s the reason," a lonely tear appeared in the corner of her eye and slowly rolled down her face. “Gosh,” she exhaled sharply and wiped that unwanted tear on her sleeve.

Charlotte hated being so weak. She had always been decisive and effective solving her problems, taking care of herself and her family. Why couldn’t she just put on the mask of carelessness and cynicism she used to wear for many years?

"No, Charlotte, you are not doing that," Gereon sounded confident reaching out for her hand across the table. "Come to stay with me. You don’t need to pay the rent, but you can buy groceries."

Charlotte looked at him in disbelief with her big liquid eyes, "Are we not lone wolves?"

"If you want, you can have your own bedroom. I fully recognise your freedom to make choices about your life, but I really hope your choice for now would be staying with me rather than the other option. Come on, I live in this big flat all alone now."

"Is that what you want?" she asked. "I don’t need your charity."

"Yes, that’s what I want. Absolutely."

"Thanks," she whispered and squeezed his hand back. "I accept your offer. Forget the other option."

"You can pack today and tomorrow I will pick you up by car. Why to wait until next week?"

“Alright,” Charlotte finally managed a smile. “And I’m perfectly fine about sharing a bedroom.”

***

Gereon spent the evening cleaning his flat and randomly getting rid of all the things that reminded him of Helga, going through each closet, checking bathroom shelves and kitchen cabinets. Her favourite porcelain teacups, a few women’s magazines (though Helga was thoroughly studying fashion sections she never looked half as stylish as Charlotte), her comb and papillotes, her slippers, even the ugly dark blue curtains she had hung shortly before moving out. He packed everything in a big box and decided to drop it at the church next morning. Helga hardly missed any of these items in Nyssen’s palace.

Having Charlotte here with him on a daily basis was an exciting prospect. They could share a meal after work, maybe enjoy a lively conversation over drinks, discussing politics, crimes or justice system. And then go to bed together, finding peace in each other's arms. Surely there were plenty of other nice activities they could do together in bed apart from sleeping. Gereon still felt uneasy to show his affection for Charlotte. Fear and doubt restrained him. He was afraid that she could consider him obtrusive and get annoyed. Probably walk away and leave him for good.

When Gereon was growing up his parents never showed any signs of affection towards him. He was doing his best to deserve their appreciation, but they constantly overlooked his efforts. Gradually he got used to the idea that he was a failure, someone unworthy and insignificant. By contrast his elder brother Anno was worshipped in their family. “Our Anno is a genius,” their mother boasted to her friends. The brightest student in class, a natural born leader and charismatic orator, a great successor to his father. Old Rath used to put his hand on Anno’s shoulder and exclaim, “I am so proud of you, my son”.

Nobody ever praised Gereon, he was either scolded or neglected. So, he avoided talking to his parents, retreating into his shell whenever possible. “This boy is gormless”, his father said bitterly time and again. “Even a fool is thought wise if he keeps silent,” he repeated that biblical proverb whenever Gereon dared to express his opinion on anything.

Was Gereon happy with Helga? And was Helga happy with him? Probably not. Gereon always remembered whose wife she was, and their relationship was overshadowed by Anno’s grandiose figure. Gereon was only a substitute and not a particularly good one. Too big shoes to fill. Gereon failed to provide Helga as she deserved, failed to meet her expectations. He couldn’t give her his name, as even if they married, she would always be bearing the name of his brother, the man she had chosen to be her wedded husband. Gereon constantly felt guilty realising he was not enough, a mediocrity and a coward. A betrayer.

It was hard to live with the knowledge that it was he who messed up everything and deserved to die on the battlefield instead of Anno. It would have been a perfect scenario. If only Gereon had gone missing in France, and not Anno. Or probably it would have been better if Gereon had never been born at all. Null and void. Down and out. Neither here nor there.

Gereon wondered how Charlotte could ever see anything good in him. They got acquainted under the most embarrassing circumstances when he was uncontrollably trembling on the dirty bathroom floor and wetted his pants. Why didn’t she loathe him at first sight? Instead, he and Charlotte quickly got to know each other and went through a lot together, gradually growing closer. Crazy Ullrich claimed that Gereon loved Charlotte, which gave him supernatural abilities to save her in the life-threatening situations. The idea that he could lose Charlotte was unbearable, he was fighting for her like a wounded animal. But was it love or just a longing to fill the void inside him?

Charlotte knew a few of his darkest secrets, and recognized that he was flawed, however, she was tolerant and benevolent with him. Generally, Charlotte was not credulous or naïve by nature and always saw peoples’ true colours. Maybe she could distinguish the bright side to his personality, the traits no one else had paid attention to before. It was hard for Gereon to accept Charlotte’s kindness and he was not sure how to react when she said something nice to him. His inner voice was usually responding with denial and self-insult. Or was it his father’s voice still echoing in his head?

In recent days, the things between him and Charlotte developed so quickly that Gereon felt like he was losing control of the situation. Only a week ago they were colleagues and friends, and he was indulging himself fantasizing about her, but now, as Charlotte stated to Gräf, they were blood in each other’s vessels getting closer than a pair of lovers could ever get. He was scared at that level of intimacy but also experienced a huge relief, finally able to share his life with someone who cared about him and didn’t judge.

He knew that Charlotte was a free soul, afraid of commitments. No one was ever taking care of her, she was used and abused many times, struggling and surviving by her own. He needed to win her trust. Step by step.

****

"Welcome," Gereon smiled carrying her suitcases into his flat. "I will try to cook something simple while you are unpacking." She nodded a little shyly and followed him to the bedroom where they once slept together.

In about an hour Gereon came to check on her and noticed that she was almost done. The suitcases were empty. She didn’t have many belongings.

"Bratwurst and sauerkraut on the menu today," he grinned. Charlotte was sitting on the edge of the bed and fidgeting with a small rag doll.

"Is that your sleepyhead toy?" Gereon smirked. "Will I not be enough?"

Suddenly Charlotte looked miserable, her lips trembled.

"It’s Marta, my companion at the time when I was evacuated from Berlin. I treasure her and bring to every new home."

Multiple losses had not withered her heart, Charlotte had a beautiful and delicate soul.

"I didn’t know," Gereon said softly. "Were you evacuated without your family?"

"My father was at war and my mother couldn’t provide for three kids. So she kept only the little one. I was sent to the north and Ilse went to the south."

"Did you stay in a foster family?"

"No, I stayed in the youth camp which basically was a converted grain warehouse. That’s where I met Greta Overbeck."

Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears, as she retrieved from her memory two dramatic subjects, the war and her recently executed childhood friend Greta.

"Let’s have dinner," Gereon suggested. "We can talk more about it later. War memories slacken the appetite."

She obeyed realising that she was really hungry. Gereon served their portions and poured beer to the glasses. He even lit two candles. Charlotte was enjoying her food while Gereon hardly picked at his plate. His medication suppressed appetite.

"Can I have the rest?" Charlotte smiled at his leftovers exactly like months ago when she asked permission to finish his mashed potatoes in Aschinger.

He smirked at her and nodded, "Please, do. Throwing away food is a sin, so you help me not to become a sinner."

"Beware, after I eat that much, I will have lots of energy to tempt you to other sins," a mischievous look crossed her face. They both blushed and laughed at the prospect.

After the meal they cleaned up together and went to the living room to cuddle on the sofa and listen to radio. They were safe with each other, finally there was no need to feel awkward about anything or conceal mutual attraction.

"What are you smiling about?" Charlotte studied his facial expression.

"Nothing in particular," he answered placing a kiss on her cheek.

"This arrangement doesn’t feel real," Charlotte whispered pressing her face up against his neck. "I am afraid to wake up alone in my cold bed on Spenerstraβe."

She was brave enough to open up about her emotional insecurity.

"And I am afraid to wake up in the trenches to watch my brother dying and calling my name."

"We are a perfect match," Charlotte sounded ironic but also genuine.

*****

The idyll of their evening was interrupted by a sudden sharp rap at the front door. Gereon abruptly rose to his feet and went to check who was that late visitor. He wasn’t expecting anybody and apprehended a trouble. He slowly opened the door and was astonished to find his own father behind it.

Engelbert Rath drew his son aside, decisively stepped in the flat and peeped in the living room getting a glimpse of Charlotte there.

Gereon immediately reacted closing the door of the living room before his father’s face, "Father! What on earth are you doing here?"

"I had an appointment in Berlin and decided to check on you as you never return my calls. I see that the rumour is true. You are involved with your assistant. I’ve been asking about her. Do you know she is a hooker?"

"Speak about her respectfully or you are not welcome here," Gereon snapped out.

"Such women can be addictive but to bring one home… you must have gone crazy! Remember you could never give our name to a mongrel like her," he gagged with contempt.

That was too much. Gereon was suffocated by the sense of incredible anger and hatred, "Get out of my home. Get out of my life. No one speaks of her like that."

"Nasty little bastard, I will cut you out of my last will," he threatened and rushed out.

"Please, do!" Gereon shouted in despair and in a moment Charlotte heard him slamming the door behind his father.

*

After that Gereon retreated to the bathroom. He knew that Charlotte heard what his father yelled, and it hurt her. Why did he have to come over and ruin everything? Gereon knew how insecure Charlotte felt about her past and old Rath arrowed right at her weak spot. Gereon’s hands were trembling, his heart was racing, and he was sweating severely. He needed a shot right away. It wasn’t easy to make it to the vein as his hand was already too shaky. Somehow, he managed and almost right away the world around him grew dark. He was unable to distinguish anything, and in a few moments got totally unaware of his own existence.

Charlotte heard that Gereon went to the bathroom and decided to let him calm down. She figured out that he probably wanted to be in peace after such a major fight with his father. But as time passed by and Gereon didn’t show up, Charlotte started worrying about him. Eventually she tiptoed to the bathroom door and pressed her ear against it. It was quiet inside. Charlotte knocked at the door, "Are you alright?"

Gereon didn’t answer and she pushed the handle letting herself in. Gereon was lying on the floor, his eyes closed, apparently unconscious. There was an empty syringe near him, and his shirt sleeve was rolled up revealing a few drops of blood and skin redness at the injection site. Charlotte got scared and kneeled on the floor slapping him on the cheek, "Gereon, wake up! Wake up!" He tried to open his eyes struggling against the darkness around. She helped him to take a seated position, his back leaning against the bath tub. He was slowly blinking unable to focus his eyes on anything. But this time he was not alone.

Charlotte was sitting next to him patting his shoulder and speaking in a soothing voice, "It’s me, Charlotte. You will be alright soon. I am here." It was painful to see Gereon in such a terrible condition, Charlotte was on the verge of crying but did her best to hold her tears back. She needed to stay strong and help him through this.

In a few minutes Gereon made a desperate attempt to stand up and she supported him carefully steering to the living room. He settled on the sofa and closed his eyes. It took him a while to recover his power of speech.

"I am so sorry," was the first thing he managed to pronounce. Charlotte brought him a glass of cold water and he emptied it at two long greedy gulps. "Thank you."

"No need to be sorry for anything. Are you alright?" Charlotte asked gently.

"No one can speak of you like that. No one," Gereon frowned and clenched his fists. He was still as pale as a ghost and his shirt was soaked with sweat.

"Maybe your father is worried about you."

"Oh, you don’t know my father. He is keeping his eye on me and gathering rumours. Then he comes here to destroy me. Once again."

"Well, perhaps he is right. I am no bargain. For my past and for who I am," Charlotte tried to justify old Rath. He was Gereon’s father after all.

Gereon took her hand and looked into her eyes.

"I know you are a free soul and avoid commitments. And my life is such a mess. Look, I am a total junkie," he pointed to his arm that was bearing a few clear track marks. "That’s why I would not try to tie you down. What my father said is absolute rubbish. He is just an old snooty snob."

Charlotte squeezed his hand, "What about you? Are you also a free soul? Do you commit?"

"I am rather a lost soul but yes, I do."

"I know," she said quietly. He did without vows or manifestations.

Gereon strained himself to stand up. He poured some schnapps into his glass and asked Charlotte if she wanted some too, but she shook her head in rejection. They were sitting next to each other on the sofa keeping silence. For a while Gereon was sipping his schnapps and staring into emptiness.

Suddenly he changed the subject, "I also used to have a sleepyhead toy," he closed his eyes as if trying to interrogate his memory. "It was a plush teddy bear wearing lederhosen with suspenders and a checked shirt. Bavarian style."

Gereon kept surprising her. Why would her prim and reserved kommissar ever start talking about his sleepyhead toy?

"Did your teddy have a name?" Charlotte sounded serious but smiled with her eyes.

Gereon was lost in reverie until he cast his mind back to the days of his miserable childhood and answered, "I called him Otto, it was a gift from my godmother."

"It’s so sweet you still remember Otto. Do you have him somewhere?" she asked delicately.

"No." Another long pause. When Gereon started to speak again, his voice sounded somehow crackly. "One night I was about to fall asleep when my father bounced into my room. He yelled at me for breaking his telescope that was worth a fortune." A tiny bitter grin appeared on Gereon’s face. "And I didn’t even touch the telescope, but I saw that Anno showed it to his schoolmate the day before."

"It was Anno who broke it and lied to your father you did," Charlotte guessed. "So nasty of him," she got angry. "I imagine your father was furious. Judging by his today’s performance he seems to have a short temper."

"Oh yes, he was mad. He dragged me from my bed to his study. There he pointed at the telescope and its cracked lens demanding a confession. I remained silent as he would have believed Anno anyway. I was still holding Otto." Gereon poured a little more schnapps before he continued, "He snatched the teddy out of my hand and threw it into the fireplace. I watched Otto burning and couldn’t do anything."

Gereon was grieving for Otto who he couldn’t rescue probably more than for Anno who he abandoned on the battlefield many years later. Unlike Anno, Otto was his friend. His silent friend who never mocked at him when he was drilling the Bible verses, always willing to listen to his secrets and troubles.

"How very cruel of your father!" Charlotte was terrified. "Did your mother comfort you? How old were you?"

"Maybe five or six years old. No, my mother never interfered when my father punished me. He took me to the attic to consider my behaviour and kept there for hours. I banged on the door and cried for mercy, but no one came, only bats were squeaking in the darkness. Gosh, I hate bats."

Charlotte imagined a scared boy who lost his teddy and was locked in the attic shivering from cold and terror and her heart was torn asunder. She wrapped her arms around Gereon, "Poor kid. And what happened then? Did your godmother give you a new teddy?"

"Next day I raked the ashes in the fireplace and found two glass beads that used to be my teddy’s eyes and a small metal clip from his ear. All that remained of Otto. I didn’t want a new teddy as I thought my father would burn it too."

That was a heart-breaking confession of a sad little boy who grew up into a very sad man.

"Thanks for sharing this with me. It means a lot," Charlotte whispered. "And illustrates well your life at home."

Gereon finished his schnapps, "I haven’t thought of my teddy bear for many years. But today I saw your doll and then my father intruded. Some weird chord in my brain connected those and reminded me of Otto."

"It’s been a long day," Charlotte yawned. "Let’s go to bed. Do you think you could wash up a little?"

He nodded, "I have to, I am all sweaty."

In the meanwhile Charlotte changed into her night gown and sank under the blanket. Quite soon Gereon entered the bedroom. He switched off the lights and climbed into the bed. Charlotte faced him in the darkness and asked, "Should I hold you or do you need some space?" She was always considerate giving him options. And he knew she wouldn’t get offended if he preferred his own space instead of her arms.

"Hold me," Gereon whispered, turning his back to her.

Charlotte wrapped her arm around him pressing her chest against his back. She was tired but couldn’t fall asleep as different thoughts were running through her head making her restless. After a few minutes of silence, she wasn’t sure if Gereon was still awake.

She touched the nape of his neck with her soft dry lips and murmured, "I felt relieved when you told me that Helga is not your wife and Moritz is not your son. Though it doesn’t really matter."

Gereon was not asleep. "Maybe it does," he answered quietly.

"Why didn’t you two get married?"

"Anno was pronounced dead shortly before Helga moved to Berlin."

"And then you met him and started the therapy. It seems that Anno doesn’t miss his wife or his son."

"He has never met his son. And his wife was sleeping with his rogue brother for years. Isn’t it understandable he doesn’t want to meet them?"

"So you couldn’t marry Helga because you found out that Anno is alive," Gereon left that comment unanswered. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to get under your skin," Charlotte apologised.

"It’s alright. I got tired of lies, secrets and conspiracy," he sounded exhausted. "And here in Berlin I realized pretty soon that me and Helga don’t have much in common. Except our past. And our past is not that great to hold on it forever."

"I see," Charlotte said. "I guess it’s always better to look forward not backward."

"You chose a good time for interrogations. You know I’m pretty wasted," he smirked in the darkness turning over and facing Charlotte. “Tomorrow I will remember none of my tonight’s confessions.”

"You have the right to remain silent," she smirked back running her fingers through his hair and stroking his shoulder.

"I was worried to death when you disappeared with Jänicke’s notebook," Gereon randomly changed the subject. "I thought Bruno had killed you and blamed myself for letting you go alone that night. I was searching for you everywhere."

"Well, when after all I appeared at your front door you seemed to be spending some quality time with Helga," Charlotte was teasing him.

"Quality? I had no idea what quality meant until recently," he pulled her closer and started kissing her on the mouth.

"Are you not too wasted for that?" Charlotte giggled feeling his desire as he possessively grabbed her thigh drawing her hips towards his.

"I want you," Gereon mumbled into her neck inhaling her scent, his breath coming quicker. He was still shy to express his desires, still supressed by the fear of rejection.

Instead of answering Charlotte started to unbutton his pajama top. They slowly undressed each other, her hands slid up his ribs as she whispered his name almost inaudibly.

"Could I see you, please?" Charlotte was waiting for his nod and he couldn’t deny her request. She switched on her bedside lamp and fondly stared at him, counting his every scar and beauty spot. Before he began to feel uneasy, Charlotte kissed him again softly nibbling on his lips. It was a light, sensitive and inviting kiss that established even stronger connection between them and confirmed that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Charlotte possessed a nice ability to get him rock hard in seconds as she offered him acceptance and intimacy that he had been craving for so long. Gereon was gently exploring her warm and soft body with his hands and mouth, and Charlotte was fully giving herself to him. She liked that he treated her carefully constantly observing her response to his caresses.

Feeling his hot hands digging into her skin heated her, she got light-headed, and a blissful smile formed on her face. "You feel so good," she slightly arched her back as he was softly sucking on her nipple, gazing at her with admiration.

Gereon couldn’t take his longing eyes off Charlotte, "And you are beautiful."

He stroked a curly strand of hair away from her face just like he had once done in the elevator. This time he could afford something he couldn’t ever do in the Burg, to lean in and brush his lips across hers. Their endless kiss melted her heart, it was both dreamy and passionate. Sadness and angst were still somewhere in the background, but they didn’t cast a shadow on their private moments of reciprocity.

Finally, Charlotte interrupted their infinite luscious kiss slowly pulling away and taking him in her hand, “So hard for me.”

"Please," Gereon was eagerly giving in to her, he wanted her to take the initiative. The mixture of drugs, alcohol and her closeness loosened him up but also made a little clumsy and clueless. He preferred Charlotte to take over and have her way with him doing whatever she wanted.

Charlotte sneered at how eagerly he welcomed her guidance and pushed him on his back, straddling him, her beautiful slim legs on either side of his hips. Gereon liked that position as he could admire her loveliness and his hands were free to enjoy the smoothness of her body.

Once on top she rubbed herself on his cock and smoothly guided it in, starting out idle in the hips, slowly moving up and down. She looked intently and directly into his eyes making him even more aroused and then took his hands and placed them on her breasts. Gereon tenderly squeezed them and circled her nipples with his thumbs. At the same time Charlotte was gradually speeding up, rocking back and forth and side to side until she found a perfect angle. A smile of joy and satisfaction lit up Gereon’s face as he watched how deeply she was enjoying the process.

Charlotte gave him a wink and bent down to kiss his lips while riding him. For a moment she shut her eyes, her body was lost in pleasure, but she was still in control keeping him right on the edge.

She adjusted her position one last time, lying down flat on his chest, with her cheek touching his. She started to move faster, still maintaining a steady rhythm, doing long and hard thrusts, fiercely going up and down. "Almost there," she groaned and, in a moment, clenched around him, sharply exhaling through her mouth, revelling in her deliciously intense finishing.

Gereon gasped Charlotte’s name letting himself come inside her filling her up with his warmth and… love. There was no reason to deny the obvious anymore. That discovery hit him like a lightning bolt bringing tears to his eyes. Why was he agonizing over it for so long? Of course, he loved her, mais était-ce un piège ou une liberation?

Charlotte rolled over breaking their contact but Gereon didn’t want to let her go. He fondly wrapped her in his embrace and stared into her eyes, his long eyelashes wet from tears.

"Charlotte," he said, "The best moments of my life are when I am in bed with you."

Gereon was sincere saying that, their interaction released his body pains and loosened worries. Terrible events of the evening didn’t bother him anymore, he was relaxed and content. And again, a little dead, one foot in heaven, pacified by his brown eyed angel.

"You are fucked up Gereon," she was satisfied with his confession. "Try to sleep now."

Charlotte reached the bedside lamp and switched off the lights. Then she took her place beside him under the blanket, softly kissing his shoulder. Their mixed fluids were running out of her, but she didn’t have energy to crawl out of bed and wash up. She felt filled and calm, more peaceful than ever because she knew that she was in the right place and did the right thing with the right man. Her man. Probably they could drop the bed sheets to the laundry before heading to work in the morning, Charlotte thought and closed her weary eyes letting the sleep consume her.

Chapter Text

On Friday afternoon Charlotte left the Burg early, as she had to deliver the files on the casino case to the prosecutor’s office. Gennat, who was generally scant with his praise, this time spared a moment to show his appreciation to his new team member. He acknowledged that Charlotte had detected the suspect on her own and then organised all the paperwork independently and effectively. He double-checked her reports and records but didn’t find any mistakes in them, not even misprints.

“Keep up the good work,” Gennat said and entrusted her with an important task: presenting the materials to the prosecutor. He also allowed Charlotte to take the rest of the day off. His generous offer came in very handy, as she had some private errands to run.

Gereon was proud of Charlotte and happy to see a wide grin on her face when she came back from the Buddha’s office. It was important to impress the boss and earn his trust. He personally monitored people during their probationary period and made up his mind as to whether or not the trainee would stay in the Homicide Unit. So far he was satisfied with Charlotte’s work, and it meant that she had a good chance of getting a permanent position once she had passed all her qualification exams.

Gereon watched her putting on her coat with a doleful look. He wasn’t enthusiastic about spending the rest of his working hours without Charlotte, but he hoped she would be waiting for him at home in the evening, which was certainly a heart-warming prospect.

Gereon wasn’t sure whether his father really had appeared in his doorway the night before, or whether it was another painful delusion born out of the mixture of drugs and alcohol. He remembered that the day before he’d had a nasty panic attack and injected morphine to stop it. He’d drunk something strong too, because eventually his memory failed him. He knew that Charlotte was there beside him, comforting him when he was about to collapse.

In the morning they woke up naked, both dishevelled, and there was a thumb-sized bruise on Charlotte’s thigh. The distinct red mark marred her pale skin. Had he behaved like an animal, forcing himself on her? Sometimes he used to be pretty rough with Helga, causing her pain. Was that the case with Charlotte too? He probably cared only about getting laid and had acted selfishly in the pursuit of that, giving himself a few seconds of fading pleasure at Charlotte’s expense. The thought made him feel sick. He wasn’t any better than the beasts who exploited her in the dark playrooms and basements in the guts of Berlin.

There was no use asking if he had mistreated her. She wouldn’t admit it anyway. At least her eyes didn’t reproach him, and she spoke to him quite normally. Gereon knew that moving in under his roof hadn’t been an easy decision for her to arrive at, and when suggesting the arrangement, he had surely meant to be supportive and protective, not abusive. It seemed that his good intentions had failed during their very first day of cohabitation.

The truth was that the urge to get and use drugs had taken control of his life. Anno’s prescriptions, combined with the invasive psychotherapy, pushed him deeper into that bottomless black abyss. Switching him from oral consumption to the intravenous route and increasing his doses had brought an initial improvement: his hands didn’t shake, and the panic attacks subsided. However, shortly afterwards his condition began to deteriorate. He frequently suffered from migraines, hallucinations and blackouts, when nothing helped him recollect the forgotten events. In that weird and wacky state of mind, the lines between reality and nightmares became blurred, and he was no good either to himself or to anybody else. He once committed a murder under the influence of drugs. Was he capable of hurting Charlotte? Feelings of inadequacy, guilt and self-hatred caused a bitter taste in his mouth.

*

After leaving the Burg Charlotte spent a couple of hours queuing at the prosecutor’s office. She didn’t consider it a waste of time because it was the perfect occasion to expand her network and get acquainted with the secretaries and typists who worked there. Charlotte always tried to establish professional contacts that might be useful in the future. The chatty ladies were curious to meet the first and only female who served in the criminal police and showered Charlotte with multiple questions about why she had applied for the position and whether she was allowed to do field work alongside the male detectives. They also gave her good advice on how to talk to the prosecutor without annoying him.

Much to Charlotte’s relief, the conversation with the prosecutor went smoothly, and he didn't bat an eyelid while reading the papers she had brought him. Maybe Gennat’s signature and the note “Approved” written in the margin were persuasive enough. The prosecutor briefly thanked her and promised to contact Kommissar Rath when the date of the trial was set.

Charlotte was planning to do some grocery shopping on her way home, but before that she wanted to visit a very special place. Berlin’s oldest and largest toy shop. She was touched by Gereon’s childhood reminiscences and decided to repair what had gone wrong. On this very day twenty-six years ago the boy with sad, green eyes had got his first true friend, a teddy bear. Their friendship didn’t last long, as the teddy was cruelly executed right in front of the boy. Charlotte could hardly hold back her tears when she pictured the tragic scene that had shaken poor Gereon to the very core of his soul. She remembered the helpless crack in his voice as he shared the story of his loss with her.

The shop was huge, filled with hundreds or probably even thousands of different toys: porcelain dolls in elegant dresses and multi-storey doll houses, rocking horses, guns and bows, trains and cars, boats and aeroplanes. Charlotte admired all these wonderful toys she had dreamt about as a child and which her family could never afford. She walked past a big display case with a model railway laid out towards the shelves with stuffed animals. She was searching for a teddy bear wearing a Bavarian-style outfit. Luckily, it had been a very popular toy for several decades, and she immediately spotted one dressed in lederhosen and a blue and white checked shirt.

The bear had a pretzel in his paw and a metal "Steiff" clip in his ear (Gereon had mentioned it too). Charlotte had no idea whether this stuffed animal resembled Gereon’s teddy Otto, but its cute, sulky face was simply impossible to resist. The shop assistant told her that the teddy would come with a passport where they could write down its name, the year of its birth and its owner’s name. A toy like that cost a small fortune for someone whose income was as modest as Charlotte’s, but it didn’t bother her.

In the morning she couldn’t find a good moment to wish Gereon a happy birthday, even though she knew it was today. He looked pained and confused as he stumbled around the flat like a somnambulist. It was hard to say if he was awake or sleepwalking. Charlotte decided to wish him a happy birthday in the evening instead.

She bought ingredients for a nice dinner, quark pastries (she once saw him have one in a café and surmised that he liked them) and a bottle of wine. She chose white wine produced in the Rhineland – Gereon’s own region – in the hope that its familiar taste would make him feel at home. Fortunately, she still had plenty of time to prepare her surprise, as Gereon was unlikely to make it home before 7 o’clock. He hardly had high expectations for the meal she would cook, and rabbit stew with sweet paprika would hopefully be enough to impress him.

Charlotte felt a bit awkward in Gereon’s kitchen, which had been Helga’s territory just a few months earlier. She sensed the presence of another woman there more distinctly than in any other room of his flat. The shiny pots and frying pans were arranged in neat piles. Separate cutting boards for meat, fish and vegetables were marked with Helga’s pretty handwriting. On the counter Charlotte found a tray of oil and vinegar cruets, a mug rack and a holder for cooking utensils. The built-in cabinet under the window contained mason jars with pickled vegetables and embroidered canvas bags with dried herbs. Parsley, thyme, rosemary, mint. Good Lord, that woman had tonnes of spare time.

Helga seemed to be a perfect Hausfrau, a dream wife who provided a comfortable lifestyle for her spouse. She always bought quality groceries, prepared varied meals, probably baked bread in the morning and knew all about Gereon’s food preferences. There was no use competing with her in culinary arts or household skills, Charlotte sighed.

She banished these discouraging speculations and decided simply to do her best. Hopefully the meal she had planned would turn out at least edible. She chopped the rabbit meat into bite-sized pieces and braised them along with onions, herbs and wine for a couple of hours. While it was cooking, she read some of ‘Psychological Types’ by Carl Jung, a thick book that she had borrowed recently from the Burg’s library. Charlotte was trying to dig into the main trends of modern applied psychiatry to get an idea of what Anno’s treatments could be like.

**

When Gereon returned home later that evening he was hit in the hallway by the delicious aroma of fresh food and got hunger pangs. On entering his flat, he was amused to find that the heavenly smell was coming from his own kitchen. Charlotte greeted him by the front door, pressing a soft kiss on his mouth.

"Today it’s my turn to feed us," she beamed, helping him to take off his coat.

The table was nicely set for two.

"I hope you like rabbit stew," Charlotte mumbled timidly.

"Of course I do," Gereon assured. "I didn’t have a lunch break today because I wanted to leave early. But I didn’t expect you to cook anything so complicated.”

Charlotte grinned at his explanations. A warm, fluttering feeling bloomed in her chest. Gereon was hurrying back home, and she was the reason, not a three-course dinner.

“I bought a bottle of wine,” Charlotte said. “Do you have glasses? I couldn’t find any.”

“Up there,” he pointed at the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet. Charlotte made a move towards the chair, but Gereon came up with a better solution. He grabbed her in his arms and lifted her up, so that she could reach the shelf and take the glasses. Charlotte wasn’t prepared for the abrupt lift and let out a funny squeak.

“Good teamwork is key to success,” he chuckled and put her down carefully.

“Oh yes!” Charlotte snorted. “You’ve shown great problem-solving skills.”

Gereon studied the label of the wine bottle and praised Charlotte’s choice but didn’t mention that the wine had been produced in one of his uncle’s vineyards. He didn’t want to underline the fact that back in Köln he belonged to the silver-spoon crowd. Now he preferred a modest lifestyle in a rented flat, and any references to his wealthy relatives who ran businesses in the Rhineland seemed out of place.

They ate in silence, enjoying each other’s company and the deliciously rich stew.

"That food was amazing," Gereon said when he had finished his portion. "I like that you added paprika to it. I think rabbit is cooked like that in Bavaria."

“I’m glad you like it,” Charlotte smiled back at him and removed the empty plates from the table. “Wait a moment,” she said. “I’ve got something for you.”

Gereon refilled their glasses, wondering what that something could be and why she had decided to give him a mysterious something in any case.

Charlotte came back from the bedroom, looking a little unsure and handed Gereon a compact brown package tied with a silky blue ribbon.

"Happy birthday!"

For several seconds he stared at her in bewilderment. Charlotte wasn't supposed to know about his birthday, but she did. She had prepared a fabulous meal and even bought him a present. Something that was meant especially for him, whatever it was. He strained his memory but couldn’t recall the last time he had received anything for his special day. Helga usually baked him a cake, but that was all. Being a grown man, he didn’t expect anybody to get too excited about the fact that he had become a year older. Well, not that he had been pampered with many presents as a child either.

Gereon ripped the paper awkwardly and found a beige teddy bear inside the package. It resembled the stuffed toy his father had thrown into the burning fireplace almost three decades ago. Gereon was lost for words once again. He held the teddy with both hands and slowly shook his head in disbelief. Then he saw a small card attached to the teddy’s paw: "This teddy bear was born on 22nd July 1929 in Giengen. His name is Otto, and he is a faithful friend to Gereon. Otto loves to share secrets, give hugs and listen to good stories in a reading corner".

"One can’t have too many friends, right?" Charlotte asked and looked away as she noticed unshed tears glimmering in Gereon’s eyes. "Maybe Otto could keep my Marta company?"

“I blacked out yesterday and can’t remember half the night,” Gereon confessed. “Seems like I told you about my teddy bear. Goodness me. And what else?”

“In a nutshell, your father is an oppressor, your brother is a villain and you have a fairy godmother. You also mentioned that you enjoy sharing a bed with me,” she was trying to keep a straight face, but her hazel eyes were brimming with quiet happiness.

“Charlotte, did I hurt you?” he ducked his head and looked worried.

“What? Of course not, we did fine… Even better than fine,” she assured, taking a load off his mind. His worst suspicions were unfounded.

Gereon embraced Charlotte and buried his face in her neck. She welcomed him with open arms and held him, accepting him completely. He was not afraid of being emotional and vulnerable around her, as she was the only person who never used his feelings to manipulate him.

As a child Gereon was told that showing weakness was unmanly and foolish. Whenever he got upset and shed tears, his father called him a sissy and gave him a thick ear. He was taught to hide and supress his pain, fear and frustration, and by adulthood he had become a master at it. Although he trusted Charlotte, he couldn’t yet share all of his struggles with her. Gradually, she was bringing to the surface a lot of things he had never revealed to others, not even to himself.

“I have quark pastries for dessert,” Charlotte slowly freed herself from his embrace and showed him a white bakery box.

“Or maybe we could have each other for dessert,” Gereon suggested in a playful tone. He was intrigued by the events of the previous night and longed to find out what could be “better than fine”.

“Sometimes less is more,” Charlotte didn’t join in. She was watching him with dark, thoughtful eyes and had a serious face. She sipped her glass of wine and asked a strange question: “What do you know about carrier pigeons?”

The change of the subject came out of the blue, making Gereon gulp with astonishment, “Pardon?”

“Do you have any experience of handling them?”

“No, I don’t. But at war, in field conditions, when we couldn’t access the telephone or telegraph, carrier pigeons delivered messages,” Charlotte leaned in and listened closely to his explanation, encouraging him on. “For example, in our regiment they used pigeons to relay information during the advance. One of the soldiers was responsible for the birds. He carried them in a woven basket on his back, and then he fixed a message to a bird’s leg and released it. Why do you ask?”

Charlotte puckered her mouth as if she was going to reveal something unpleasant.

“I figured out that Anno uses carrier pigeons to pass the time and radio frequencies of your psychotherapy sessions to the Armenian. I know a housemaid who works in the Kasabians’ house, and she owes me a favour. The girl says that her master keeps carrier pigeons in a big cage in his backyard and that every now and then a few birds are carried away in two baskets. At some point they fly back to the dovecote and deliver messages.”

“Why do you think the messages are sent by Anno?” Gereon frowned. “Why can’t he simply call the Armenian or use a human carrier?”

“It’s obviously very sensitive classified information, and they prefer to act discretely, with no middlemen involved. They don’t want to take the risk that someone eavesdrops or sees them together. The Armenian forbade his staff to touch the birds. The housemaid only cleans the cage, feeds them and informs her master when the pigeons come home.” Charlotte opened her notebook, “The girl took a sneaky peek at the message that was delivered a week ago. It said, “16 March, 540 kHz”. Does it look familiar?”

“Yes, the format matches,” Gereon admitted. “Usually the Armenian gives me a small slip of paper with a message similar to this.”

“You see? Slips of paper like this are easy to fix onto a bird’s leg. So it must be a clue. The housemaid promised to help me one more time. When’s your next session?”

“Saturday night,” Gereon bit the inside of his cheek and continued, “But I’m not sure if I want you to hear what I’m saying there. I have absolutely no idea what kind of things I might reveal under hypnosis.”

“Don’t worry about that. We need to find out what Anno’s plan is, and the broadcast could give us a clue. Just teach me how to tune the radio and let me sort the rest.”

When Charlotte was as determined, there was no point in protesting. She would go to the ends of the earth to get something she needed, with his help or without.

***

When they went to bed later that night Gereon knew that Charlotte wasn’t in the mood for sex. She wanted to cuddle up to him and fall asleep in his arms, and he respected her wish. Seeing Charlotte in total peace, hearing her slow and soft breathing was a beautiful and intimate experience. That fragile young woman didn’t lack courage or willpower, and she used all her energy to solve his problems. She had become his main source of faith and strength; without her, he would have given up. Her compassion and inner light made the hostile world a lot more bearable.

“Are you asleep?” Gereon whispered, patting her on the head and gently running his hand over her soft curls.

“Almost.”

“Thank you for tonight. The food and the gift,” Gereon wanted to make sure that Charlotte knew her efforts were appreciated. “It’s strange, but the teddy you found looks very similar to the one my godmother gave me when I was five.”

She turned her face upward and backward and gave him a soft kiss on the lips.

"When I saw him, I knew he was the one,” she said with a shy grin, and Gereon hoped she meant him too, not just the teddy bear. “You didn’t say whether your godmother is still alive."

"I think so,” Gereon sounded uncertain. “I haven’t seen her since the war ended. I heard she was suffering from severe arthritis and couldn’t make it to my mother’s funeral in 1919."

"Is she nice? What’s her name?" Charlotte was curious.

"Her name’s Karoline Wildenburg. She and her husband visited us in Köln when I was little. They were always kind to me,” Gereon recollected. “But I guess my father gradually drove them away from our family, because I didn’t see much of them when I got older… I’ve neglected my godmother."

He could have stayed in touch with her, for example by sending Christmas cards. But he was so preoccupied with everything else that was going on in his life that he had completely forgotten someone who used to be pleasant to him.

"Where does she live? Maybe you could call her or pay her a visit? Elderly people often feel lonely. I’m sure she’d be happy to hear from you after all this time." Charlotte was quick to make and share plans.

"It never occurred to me, but you might be right. She lives in Michendorf."

"Only about fifty kilometres from here," Charlotte estimated. "You could definitely go there.”

"Only if you come with me," Gereon murmured.

Charlotte knew he was setting that condition as a way of sweeping the whole thing under the table, but she was determined to fulfil her plan. Gereon needed more kindness in his life. He spent every day surrounded by vicious criminals and crazy colleagues. His terrible relatives oppressed him constantly, and the woman he loved had left him for another man. It would do him good to reconnect with someone from his past who cared about him.

"Why not? Give her a call and if she’s alright with it, we could go and see her on Sunday."

“If I survive Saturday night, we can go anywhere you like,” Gereon promised.

“I’ll hold you to it, Birthday Boy,” Charlotte said and snuggled closer against him. She wouldn’t let bad dreams disturb either of them that night.

****

On Saturday evening after work Charlotte and Gereon parted in front of the Burg. She was heading home, and he was going to attend his appointment with Anno. Before the psychotherapy session he would be given a shot of barbiturate, the drug that enabled Anno to induce hypnosis in him.

Charlotte had plenty of time to get ready, but she wanted to fix the gadget well in advance. She settled herself at the desk in the living room, in front of Gereon’s radio set and tuned it, specifying the frequency she had obtained from the Armenian’s housemaid. 650 kHz. She put on the headphones but heard only white noise. What if the frequency didn’t match? What if she hadn’t tuned the radio properly? At 9 o’clock sharp the sounds of white noise ceased. A distant, muffled click was followed by a low man’s voice that presumably belonged to Anno.

“Here in front of me I have a testee whose nickname is Siegfried. He is a war veteran, and I’m helping him to deal with his multiple mental disorders. When his fears and angst are eliminated, he will rise to the next stage of evolution and become a perfect human machine. We're halfway there, Siegfried. I’ll guide you all the way through. Are you ready to resume your journey?”

“Yes,” Gereon answered.

“Close your eyes and prepare to travel back in time,” Anno commanded. “At the beginning of our session I want to send you back to the source of your fear. Overcoming angst is the only way to become invincible. So, concentrate and go back to a truly dreadful moment of your past… When you were terrified... Scared out of your mind,” Anno paused, encouraging Gereon to recollect the most painful of his past experiences. “You are about to face your fear. I see that it is intense, you are breaking out into a cold sweat. You are short of breath. Your mouth is getting dry, your hands are trembling.”

“Yes,” Gereon was panting. He was going through the pain of reliving some dramatic event of his past.

“Tell me about that experience. Feel its full intensity. What do you see around you?”

“A big pool of blood on the floor. The white closet is stained with blood. I can smell fresh warm blood.”

“Go on. How do you respond to these circumstances?”

“I’m holding a loaded gun, and my index finger is on the trigger, but I can’t fire. My hand is too shaky. Someone is locked in the closet. A corpse. I need to check whose it is… I’m slowly approaching the closet, I put my hand on the door handle and push down on it. I hold my breath, open the door and step aside. The corpse drops down onto the floor. It’s a dead man. I can breathe again. She must be alive. I need to find her.”

“A very curious episode, Siegfried. Something you’ve never told me before. Like all animals, humans have instincts. You see blood and you experience fear because something threatens your existence. The instinct to survive is the strongest of all, and it can work in your favour. But you must get rid of your fears. They immobilise you. Your goal is to bring the source of your anxiety under control. To become a perfect machine, to survive whatever the circumstances and to make good judgments in any situation.”

“Yes,” Gereon agreed.

“You used the pronoun ‘she’. Does that mean your fear is associated with a female?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Let’s immerse ourselves in the subject. Are you afraid that she is going to die?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want her to die.”

“Dead or alive, any single human being is an insignificant piece of nothing,” Anno preached. “Something you mustn’t go dwelling on. Don’t let anyone distract you. Remember?”

“Yes.”

“Now for a general question. Do you lust after women?”

“Yes.”

“Do you indulge in lust?”

“Yes.”

“Do you meet the same woman or different women?”

“The same one.”

“Getting laid is a man's primal urge. But you can satisfy your needs with any woman. Don’t get stuck on just one."

“But…” Gereon tried to process Anno’s command, “I don’t want other women.”

“Think again. Don’t you want any other women except that one?”

“No.”

Judging by the sound of it, Anno had given him a powerful slap around the face. ”Don’t you?”

“No, no,” Gereon really meant what he was saying.

“Hmm… Which means you are emotional about one particular woman. Remember, you meet her only to satisfy your bodily needs. She doesn’t belong to you,” Anno paused before demanding, “Repeat after me: she doesn’t belong to me.”

“She doesn’t belong to me.”

“Siegfried, I hear the voice of doubt inside your head. Repeat after me once again. That woman doesn’t belong to me.”

“That woman doesn’t belong to me,” Gereon repeated those words obediently but added, “But we do belong together.”

“That’s a dangerous delusion, Siegfried,” Anno clicked his tongue in disapproval. “You do not belong together with anyone. The human machine is not susceptible to feelings and affections. Your only passion is searching for the Truth,” Anno’s voice got louder. “Are you ready to lead us to the light of the Truth?”

“Yes.”

“Towards the light! Towards the Truth!” Anno exclaimed frantically.

“Towards the light! Towards the Truth!” Gereon repeated.

The radio broadcast ended, and Charlotte heard white noise again. She took off the headphones and read through the notes she had made during the therapy session. Anno’s words didn’t augur well. He would do everything in his power to separate her from Gereon. Dr Schmidt was smart enough to speak ambiguously, without giving any clues as to his secret mission. He had sunk his claws into Gereon and was planning to use him as a weapon. Charlotte had to stop him before it was too late.

*****

After the therapy session Gereon was completely disoriented and couldn’t find his way home from the Institute of Experimental Psychiatry. He wandered aimlessly along the empty Berlin streets that suddenly seemed unfamiliar and labyrinthine. Gereon’s brain was a cluttered mess, and his muddle of thoughts caused pressure to build in his temples. His recollection of the recent hypnosis had simply vanished, and he remembered nothing that he had said or heard. Probably something inappropriate, as Anno had slapped his cheek: it was still burning.

Charlotte stayed awake that night, waiting for him. She heard the sound of his footsteps in the quiet hallway and opened the front door before he inserted the key in the lock. She didn’t talk to him or ask him any questions. She walked him to the bedroom, helped him to undress and placed him carefully onto the bed. Charlotte noticed that Gereon was shivering from cold and had goosebumps all over his body. She lay down beside him and tucked the blanket around both of them, making him comfortable and secure inside the tight cocoon.

Gereon hated his sluggishness, he hated that the bedroom felt like it was flipping upside down. But he was safely back in her arms, and that was the only thing that mattered for the moment. It was the first time he didn’t want to die after being treated by Anno. He didn’t have to curl up on the sofa and struggle alone until daybreak. Intuitively, he knew that in a few hours he would snap out of his disgusting torpor; that confidence was new to him. Charlotte slipped her hand under his undershirt and placed it on his chest, right where his heart was beating. He hoped that she knew that his heart was beating for her.

*

Gereon often had vivid dreams, especially if he injected morphine before going to sleep and after his psychotherapy sessions. As a rule they were nightmares that took him back to the places where he had experienced fear, anxiety or disgust.

Tonight’s dream could be a nightmare, as Gereon found himself in his parents’ house in Köln. He stepped into the dark, eerie hallway and saw the silhouettes of stuffed animals, his father’s hunting trophies. A stag’s head mounted on an oak shield was hanging above the doorway. The dead stag was ready to attack trespassers with its large sharp antlers. Stale air. A musty smell of rotten wood, mould and despair. Creaky stairs leading to the second floor.

He had to climb up to the attic because somebody was waiting for him there. A familiar rickety ladder without rails. For a moment, he struggled to open the stiff old door. It finally yielded, and he went in. He found it odd that the attic used to be gloomy and hostile, but this time was full of air and daylight. The sunshine streamed in through the big round windows, and tiny dust motes danced slowly in the sunbeams. Gereon saw a few pieces of upholstered furniture that had stood in their living room ages ago, before the war; some brown wooden boxes holding his father’s archives; bizarre piles of long-forgotten relics that Engelbert didn’t want to get rid of.

In the silence of the attic, Gereon heard a woman’s voice. He recognised it immediately, even though he couldn’t distinguish the words. It belonged to Charlotte. Who was she talking to?

Gereon followed the sound of her voice and found Charlotte in the far corner of the attic, sitting on the dusty wooden floor. She was wearing an ivory long-sleeved dress and a matching shimmery headband. There was a thin book in her hand, she was reading aloud and roleplaying, creating different types of voices for the different characters in the story. She was such a brilliant mimic.

Gereon adored Charlotte’s beauty and radiance, how she looked almost angelic. He gazed at her in silent admiration and noticed a child sitting on her lap. She was embracing a small, skinny boy, probably five or six years of age. He peeked out from behind the book and curiously looked Gereon up and down.

The boy was dressed like a sailor in a two-piece cream woollen suit with a navy-blue collar and cuffs decorated with brass anchor buttons. Gereon himself had exactly the same outfit when he was little and sang in the Köln Boys’ Choir. Now he itched just staring at it, remembering how fabric used to feel so scratchy on his skin.

Gereon took a few more steps forward and recognised himself in the boy. As if he was in front of the mirror watching his own reflection back in 1905. But even though the child resembled him a lot, there were some subtle differences in their appearances. The boy had slightly darker hair that curled at the ends, and his green eyes had distinct specks of brown and gold scattered throughout the irises. Otherwise, this boy was his perfect carbon copy. His arm was wrapped around Charlotte’s neck, and he held Otto the Teddy in his hand.

On seeing Gereon, Charlotte put the book aside, revealing its cover, “Emil and the Detectives” by Erich Kästner. What an obvious choice.

She gave him a charming, dimpled smile.

“Darling, could you please lift Erwin up?” her request sounded soft and casual. “He wants to look out of the window.”

The boy stretched out his arms, Gereon bent down and picked him up easily. After that he helped Charlotte up too.

They approached the round attic window and looked outside, marvelling at the sublime beauty of nature as it bloomed. The joyful colours of spring reigned in Köln: pastel yellow, vivid green, turquoise blue, tender pink and pale grey. The garden was full of budding flowers, and the old cherry tree was blossoming too. A group of fluffy ducklings paddled around the pond, accompanied by their parents. There was not a cloud to be seen in the sky.

“Have a look, sweetheart, that broad river behind the trees is the Rhine,” Charlotte explained. “It’s much larger than the Spree and rather larger than the Elbe. And right over there, you can see two sharp spires. That’s Köln Cathedral.”

She hugged Gereon and the boy from behind, and he could feel her warm breath against the nape of his neck. His heart filled with serenity and quiet joy. He had never felt so happy and complete before.

“Will you teach me how to tame the frogs?” the boy whispered in Gereon’s ear.

**

In the morning Charlotte woke up before Gereon. For a while she watched him sleeping, wondering what he was dreaming about. His dream seemed to be a pleasant one, as the corners of his mouth curved upward and the expression on his face was peaceful. She was relieved that Anno’s therapy session hadn’t caused him painful nightmares that night.

Perhaps he would prefer to be woken by a kiss rather than by a ringing alarm clock. Charlotte pecked him lightly on the cheek, and Gereon immediately opened his eyes. For a second or two his sleep-addled brain tried to process where he was and who was beside him.

“Do you know someone named Erwin?” he asked.

“What?” Charlotte was startled by his question. “No. But Erwin is a lovely name and…” she didn’t finish her sentence and shook her head vigorously. “Why do you ask?”

“I had a weird dream,” Gereon sounded thoughtful, his voice strained and raspy.

“Tell me,” Charlotte was intrigued.

He looked hesitant and averted his eyes.

“Nothing much happened in it. I was in our family house in Köln, up in the attic. I met you there. And we looked out of the window together.”

“Hmm… So who is Erwin then?” she asked curiously.

“Maybe another me, I’m not sure,” Gereon got up quickly and hurried to the bathroom. He refused to speculate about Erwin.

***

They had made plans to visit Gereon’s godmother in Michendorf on Sunday afternoon. Charlotte was rather nervous, as she wanted to make a good impression on at least one person from Gereon’s past. She chose a sand-coloured blouse with little white polka dots and a chocolate-brown skirt to wear and spent a lot of time in front of the mirror trying to turn her unruly curls into smooth, neat waves. Charlotte sometimes hated her wild, frizzy mane, envying women who had shiny, straight hair. Finally she was more or less satisfied with the result.

“Do I look decent?” she asked on entering the living room, where Gereon was patiently waiting for her. His elegant dark brown suit was perfectly matched with a fancy checked tie that he never wore at work. Charlotte admired what an incredibly attractive man he was, proper and mature.

“Sure. You look good in any clothes… and also without them,” Gereon assured her. He didn’t understand why Charlotte had suddenly lost her natural self-confidence.

She was unusually quiet in the car as well, and Gereon started doubting whether their trip was a good idea at all.

"Charlotte, my godmother is an elderly lady and... rather conservative. I mean..."

"I see," she answered pensively. "You can say whatever you think would sound appropriate. I promise not to roll my eyes."

It took them about an hour to reach Michendorf, a picturesque village hidden in the woods. Charlotte was good at reading the road map, and they easily found the enormous red-brick mansion surrounded by beeches and alders. Gereon used to visit the place with his mother and Anno. The house hadn’t changed much in twenty years, and his heart suddenly started pounding with anxiety.

Charlotte looked around in wide-eyed astonishment. “It’s so classy!” she pointed at a brass door knocker shaped like a lion’s head.

The uniformed housemaid opened the door and let them in. Frau Wildenburg was waiting for her guests in the living room and stepped forward politely to greet them. She was a slender elderly lady with immaculately coiffed grey hair and a pale, wrinkled face. A pair of exquisite sapphire earrings and a spectacular sapphire necklace complemented her black velvet gown. She leaned on a black walking cane with a silver-plated handle.

"Good afternoon! Gereon, it’s been ages. I’m so pleased you decided to pay me a visit. I could never have expected it," she exclaimed rather ecstatically, and modestly accepted the gerbera daisy bouquet that Gereon had brought her from Berlin.

"Hilda, could you put the flowers in a vase please?” she asked her housemaid and looked back at Gereon, examining him from head to toe with her cloudy grey eyes, “My darling godson is a grown man. How time flies! I suppose you want to introduce this lovely young lady." She turned to Charlotte, who was standing behind Gereon, nervously shifting from foot to foot.

"My fiancée, Fräulein Charlotte Ritter," Gereon sounded calm and matter of fact. Formal and emotionless.

It was exactly the kind of lie that Charlotte had expected to hear, but she still couldn’t help blushing right to the roots of her hair.

"Karoline Wildenburg," Gereon’s godmother shook Charlotte’s hand. “I’m delighted to meet you, Fräulein Ritter.”

“Likewise!” Charlotte bowed. “Please call me Charlotte.”

Frau Wildenburg gave her the most heartfelt smile and nodded in agreement, “Of course, my dear. We can drop the formalities straight away. As you are my godson’s fiancée, I suppose a welcome to the family is needed.”

Gereon shot a guilty glance at Charlotte and took her hand in his, trying to make her feel less awkward.

“Let me serve you some tea,” Frau Wildenburg invited them to join her at the tea table.

Gereon noticed that Charlotte was smitten, either by the way he had introduced her to his godmother or by the impressive interior of the Wildenburgs’ house. Vintage furniture, gold-framed oil paintings and sophisticated chandeliers were tastefully arranged in this spacious, luxurious living room, giving the impression of richness and grandeur.

“What a spectacular piece of art!” Charlotte stopped near a picture that showed a stormy seascape. She tilted her head, leaned towards the canvas and savoured all the visual details of the composition: a rocky shore, a square lighthouse with a tiny beacon at the top, a wooden boat caught among the raging sea and the silhouettes of the sailors, desperately struggling against the hostile forces of nature. “I've never seen a painting that looks so real.”

“Andreas Achenbach,” Karoline said rather meaningfully, as if Charlotte was supposed to know the name. “He painted it during his tour around Scandinavia about a hundred years ago…” Then she turned to Gereon and continued, “If my memory doesn’t fail me, my dear Franz once took you to Düsseldorf to see Herr Achenbach’s exhibition.”

Out of all the paintings that hung on the walls, Charlotte paid special attention to that one. The one that Gereon remembered from childhood and liked the most. As a young boy he was mesmerised by the mysterious view and wanted to know more about the place depicted on the canvas. Herr Wildenburg told him about the painter’s life and travels, about the lectures given by Achenbach that he had attended at the Berlin Academy of the Arts, about the lighthouse that he had designed, inspired by that very painting. Unlike his own father, Karoline’s husband never mocked Gereon’s interest in exotic, distant countries and seafaring.

“Herr Wildenburg…” Gereon glanced down and cracked his knuckles, revealing his difficult emotions.

“Lord Jesus received his spirit three years ago,” Karoline heaved a mournful sigh, crossed herself and kissed her fingers.

Gereon felt a sharp twinge of guilt. He didn’t even know that Herr Wildenburg had died. He didn’t offer his condolences to Karoline (it was obviously too late to do so now) and hadn’t attended the funeral. He was so ungrateful and so blunt about others’ lives and feelings. A completely self-centred fool with zero empathy, absorbed only by his own losses and troubles.

The housemaid started to serve the tea, and Frau Wildenburg asked them to take seats around the tea table. “Gereon, I remember how you loved blancmange when you were little, so I took the liberty of ordering it for us today.” Then she looked at Charlotte, “J'espère que ce dessert vous plaît également.”

Charlotte understood that Karoline was talking about her dessert preferences, but she hadn’t the slightest idea what blancmange could possibly be. In her own childhood, a slice of white bread with butter and sugar made her fly to heaven and back. Gereon and Frau Wildenburg definitely had more refined tastes.

Soon the table filled with an abundance of sweet and salty treats: caviar canapés, mini croque monsieurs, lemon curd meringues, Swiss chocolate truffles, ladyfinger sponges and choux pastry puffs.

“Help yourselves,” Frau Wildenburg had thoroughly prepared to receive her guests. She asked a couple of questions about Gereon’s work and family. He answered in rather vague terms, telling her that he was serving in the police force and had moved in Berlin about a year ago.

"And you, Charlotte, what do your parents do?"

"I’m an orphan," Charlotte answered briefly. She didn’t want to lie more than was absolutely necessary.

"Oh, I am so sorry. Who is taking care of you, poor girl?" Karoline was truly concerned about Charlotte’s wellbeing.

Charlotte knitted her brows, trying to make sense of the strange question. She wasn’t even ill. Why would she need anyone to take care of her?

"Me," Gereon said, placing his hand on Charlotte’s forearm and squeezing it gently.

"So nice to watch you two. A beautiful young couple, glowing with love. Just like me and Franz forty years ago," Karoline’s voice sounded nostalgic. "It’s just a pity my arthritis makes me almost immobile; I would be delighted to attend your wedding. Lately I’ve only been to funerals, first my dear Franz, then my brother Wilhelm and my sister Dorothea. It would be lovely to see a wedding for a change,” she became excited at the idea. “Have you chosen the date and booked the church? Will it be held in Köln or in Berlin? Are you planning a small ceremony or a big, fancy celebration?"

"No date yet," Gereon answered abruptly, cursing himself for making up the awkward myth of their make-believe engagement. "Actually, we’ve only recently got engaged. It’s quite a fresh thing."

"I see," Karoline narrowed her eyes. "So that’s why you aren’t wearing engagement rings yet?”

“We agreed to go straight for wedding rings,” Charlotte produced a charming grin and saved the situation.

“Has your father met Charlotte yet?" Karoline asked.

"Only briefly and he was not... umm... entirely pleased with my choice," Gereon mumbled.

Frau Wildenburg noticed her godson’s uneasiness and developed her own theory about the underlying reasons.

"I suspect it’s because you are a Lutheran, dear child? Aren’t you?" Frau Wildenburg addressed Charlotte and got a nod in response. "I know it makes things complicated, as you need to seek a permission from the bishop to get married in the Catholic church. And in the future when you have children… Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’m getting old and silly.”

“It’s fine,” Gereon assured her. “But you’re right, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Frau Wildenburg tried to make amends for her forwardness: “As Gereon’s godmother, I bless your union anyway. Because I see true affection between you two, which is much more important than the formal part…”

Then they had a less serious conversation about this and that, and Frau Wildenburg was clearly fascinated by Charlotte, who listened to her reminiscences attentively and sometimes asked questions. Karoline mentioned that she was Gereon’s mother’s second cousin, that she and her late husband had not been blessed with children, but that they were privileged to have a few wonderful godchildren, who were all adults by now.

Charlotte couldn’t help asking what kind of child Gereon was, and Frau Wildenburg answered that he was a quiet and god-fearing boy who was fond of reading, doing handicrafts and singing with the choir. It was Gereon’s turn to roll his eyes.

They spent an hour and a half chatting over tea with Frau Wildenburg and enjoying her treats until Gereon checked his wristwatch and said that they had to drive back to Berlin. Frau Wildenburg thanked them once again for their visit and asked Gereon to follow her to her husband’s study, as she wanted to give him a keepsake. It was clearly just an excuse she had made up to exchange a few words with him tête-à-tête. She presented Gereon with an engraved pocketknife that had a bone handle with a pewter inlay.

“Now you’ve reached the right age to be able to handle such a dangerous gift,” Frau Wildenburg joked. “Franz used it for whittling and woodcarving. I don’t know whether you’re into crafts anymore, but maybe you could use it for opening envelopes or slicing fruit.”

“Thank you. I will find a use for it,” Gereon promised.

“As for Charlotte…” Karoline put her wrinkled hand on the sleeve of Gereon’s jacket. “She is a humble young girl, probably not very demanding. But I still suggest you give her a proper engagement ring. Trust me, she will be happy to receive one. And don’t worry about your father too much. I will pray that his heart softens, and that he becomes more accepting of your future wife.”

Frau Wildenburg showed Gereon to the front door, where Charlotte was already waiting for him.

“Thank you very much for welcoming me into your home,” she said and bobbed into a curtsy. “I’m touched by your kind reception and generosity.”

"May the good Lord bless you,” Karoline seemed pleased with Charlotte’s words and manners. “Please let me know about your wedding day, I will gladly extend my congratulations and send a little something for you."

Gereon and Charlotte promised to do so, said goodbye to Frau Wildenburg and left for Berlin.

Gereon didn’t talk much while driving home. He was following the traffic with glazed eyes, and Charlotte didn’t bother him with comments or questions. She was wondering whether visiting his godmother had done him good or whether it had made him even more confused than before. He probably needed more time to digest the experience.

****

When they got back home Gereon pulled Charlotte into a hug.

"Thank you for being nice to my godmother. It was good to see her after all these years."

"She was very kind indeed and even forgave me for not being Catholic," Charlotte chuckled. “And today I’ve learnt about blancmange. You favourite sweet treat.”

Gereon cupped the back of her head with his hand and smiled, looking into her eyes, "You are much sweeter.” His happy grin melted Charlotte’s heart. “I’m sorry you had to go along with my story. I simply couldn’t tell her that we’re colleagues and flatmates. It would have collapsed her world."

"Never mind. It was a sugar-coated lie, and you couldn’t have foreseen how curious she’d get about all the details. Your godmother would make a brilliant interrogator.”

“Uh huh.”

Charlotte took his arm and steered him into the bedroom, "Do you need some rest after all that driving? Or maybe another portion of dessert?"

Instead of answering her questions, he gently tucked her soft curls behind her ears, caressed her neck with his fingertips and feathered a kiss on her cheek. Gereon remembered his earlier concerns that he could have hurt Charlotte under the influence of drugs, and this time he wanted to make sure she was comfortable and safe with him. She deserved to be treated with ultimate care, and he hoped he would be able to grant her the same kind of pleasure that she was always generously giving to him.

Charlotte was anticipating something exciting, her hazel eyes radiated vibrant hues of gold and green. She grabbed him by the tie, reeled him in and decisively claimed his mouth. Charlotte was a really good kisser, and he had only to follow her lead, replying to the manoeuvres of her tongue with similar ones of his own. He closed his eyes tightly and melted into her, immersing himself in the wonderful sensations. Her mouth was hot and tasted of meringue and lemon curd, sweet and a little tangy.

Their deep, lingering kiss left him weak at the knees and made him lose all perception of time and space. He watched the flashes of total darkness and spangled spots of bright colours alternating behind his shut eyelids. Pink, yellow, green and blue. The infinity of a black starry sky over the forest. The serenity of a spring garden. The motion of the splashing sea. A trail through a meadow. They had escaped the walls of his bedroom, streaking through all those beautiful places together, fast as comets.

At some point his lungs started burning from the lack of oxygen. Gereon broke the kiss, opened his eyes and peered down at Charlotte. He realised hazily that she had already removed his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat, and now her warm palms were slowly stroking his chest. A disturbing thought struck him like a thunderbolt: they were about to get intimate in broad daylight and both were absolutely sober. Gereon was fighting the urge to escape or to draw the blackout curtains or to make an excuse and ask her to stop. Their first few encounters happened in semi-darkness, and he had been more or less safe then, but this time he would be completely exposed, unable to hide any of the multiple flaws that he was so insecure about.

Since his early years Gereon had been ashamed of his body and acknowledged his lack of masculinity. He was short, shorter than average, and he knew that many viewed him as lesser because of it. His classmates called him stumpy and his fellow soldiers in the regiment burst out laughing at Anno’s comment: "Don't trample over my little brother, guys. The poor kid’s a slowcoach and somewhat vertically challenged."

Later in his life Gereon learnt various tricks to make himself look a bit taller and broader. Shoes with a thick sole and a heel and a high crown fedora gave him some extra centimetres. Heavy-weight jackets and coats helped to build up his chest and shoulders. Without clothes he resembled a chicken without feathers. His body was mediocre at best, and he felt apprehensive at the idea that Charlotte might not like what she would see. Would she think less of him afterwards? Would she just have sex with him out of pity?

Some men compensated for their not-so-attractive looks with a pleasing personality and confidence, or a high social status, or an ability to make money. He possessed none of those qualities, and yet Charlotte still liked him. (She wasn't the type of woman to be with someone she didn't like.) He obviously couldn’t ask her to give the reasons why she liked him without making a fool of himself.

“Gereon?” Charlotte rubbed his chin with her thumb. “Are you calculating the electricity bill? Or proving a theorem in your head?” She pushed herself up on her toes, caught his earlobe with her teeth and sucked it into her mouth, sending a shiver all the way through his body. “Any chance of getting you to swap your maths for something a little more physical?”

Her playful comments and bold actions brought him back to reality. While he was grappling with self-doubt, overwhelmed by a whirlwind of awkward questions, she was unhurriedly removing his garments, one after another. Now he was almost naked, and Charlotte was still fully dressed. Pure desire was written all over her face. No signs of disappointment or repulsion, only thrill and impatience. Did she really want him as much as wanted her?

“May I… help you?” Gereon cautiously traced his finger along the row of buttons on the front of her blouse.

She was nodding before he finished speaking, “Yes please.”

Was there a way to distract Charlotte’s attention from his flaws? To share this moment with her and make her feel good? He couldn’t just keep standing in front of her like a pillar of salt and let his insecurities ruin everything again.

"Be careful with your bride-to-be," Charlotte giggled when he ripped off a loose button trying to undo her blouse.

"No way!” Gereon picked up on her joke. “Now that we have my godmother’s blessing, I’m going to be unstoppable."

He wasn’t very skilful at undressing women and needed Charlotte’s help to unfasten, unhook and unclasp her clothes. It was a little frustrating and discouraging, but he was determined to overcome the challenge all the same.

“I’ll have to practise more before I learn to remove everything gracefully,” he mumbled apologetically, and Charlotte gave him a sly smile, as if saying that she wouldn’t mind that at all.

When Gereon finally took her to bed, he was completely naked, and she was wearing only her undergarments and stockings. He rolled them down slowly, playing with her hips, gliding his hands languidly up and down her thighs.

“I’ve been dreaming about this since we danced in Holländer,” he confessed.

“Oh, really?” Charlotte gaped at him, pretending to be shocked at his words, but her slightly flushed face revealed that, in fact, she was glad to hear such a confession.

Gereon placed his lips on hers again, keeping his hands on her thighs. Another open-mouthed kiss made them both breathless. Charlotte let him do things his way, curious to discover what else he had been craving.

He leaned over her and carefully eased her out of her brassiere. He wanted to feel her bare chest against his, to feel her heart beating close, to check whether their heartbeats were synchronised. He held her tightly in his arms and nuzzled her neck somewhere under her ear, inhaling the scent of her hair and skin. She smelt nice. Like white flowers in the rain. That delicate, soft and creamy fragrance was not a soap or perfume she used, but her own natural scent.

After a new series of kisses Gereon pulled away from her and touched her chest. He felt her nipples brush against his palms and rubbed her breasts in circles as gently as he could. Charlotte grazed his arms with her nails in response, letting him know that she was enjoying his tender fondling. Her pleasure should come first, today and always. He wouldn’t abuse her body, treating it like a prop or maul her breasts like an overeager youngster. By tacit agreement, they didn’t hurry things along, even though they were both extremely aroused.

Gereon continued exploring her body with his mouth and hands. He tentatively trailed his hand down to her lace-trimmed tap pants and started tugging them down. She lifted her hips off the bed, helping him to remove them.

“May I…?” he was too embarrassed to finish his question. Instead he lowered his gaze, the hint of a blush creeping up to his cheeks.

Charlotte nodded and spread her legs, letting him go down on her. He loved her heady scent, her wetness and softness. He could feel her heat and pulse right under her smooth, pale skin. He was eager to please Charlotte but had no clue what exactly he was supposed to do and what might work for her. Did she like it fast and hard right away, or did she prefer more of a build-up? He decided to go slowly and listen to her physical and verbal responses.

When Charlotte arched her back in a way that moved his tongue away from its current manoeuvre, he softened his approach and tried a different spot.

“Right there,” she purred and guided him closer to where she needed him most.

He applied more targeted pressure and movement, paying attention to the tactile sensations of his tongue and making sure that he was staying where she wanted him to be.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes!” she answered without a shadow of hesitation. “I’ve been dreaming about it since we danced in Holländer.”

That was the best possible encouragement. It gave him the confidence to go on. Charlotte locked her thighs around his head and ran her fingers through his hair as he gradually increased the pressure again. Her quiet incoherent moans made him unbearably hard. It wasn’t easy for him to ignore his erection and focus on doing his best with his tongue, lips and fingers, but he firmly decided to stay down there for as long as it took.

The raw sensual intimacy of the act was exhilarating. Quite soon Charlotte was helplessly grabbing fistfuls of sheets, her breathing got shallower and her hips bucked as the waves of pleasure washed over and over her. Gereon carried on steadily until she couldn’t take it any longer, until her body convulsed and she reached her climax.

He didn’t bother to hide his contented smile, proud of his accomplishment. He had been able to get past his uneasiness and satisfy her orally, even though he had never performed anything like that on a woman before. Charlotte had taught him to break taboos and release the emotions and cravings that he had been suppressing for many years.

Charlotte knew he was desperate to penetrate her and though she was still very sensitive, she claimed that she was ready to continue. She quickly switched her position, turning her back on him and inviting him to take her from behind.

“I want more of you, Gereon.”

“Can you take more?” He didn't know if women could get turned on straight after they’d got off (he couldn’t), and he didn’t want her to feel sore. He hated the idea that Charlotte might put pressure on herself, feeling obliged to perform for him.

“I need you inside now. I’m all yours,” she peered at him over her shoulder, begging him to go on.

These phrases and the sultry tone of her voice drove him crazy. All his fears and doubts were immediately forgotten. He pressed himself against her wetness and slid his full length in with one easy glide. Charlotte gasped in surprise at being filled so quickly, and he held still for a moment, allowing her to adjust. She squeezed and released her inner muscles, eliciting a deep groan from him. He began thrusting her from behind, keeping her steady with one hand and caressing her breasts with another.

“Just like that, don’t stop,” she sucked in a shuddering breath, shaking with need.

He rutted into her firmly but gently, supporting her weight, and Charlotte was able to guide him to angles that were beneficial for both of them. She touched him and herself where their bodies joined, steadily leading them to the finishing line.

His grip was tight around her when he came, provoked by her strong inner contractions. Their climaxes aligned and they peaked simultaneously, which was seemingly impossible, yet totally unavoidable. Their bodies were sweating and shivering in response to the intensity of the sensation. Gereon kissed the nape of her neck one more time before withdrawing, expressing his gratitude for the fulfilling release. Once again, they had had a blissful experience, and he was as much hers as she was his.

It took them a while to calm down and get under the covers. Gereon spooned Charlotte and closed his eyes again. They fitted together perfectly. In every sense.

"That felt so good. I don’t deserve it," he said, resting his lips between her shoulder blades.

"You deserve good things," she took his hand and interlocked their fingers over her stomach, "And I feel the same."

A minute later Gereon found himself falling into a peaceful slumber. If he made her feel half as good as she made him feel, he couldn't be a total failure. Of course, he wasn’t a great lover by any means, but not utterly useless in bed either. And he was willing to improve.

"I’m so happy and so scared,” Charlotte whispered into her pillow and squeezed his hand lightly. "We don’t have much time… I don’t want to lose you."

Chapter Text

Gereon and Charlotte spent a few evenings discussing the possible goals and outcomes of Anno’s destructive psychotherapy sessions. They came to the conclusion that coming off the drugs would be the only way to get rid of their harmful influence and gradually obtain independence and freedom. Pharmaceutical substances enabled Anno to put Gereon into a hypnotic trance, establish control over his mind and manipulate him, changing his behavioural patterns and attitudes.

However, that plan was far easier to make than to execute, as Gereon’s addiction had deep roots, and over the past decade his drug consumption had become compulsive. If Gereon had once carried vials with morphine with him and used them when circumstances became critical and he needed to tame his shaky hands and deal with manifestations of panic attacks, the situation had now turned upside down. His hands trembled, and he felt sick if he didn’t have his drug injections as scheduled.

Charlotte couldn’t come up with any practical advice on getting clean, although she did have personal experience with recreational drugs and knew some of their effects on the human mind and body. She had been snorting crack for years, mainly when doing shifts in nightclubs and serving patrons in sadomasochistic playrooms. One line was enough to turn off her senses for some fifteen or twenty minutes and endure whatever act they wanted to perform on her. Soon she learnt that crack provided only an illusion of salvation that came at a price.

If Charlotte took a few doses during the evening, she felt terribly exhausted and drained the following morning, not to mention anxious and irritable. She gradually started losing her sense of smell and noticed that her nose was runny all the time, even though she didn’t have any signs of persistent flu. She connected those changes with her excessive use of crack and immediately cut down. When she made the decision, it wasn’t difficult for her to follow it through.

Since quitting prostitution she had snorted crack just once. It happened in Holländer, when she went out dancing with Vera Lohmann. The girls’ night out she’d rather forget than remember. Vera treated Charlotte to crack and the most expensive champagne, and then tricked her into her first and only lesbian experience, which was both thrilling and daunting. Charlotte liked Vera and had certainly admired her beauty (and also her lavish outfits and jewellery) before, but it was a fascination, rather than an attraction.

On the dance floor, Vera called her a cutie pie, touched her rather playfully and demanded real kisses on the mouth. When she invited herself to Charlotte’s place for a sleepover, Charlotte didn’t mind. They only laughed at Toni’s astonished face when she woke up to their moans and giggles and found a stranger under the blanket beside her. Embarrassment and shame came to Charlotte later that morning, when she was sober enough to realise what she had done. She had let her friend go down on her in the bed she shared with her younger sister. That was gross and improper, even for someone as sexually liberated as Charlotte. Not something she would normally do. She firmly decided never to mix crack and champagne ever again.

None of her drug-related stories and experiences could be of any use to Gereon, and she preferred to keep them to herself. It was clear that going cold turkey on the injections was a bad option for him, because he had to carry on working, keeping up with his daily tasks at the Burg. They agreed that he would rather try coming off the drugs gradually.

*

Gereon thought that the evening shot might be easier to cut out, but without it he got restless at night and suffered from anguish and insomnia. When he somehow managed to drop off to sleep, he had nightmares and his rest was frequently disturbed. Besides, he sweated profusely, had disgusting hot flushes and suffered from painful leg cramps. Charlotte couldn’t sleep properly either, and at 3 o’clock in the morning she suggested going to the kitchen for a smoke and some mint tea.

She started a small fire in the stove using the previous day’s newspaper and some dry kindling. When the fire was burning hot, she added a small amount of coal and waited for it to ignite. Gereon watched her sitting on the floor in front of the stove, and it suddenly struck him that Helga had never got up at night to be with him or to make him tea when he was troubled by nightmares or insomnia. Not even once. She always stayed asleep while he wandered around the flat like a ghost, trying not to make noise when bumping into the walls and furniture. Charlotte was different. All these small things she did for him showed that she cared.

It took her a while to get the coals to catch fire, and she looked pleased when they were finally burning with a blue flame. The stove heated the kitchen nicely, giving it a homely and cosy feel. Charlotte placed a pot of water on the stove and lit her cigarette. Then she went up to Gereon, ran her hand through his hair in a gentle caress and took a seat at the table, ready for another difficult conversation.

“So,” her voice was low yet very soft, “What’s eating away at you the most? Do you think you could tell me?”

After a moment of hesitation Gereon let his guard down and whispered a short word, “Guilt.”

“Do you feel guilty because you left Anno behind on the battlefield?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes, but not only that. All the other sins I have committed.” His furrowed brow and contorted mouth revealed his angst and pain.

It hurt Charlotte to hear him sound that way, but she knew that Gereon didn’t need her pity or anyone else’s. He only needed to see things from a different angle.

“Think logically. There was nothing you could do to save Anno because the French detained you almost right away.”

“That’s true,” he looked away and nodded, “But he was calling my name, and I just turned my back on him and ran away. I didn’t even try.” Gereon clamped his teeth over his bottom lip so hard that it bled.

Charlotte gave him a quick, concerned glance, found a clean napkin in the kitchen dresser and carefully pressed it to his lip. She kept it there for a while until it had stopped bleeding. Little by little, she was learning to interpret his small gestures and idiosyncrasies, and to distinguish when he needed space and privacy and when he wouldn’t mind her reaching out and offering him some comfort.

The kettle was boiling. Charlotte took it off the stove, poured hot water over the dry mint leaves and let the tea steep.

“I don’t like the notion of sin,” she said, stepping back into their conversation. “I’d rather believe in destiny. But if we use your terminology, well, usually sins you commit correspond with the evil things that are done to you. When someone uses force or violence against you, you either counter it with force of your own, or you die like a martyr.”

Gereon had spoken about these moral dilemmas only with the priest, but those conversations had never brought him peace, quite the opposite. He opened his mouth to say something about redemption and turning the other cheek, but then decided against it and remained silent.

“Let’s put things in perspective,” she suggested. “Anno was mean to you in childhood, and when you grew up, he swooped in on the girl you fancied. Later in the army, was he supportive at all? Did he help you with anything?” Gereon slowly shook his head and she resumed, “You were very young, you were a new soldier, and he was an officer. He was supposed to be rooting for you, to be your shield, but instead he hurt you in every way possible - deliberately!”

“Whatever. He’s still my brother,” Gereon muttered.

“Right. But Anno only remembered that when he was in an emergency and needed your help,” Charlotte reminded him. “I’m not saying you made the right choice or the wrong one at the time. But what you did was totally understandable under the circumstances.”

Gereon nodded, obviously still unsure about that interpretation. Charlotte filled two cups with steaming mint tea and sat down at the table again.

“I hate myself for being a coward,” Gereon’s voice reflected his immense self-loathing.

“You are not a coward,” Charlotte countered. “Remember when I was under water, I gave in, I was ready to die, I asked you to leave me, and I meant it, really,” her voice cracked. “But you set me free God knows how, and then on the shore I was dead… I wasn’t breathing, I couldn’t feel anything, not even pain. Only darkness and numbness. And you brought me back.”

“I still don’t know how I did it,” he averted his eyes, reluctant to admit that he had saved her life, and sipped thoughtfully on his tea.

“Neither do I, but you did it. And here I am. Here with you, against the odds. Not in a mass grave at Friedrichsfelde, not in some anatomical theatre, liver and kidneys on one tray, lungs and heart on another.”

“Gosh! That’s what you were thinking,” Gereon stared at her, terrified.

“When our mother died, Ilse wanted to donate her body to Charité, so I’m under no illusion about what she would do to mine,” Charlotte explained and continued, “Under different circumstances, you make different choices. You are a human being, Gereon, capable of being gracious but also duplicitous. And let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”

Charlotte was probably right. Gereon was constantly fighting against his circumstances, seeking to transcend them and yet being defeated. Would it be wiser to let things happen how they were meant to be? He thought of all that Charlotte had been through and all that he had been through. All the troubles they had faced, together and apart, to end up with each other. Charlotte said she felt no remorse for what she had done in the past, whereas he had condemned himself to living a life of perpetual sin, carrying an enormous burden of guilt on his shoulders. Every single day he asked God to forgive him, but why couldn’t he accept God’s forgiveness?

“I’ve committed more sins than the average man,” Gereon seemed to be answering the question he had just asked inside his head. “Mortal sins.”

“Who is that average man who you appointed as a benchmark?” Charlotte sneered.

“I killed the priest,” Gereon said.

“First, he wasn’t a priest but a bandit, and a particularly vicious one at that. Second, you were drugged, your drink was spiked, so it wasn’t your fault. And please don’t say it was wrong to swap the bullets. What else could you do? You chose to swim rather than to sink, and it’s perfectly fine like that.”

“Alright, but what about the perjury? I said the communists attacked the police on the first of May, but that’s not true. The police were sent to subdue the peaceful protest and used more force than necessary. As a result, over thirty innocent people died for nothing. Many got beaten and thrown in jail.”

“I didn’t know that,” Charlotte frowned. “Anyway, I don’t think your evidence played a key role at the trial. It was Zörgiebel who ordered blood to be spilt, and eventually he resigned. So why put the blame on yourself? As a police officer, you’re obliged to obey orders from above, even if you disagree with them.”

Gereon was short of arguments again. If Charlotte was right and he had done what he was supposed to do, then why couldn’t he justify so many of his choices and actions to himself? The answer was right on the surface. He had a troubled conscience because he wasn’t acting according to Christian values and was constantly breaking God's commandments. It wasn’t just about human blood on his hands, but about many other mistakes that he had made over the years.

“I wasn’t faithful to Helga,” Gereon had no idea why he was mentioning that to Charlotte. He didn’t even feel particularly guilty for sleeping with other women, snatching an opportunity every now and then.

“Didn’t she choose Anno over you?” Charlotte sounded calm and restrained but avoided his eyes. “And then Alfred Nyssen.”

“True. Whatever I come up with, you always have the perfect counterargument,” Gereon managed a crooked smile.

“Gereon, you are you, and you are enough. Or would you like to be a man of strong moral principles like Böhm?” she was teasing him again, but he wasn’t upset by her remarks. They emerged from genuine insight into who he was and helped him to notice his excesses. “A morally compromised lady like me definitely relates more to a morally grey gentleman than to a hypocritical swine in a white coat.”

“I’ve never thought of things that way before,” Gereon admitted. He liked it that Charlotte addressed issues so bluntly and showed them to him in a totally different light.

“Even though one can’t be an angel, one mustn’t become a demon. That’s my only guideline. Perhaps you could follow it too. Don’t make things more complicated than they are.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the alarm clock. A new day was just about to start, and they had to leave for work soon.

“We’ve had less than three hours’ sleep tonight,” Gereon rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. “It’ll be a tough day.”

“We’ll be fine,” Charlotte patted his cheek and kissed him on the forehead. “Maybe tomorrow you could try skipping your morning shot instead of the evening one.”

**

Despite his exhausting withdrawal symptoms, Gereon was determined not to give in. He followed Charlotte’s advice and decided to have his evening shot as scheduled, but to avoid drugs in the morning. In that way, he slept much better at night, but then by the afternoon his cravings grew really strong, causing him confusion and heart palpitations. He had no appetite and couldn’t force himself to eat anything for breakfast or lunch. At the Burg, Charlotte kept her eye on him, and every time she saw him checking whether his hands were trembling or not, she came over and distracted his attention. Usually she succeeded, as they always had plenty of work to do.

Throughout the day Gereon experienced major mood swings, going from friendly and chatty to bitter and reserved. He tried not to take his frustration and anger out on Charlotte, as he fully acknowledged that she was doing her best to support him and that without her encouragement, he would never be able to go through the whole withdrawal process. Slowly but surely, his mind and body were adjusting to functioning without frequent injections of drugs. In less than a week Gereon began to notice steady and tangible progress. He even dared to believe that there was a tiny glimpse of light at the end of the dark tunnel. That perhaps he wasn’t a completely hopeless case.

Gereon was surprised at how patient and kind Charlotte was with him. Quite often he deprived her of sleep, and for many days he didn’t feel like being intimate with her. But she didn’t show the slightest sign of disapproval and was ever so understanding and attentive to his needs. She was incredibly nurturing and protective of him and did everything in her power to get him through that hard period. During the working day she brought him lemonade, almond milk and his favourite vanilla ice cream so that his blood sugar levels wouldn't crash. In the evenings she cooked chicken broth, smooth carrot purée or warm apple sauce with cinnamon and fed him like a child, allowing his body to heal and keeping his metabolism going.

Every day they grew closer, nearer, more emotionally entangled with each other. Sometimes he didn’t have to say things aloud, as she could read him like a book, easily perceiving his thoughts and feelings, and acknowledging his needs before he was aware of them himself.

After two weeks of struggle Gereon learned to live with just one injection a day. For the first time he agreed to accompany Charlotte for lunch and managed to eat a portion of potato soup and a piece of buttered rye bread. When his bowl was empty, Charlotte raised her fist in a victory gesture.

“Well done!” she exclaimed. “I knew you could do it.”

“We can do it,” he amended her words and gave her a grateful smile. All the credit had to go to Charlotte, who had been backing him, pushing him forward and forbidding him to surrender. She had seized him by the collar and dragged him away from the easy trap that Anno had laid for him.

***

Charlotte, meanwhile, was clenching her teeth, trying to stay strong and to hide even the slightest shadow of doubt. They were moving forward, step by step, but she knew that there was still a long way to go, and that they were getting short of time. She cared about Gereon so deeply that she could actually feel his pain, mental as well as physical. It became her own pain, and she did something she had never done before: she silently prayed in her head, asking God to relieve their suffering.

Gereon’s sensitivity and need for reassurance made him both demanding and draining, and she often felt empty, giving him every last bit of her energy without receiving anything in return. But when Charlotte looked into his haunted green eyes, she knew for sure that she was in love with him. Love gave her the strength to endure the hardship, fatigue and pain. Although she had recently admitted her feelings for Gereon to herself, she never entertained any dreams or ideas about their possible shared future.

In this stage of life their coexistence made sense, but if Gereon ever got out of his mess and beat his drug addiction, he would definitely need a different kind of woman beside him. A decent and educated one. From a privileged background, with immaculate manners and fluent French. With a solid command of Latin too. A softly spoken and respectful Catholic woman, who would never miss Mass on Sundays or Holy Days, who would be sweet, obedient and submissive to him. An appropriate wife from the upper middle class who could be introduced to his family and friends, who would give their future children a proper upbringing. She was not that woman, Charlotte knew all too well.

Sooner or later she would be ready to step aside, to settle back into the position of Gereon’s comrade and colleague, to pack her few belongings into her old, shabby suitcase and move out of his flat, pride intact. She would accept whatever Gereon could offer her, never becoming a burden.

Charlotte didn’t mind being of less importance to him than his future wife, children and work. She could live with it, as long as he was happy. If only he still cared about her even a little, if only they still had their special tiny moments, smiles, jokes, lunches in Aschinger, maybe some guilty stolen pleasures, on rare occasions and discretely, behind the scenes. Whenever she thought about the inevitable conclusion of their affair, she felt a suffocating heaviness in her chest. One day it would be over, and she would be all alone in the world again.

****

Gereon never thought he would become so addicted to Charlotte’s presence. He could fall asleep only when she was lying next to him, warm and safe, spooning against his back or resting her head on his chest. They always held each other close, and he knew that she wouldn’t let nightmares destroy his peace. When he had a bad dream, Charlotte noticed how his body got stiff and how his breath quickened, and she woke him. They talked and smoked, and then kissed, and that ritual never failed to calm his jagged nerves.

They existed as a unit, at work, at home, everywhere. He treasured their mornings, their evenings, each and every one of their conversations and their silences too. He wanted to hold her forever and never let go. His deep and abiding affection for Charlotte made him jealous and insecure. Possessive. Unwilling to share her with others. He hated it when other men gazed after her or made flirty comments or smiled at her. And then he hated himself for being so obsessive and pathetic.

Albert Haas, a young colleague from the Firearms Unit was clearly enamoured with Charlotte. The stout red-haired guy with bulging, fishy eyes and protruding front teeth arrived at their office every Monday and Thursday before 2 o'clock and invited Charlotte to follow him to the shooting range. As if she was unable to find her way without his guidance. Charlotte was interested in firearms handling and shooting, so she attended these training sessions eagerly, often staying at the range longer than scheduled. Once, when working on difficult shooting positions, the irritating moron had wrapped his arm around Charlotte. Gereon saw it when he came to fetch her at 3 o'clock sharp. Somehow he managed to choke back his anger without making a scene, but he still shot daggers at Albert-the-Horny-Hare.

Another horrid young man, Rudi, winked at Charlotte every time they visited the morgue, undressing her with his bold, lustful eyes, chasing her down the corridors. Charlotte never encouraged him, but he was persistent in trying to attract her attention with trifling jokes and frivolous remarks. Unlike Haas, this one was handsome, self-confident and (according to his claims) a superb dancer. Rudi missed Charlotte’s company in the clubs where they used to spend wild nights dancing and drinking, back when Jänicke was still around. Gereon ignored Rudi, never greeted him or addressed him, pretending that the annoying clown was nothing more than a blank space.

Gereon couldn’t stand the idea of someone coming between him and Charlotte. A man better than himself, healthier, taller, cleverer. He felt threatened by the fact that he might lose her, and that sometimes it felt inevitable. She was too kind-hearted, too beautiful, too smart for him.

Helga, the woman he had loved for so many years, had left and betrayed him twice, and Gereon was afraid that the same could happen again. After all, Charlotte was not obliged to tolerate his weaknesses and failures. Gereon hid his insecurities and jealousy, but she easily saw past the surface, getting into the secret chambers of his mind and carefully observing what was going on in there. Of course, Charlotte had noticed that he was burnt up with jealousy, but she was delicate enough not to raise the issue.

*****

Every aspect of Gereon’s life improved after getting together with Charlotte. His flat became much cosier after she moved in, as if she had breathed life into it. She arranged a small reading nook in the empty corner of the living room using a woollen rug folded in half, a couple of floor cushions and a standing lamp. Gereon hung one more bookshelf on the wall, specifically for the books she borrowed from the library. Marta the Doll and Otto the Teddy got their spots on the shelf too. He liked to watch Charlotte curled up in that little nest, focused on her reading, calm and comfortable. Sometimes with a cup of tea and a small plate of apple slices, raisins and honey-roasted nuts.

In the past Charlotte couldn’t read as much as she wanted because she was busy working days and nights. When she lived in the barracks, her large family was constantly making noise, rendering any intellectual activity impossible. Charlotte had been dreaming about having a private corner for quality reading time for years and finally got it in Gereon’s flat. She borrowed books on forensics, criminal law and procedure, plugging her knowledge gaps and updating Gereon on recent changes in legislation if he had happened to miss some. He enjoyed their evening discussions rather a lot and quickly came to the conclusion that intellectual compatibility with a woman was of no less importance to him than having a matching sex drive.

His communication with Helga had often resembled a dialogue between the deaf and the dumb. If he tried to engage her in any remotely intellectual conversation, she got irritated and bored. Talking about politics and finance or about crimes and criminals was absolutely out of the question. If he mentioned something he had done at work, she pressed both hands to her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, begging him to stop pouring horrible things out to her. Helga either gossiped about the old acquaintances she had back in Köln or browsed through the mail order catalogues, asking his opinion on whether to invest in a fashionable steam mop or buy a bog-standard one instead. Gereon was sure that that kind of interaction between men and women was fairly normal, that his partner was not supposed to share any of his interests. Until Charlotte proved that he could have the whole package.

*

One night Gereon noticed that Charlotte was unable to tear herself from a thrilling new book and was still up past their usual bedtime. At 12 o’clock he hunkered down near her, put his hand on her knee and gave her a little smile: “Is it “The Revised Penal Code” you’re studying so attentively? Seems like you won’t go to bed until you’re done with it.”

Charlotte was embarrassed to confess that this time she was reading fiction, “Captain Blood” by Rafael Sabatini. She produced a meek, apologetic grin, closed the book and headed to the bathroom, thinking that Gereon probably considered her a silly thing for wasting so many hours on something as impractical and useless as a pirate story.

Later, in the darkness of the bedroom, they lay on their sides facing each other in a loose embrace. Gereon stroked up and down along Charlotte’s spine, and she stretched like a cat in response, releasing the tension in her tight muscles.

“Do you like nautical novels?” he wondered in a quiet, sleepy voice.

“Yes,” Charlotte admitted. “It would be wonderful to see the sea one day.”

“Haven’t you ever been to the sea?” Gereon was genuinely surprised at the fact.

“Never. Have you?”

“A few times. Before I was drafted, I was planning to enrol at the Hamburg Seamen’s School. To become a skipper.”

“But you never made it there, right?” Charlotte asked.

“No. During the war the British fleet kept up a blockade of Germany in the North Sea, and the school couldn’t arrange practical training for their students.”

“And after?”

For a couple of minutes Gereon remained silent, and Charlotte thought he had fallen asleep, leaving her question unanswered. But she was wrong. Gereon shifted position, rolling from his side onto his back, and gently pulled her against his chest, so that she was slightly on top of him. She loved how it felt to be wrapped in his arms.

“After the war Anno didn’t come back home. I returned alone. My father wouldn’t have let me move to Hamburg. Or become a seaman… He suggested that I studied Law in Bonn, but I decided to stay in Köln.”

“And join the police force?”

“Yes,” there was a distinct trace of bitterness in Gereon’s voice, as if he still regretted that decision.

“It was surely for the better,” Charlotte tried to clear the mood. “I would never have had the chance to meet you at sea. Only at the Burg.”

For a while, her fingertips grazed his wrist in a quiet, calming motion, as if she wanted to memorise the rhythm of his pulse. Then she made a subtle movement, reaching for him and giving him a kiss on the mouth, feather-soft and tentative, “Sleep tight, Gereon.”

Si ça ce n'est pas de l'amour alors l’amour n’existe pas, Gereon thought to himself, subconsciously hiding his revelation from Charlotte, aware of her ability to overhear some of his inner monologues. He closed his eyes and exhaled. His routine of falling asleep listening to Charlotte’s breathing carried on.

**

Maybe it was the long-awaited evening injection or the miraculous effect of Charlotte’s presence, but Gereon drifted off to sleep easily and quickly. His night’s rest wasn’t disrupted even once, and he had a pleasant, colourful dream.

He got whisked off into a bright summer day and found himself on the seashore at low tide. The sun shone warmly upon his face, and a cool breeze messed up his hair. Just standing barefoot on the sand and gazing at the horizon made his mind relaxed and joyful.

The sea was smooth and limitless. Gereon could easily spend hours watching the waves that extended as far as his eyes could see. They rose up, rolled forwards and splashed into themselves, hitting the beach and then retreating. There was nothing to obstruct their steady movements. No man had power over the sea, only the moon and the sun did. The briny scents of sea air, sand and seaweed soothed his nerves. He finally freed himself from all his old doubts and worries, let go of his fear and anxiety.

The languid splash of the tide was accompanied by the loud screams of seagulls, and a sudden gust of wind carried distant sounds of human speech. He turned around to face the vast, secluded beach and noticed two figures sitting on the sand, half hidden among the coastal dunes. Gereon walked slowly towards them.

Charlotte, his darling, looked the same as ever, adorable and delightful. She was wearing a tiered white cotton dress with short puff sleeves and her hair was neatly pinned up, showing off her beautiful long neck. Right next to her, he spotted a familiar little boy in a sailor suit. This time he was wearing navy blue shorts and a matching shirt with a striped detachable collar. Gereon had already met him in his previous dream. He called the little fellow “another me”, and she called him Erwin.

Charlotte was chatting with the child and seemed not to have noticed Gereon coming. He approached her without making a sound, kneeled behind her and draped his arms around her waist. She giggled and closed her eyes, enjoying their closeness and his touch. He kissed her lightly on the neck and held that position for a while longer, giving her some tender loving care.

“Our castle is ready,” the boy pointed proudly at the architectural marvel he had built with Charlotte.

They had constructed a grandiose sand fortress using only their four hands, a shovel and a bucket of water. The building was at least half a metre high, with walls, towers and pillars, and it was surrounded by a moat with a drawbridge fashioned out of a small piece of driftwood. Here and there they had added some tiny details and decorations, sticks, pine cones, shells, pink armeria petals. Matt shards of sea glass represented windows, and flat brown stones were installed in place of doors.

“Very impressive,” Gereon praised him. “You’ve spent a lot of time working on that.”

“It’s a Teutonic castle, built after the conquest of Old Prussia,” the boy explained.

Gereon’s jaw dropped on receiving such an answer from a five-year-old, and Charlotte laughed at his amazement, “It’s from “The Thrifty Guide to Middle Age”. We’ve read that book four times in a row, but it has lost none of its appeal.”

The weather was too chilly for swimming but perfect for a picnic. Charlotte created her own small oasis on the beach. Gereon noticed a checked blue and white blanket spread out over the sand, a mesh bag with the child’s toys and a wicker basket.

“Erwin has found some pretty shells and rocks,” Charlotte beamed. “This big spiral shell with the whorl is such a masterpiece.” She possessed a wonderful ability to find joy in life’s smaller things.

The boy carefully arranged his treasures on the blanket in front of Gereon. “Seems you like these more than the fancy toys that Frau Wildenburg sent for your birthday,” Charlotte patted the boy on the head and affectionately tousled his silky hair.

“May I take them home?” the boy gazed at her questioningly.

“Of course,” she assured him. “We can paint the rocks together if you want. The seashells are lovely as they are. Right?”

Erwin nodded his assent to her proposal and then produced a sly smile, "Is it snack o'clock yet?" 

“It certainly is," Charlotte agreed and turned to Gereon. "Darling, could you please pour some water on our hands?” he liked that soft tone of voice she always used when asking him for a favour.

Gereon opened the lid of the picnic basket and was amazed at how much Charlotte had managed to fit inside. A couple of water bottles, mugs, napkins, a paper bag with snacks and even a miniature first-aid kit. He poured some water on their hands, and they thanked him politely.

Charlotte took three pewter mugs and the snack bag out of the basket. She arranged apples, grapes and sandwiches on the napkin, “Help yourselves!”

Erwin was a little clumsy grabbing his sandwich and it fell out of his hand. The buttered bread got sandy and the whole sandwich was wrecked. The boy got very upset and almost burst into tears.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Charlotte gently touched Erwin on the shoulder. “We can brush the sand off this one and feed it to the seagulls. They’ll be happy. And you may have another sandwich, just try to be more careful.”

***

The ruthless alarm clock interrupted Gereon’s lucid dream. He wanted to stay there forever. He refused to open his eyes and could still feel the chilly sea breeze in his face and see the endless waves extending far into horizon. And he could even hear the distant sound of Erwin’s voice telling them something exciting about the Templars and the Hospitallers.

Too bad that Gereon couldn’t cling onto the dream for much longer; eventually it slipped away. Charlotte was already up, getting herself ready for the day. She had left a warm spot in the bed and Gereon snuggled up in it, pretending that he was lying on the beach blanket, enjoying the sunshine.

Somehow he managed to force his eyes open and come back to reality. He liked watching Charlotte while she was getting dressed, doing her hair and putting on her make-up. There was a certain glance that Charlotte gave herself in the wall mirror when she knew she was looking just right.

“Good morning,” she smiled and bent forward to kiss him. “It’s the first time you’ve slept through the alarm. Are you alright?”

“I might be going insane,” he didn’t have the heart to lie that he was fine. “I have twisted dreams. Because I am twisted.”

Charlotte looked worried but tried to remain cheerful, “Get up and wash your face with some cold water. And I’ll make us a coffee.”

“Thanks. I’ll need some serious coffee to make it through today,” he sighed and headed to the bathroom.

Charlotte was still with him, staying by his side, and together they were more than the simple sum of two parts. She was his strength when he needed it. She gave him confidence and hope when he had none. Some days were harder than others, but he knew that he could always rely on her. On his darling.

****

In spite of Charlotte’s efforts to save the day, the whole world seemed to be against them. They were late for work, and Böhm made a sarcastic comment about them having a busy morning elsewhere. He had made it his mission to embarrass them in front of their colleagues and felt hugely content with the numerous chuckles and snorts that his joke elicited from them.

The new case they were working on didn’t seem too complicated. Two communist students had been shot dead in a south-west Berlin suburb on their way to a party meeting. The motive was clearly political, and it was highly likely that the Nazis were behind the crime. Gereon talked to communists who were close to the victims; one told him that his murdered friend had recently received a threatening letter and mentioned the name Tiwaz. Predictably, the thread led to the National Socialist Party, and Gereon spent a couple of days investigating who might be using that nickname.

Of course, there was a possibility that the letter was unconnected with the murders, but they still had to follow the trail.

“Fräulein Ritter,” Gereon appeared at Charlotte’s desk and addressed her formally, as he always did within the walls of the Burg. “I now know who Tiwaz is. Günter Schulte, a stableman from Lichtenberg. He’s lying low because he knows that the police will come looking for him. His neighbour saw him about two weeks ago, and so did his workmates in the stable. Schulte told them that he’d be travelling to Möckern to take care of his ill mother. He didn’t know when he’d be coming back.”

“He disappeared a few days before the murders,” Charlotte estimated.

“Exactly. Let’s go and search his house.”

“Do we have a warrant?” Charlotte sounded perplexed.

“Not this time,” Gereon frowned. “Getting a warrant would take us forever, given that it has to be signed by a judge. Besides, they need very specific details about the property to be searched and the evidence we’re looking for. And at this point we can’t even be sure that Schulte is linked to the crime. So I suggest we go there, have a quick look around and if we spot something interesting, I’ll apply for the warrant, and we’ll go back another time.”

“I see.” Charlotte was in no position to come up with any questions or contradictions, because Gereon was her superior and he didn’t have to explain or justify his actions to his assistant. Böhm or any other Kommissar from their unit would just tell her to shut up if she dared to ask about the warrant. No, they wouldn’t have allowed her to join them for the search in the first place. Gereon was usually patient in explaining things to her and used the pronoun we, implying that they were a team. It warmed Charlotte’s heart.

“The address is Alzeyweg, 6. Do you know where that is?” Gereon asked.

Charlotte nodded and followed him downstairs. His car was parked near the metro, and they had to walk a couple of hundred metres. Just as they were passing the newspaper stand, a tall figure in a dark, expensive coat blocked their way. The Armenian.

“Herr Kommissar, can I have a word with you?”

Gereon told Charlotte to wait for him in the car and gave her the key.

The Armenian’s gloomy face and the prominent pinch between his brows didn’t augur well.

“You’ve missed two therapy sessions, and our mentor has expressed strong concern. What’s the matter?”

“I’m not accountable to you,” Gereon snapped out. “And right now I’m busy.”

“You’re accountable for your debt, Rath.” Kasabian’s left hand was balled up, his knuckles white under the strain. His right hand was hidden in the pocket of his coat, probably gripping a weapon. “I wouldn’t advise you to go against our mentor. Be sure to arrive for your next appointment on time, otherwise we’ll have to fetch you.”

“Is that a threat?” Gereon ground his teeth helplessly but didn’t pull away.

“Consider it a promise,” the Armenian stepped aside and let him pass. He had delivered his warning.

Gereon knew that Anno would not leave him in peace and that it would only be a matter of time until he sent the Armenian to remind him who he was dealing with. His struggle with drug addiction was a losing battle because it was Anno who made the decisions, not Gereon.

“What did he say?” Charlotte asked when Gereon had got into the car and taken his place behind the steering wheel.

“Just that Anno is waiting for me, nothing else.”

Gereon pushed the accelerator before putting the car into gear, and the engine produced a loud grinding noise. He cursed under his breath, irritated by his stupid mistake.

“What are we going to do?” Charlotte was worrying about him again.

“Let’s talk about it at home. Now we must get back into work.”

*****

Alzeyweg, 6 turned out to be a ramshackle worn cottage located at the end of a quiet street and surrounded by an overgrown garden. They had to fight their way through the waist-high dry nettles and brambles, and Charlotte walked cautiously, hoping that she wouldn’t step on a frog or a snail. The windows of the cottage were boarded up and the door was locked. The house had been built about fifty years ago and didn’t have electricity or running water.

“It looks deserted,” Charlotte said.

Gereon pointed his finger, silently indicating distinct footprints in the mud near the porch.

“It was raining last Sunday, and these footprints were left after the rain. Either yesterday or on Monday. Let’s go in.”

He knocked at the door, and when nobody answered, he let Charlotte open it. She easily popped the lock using a flexible metal shiv, a tool she had obtained long before becoming a criminal assistant. Gereon stepped inside, gripping his handgun tightly, and Charlotte followed him, illuminating the room with a torch. The house was shabby and untidy on the inside too, but it definitely had a lived-in look. They found some leftovers on the kitchen table: a half-eaten bowl of mashed potato, a piece of stale bread and a ham rind. Fat red cockroaches having a lavish feast promptly scattered in all directions, scared by the light.

A small bedroom with squeaky hardwood floors wasn’t of much interest either. A narrow, unmade bed, a Thonet chair without a seat and a cracked full-length mirror resting against the wall. Between the kitchen and the bedroom, they noticed a ledged door that covered the spiral staircase leading to the basement.

“Let’s check out what he’s got down there,” Charlotte proposed.

The basement steps were winding and uneven, and Gereon stretched out his hand to help her down.

“Just a coal room,” said Charlotte, illuminating the cluttered floor and black walls covered in coal dust.

“Wait, what’s that in the far-right corner?” Gereon asked.

Charlotte took a few steps forward and pointed the torch there.

“God!” she gulped nervously.

Just behind the heap of coal was a large pool of blood and the headless body of a fluffy black and white cat. Charlotte felt nauseated and instinctively pressed her palm against her mouth in attempt to prevent herself from throwing up.

Gereon was also taken aback. The dark windowless house, the stinky cluttered basement and the sight of blood caused him severe anxiety. He sensed that a panic attack was quickly coming on. A terrible tightness in his chest made it hard to breathe. It was both dizzying and suffocating. His heart was pounding, he was sweating and trembling.

Charlotte turned around and noticed the dramatic change in his condition. She grabbed him by the sleeve and nudged him towards the stairs, “Let’s get out of here! Hurry up!”

But Gereon was already disoriented, rapidly losing control of his body, unable to move or answer. He collapsed on the dirty floor and was overwhelmed by a seizure. The pistol dropped out of his hand.

To her horror, Charlotte realised that they were no longer alone in the house. Fast, heavy footsteps were echoing somewhere above their heads, and she distinguished a familiar clicking sound. Someone was loading a gun.

They were stuck in the coal room, and the basement door had been carelessly left ajar. Gereon was stretched out on the floor shaken by convulsions, and now their lives depended on her. She decisively grabbed Gereon’s pistol, hastily recollecting all the useful guidelines that Herr Haas from the Firearms Unit had taught her. Then she switched off the torch and took a long, deep breath. The stakes were high, and she couldn’t afford any weakness.

Charlotte held the pistol firmly with two hands and placed her index finger on the trigger, pointing towards the staircase. First she saw a flash of light, and then huge muddy leather boots came down the stairs. They belonged to a tall, broad man wearing a brown military-style uniform and holding a short-barrelled rifle. Charlotte knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was going to shoot them both. The man’s yellow, vulture-like eyes rested upon her for a moment; he clearly hadn’t expected to find an armed woman waiting for him in his basement. And that fraction of a second was enough for Charlotte to fire a precise shot at his forehead. The man swayed and almost immediately dropped dead at her feet.

On hearing the shot, Gereon stopped trembling and started to regain consciousness. Charlotte had inhaled gun smoke and Gereon could hear her coughing nearby, but she was not wounded, he realised. She picked up the torch and checked on Gereon.

“I killed him,” she gasped.

Charlotte was shaky and shocked but able to help Gereon to his feet and out of the basement. They escaped from the ominous house and sat down on the porch leaning on each other, breathing heavily and squinting in the bright sunlight.

“I killed him,” she repeated, unable to move beyond that horrible fact.

“No, I did,” Gereon objected. “You don’t have a gun licence yet.”

*

In less than an hour they were back at the Burg and sent Gräf, Czerwinski, Henning and Lehmann, a criminalist from the Forensics Unit, to Alzeyweg, 6 to identify the body and collect any evidence that might be relevant for the investigation. The worst part – giving an oral report to Gennat – was still to come. They agreed to say that it was Gereon who had shot Schulte but kept all other circumstances truthful. Obviously without mentioning the panic attack.

“You shot him on sight during a home invasion while searching his property without a warrant!” Gennat clearly didn’t approve of such methods. “What rules and regulations prescribe such a procedure?”

“It was an emergency situation, the man was armed. I acted in self-defence,” Gereon felt compelled to justify his actions. Charlotte’s actions. Well, anyway.

“Arguably in excessive self-defence! You could have tried to disarm him, or at least aim somewhere other than his head. Now I owe Regierungsrat Wendt an explanation. That stableman was taking care of his racehorses… until you shot him.”

Even better. It was Wendt’s man.

“Oberkommissar Böhm will look into the case and assess your actions. I’ll inform you of the results of his assessment later this week. Keep working on other cases in the meantime,” Gennat frowned and added, “You may go now.”

They spent the rest of the working day apart, Gereon hiding in his office and Charlotte pretending to be doing paperwork at her desk. He felt guilty for what had happened in the basement, and she was still deeply shocked, having killed someone for the first time in her life. It was a big deal, not just some minor incident that she could easily push out of her head.

At 7 o’clock they were ready to go home. Neither had eaten during the day and both were weak at the knees, drained and dismayed.

When they passed the metro station, Charlotte stopped to pay some attention to a group of little urchins. The poor kids roamed the streets and confronted passers-by, asking for food and money. By the evening they were tired and flocked to the metro entrance, approaching people hurrying home after work. She never gave them money, as she knew that it would be taken by the adults who sent them to beg. Sometimes she bought them cheap crackers or a loaf of bread. The children greedily ripped the bread from her hands, tore it to pieces and stuffed into their mouths, which was truly heart-breaking to watch.

This time she had no food with her, not that she would give them anything when she was with Gereon anyway. A taller boy who was wearing a tattered coat and boots with gaping holes remembered the generous woman who used to feed them and shouted: “Dear Frau, here we are. Come here, please. Please!”

Charlotte glanced briefly at the boy and flashed her palm at him, letting him know that she had no food to share. But then she stumbled and froze on the spot. She recognised the smallest girl of the gang, who was standing shyly behind the loud boy and watching Charlotte silently, with her big grey eyes. It was Klara, Ilse’s daughter.

Gereon didn’t notice that Charlotte had stopped walking and continued strolling on towards his car. When he finally realised that she wasn’t with him and turned around, he saw that she was kneeling in front of a little beggar. He watched her from where he stood, expecting her to join him soon, but Charlotte kept talking to the child, ignoring his presence. After a minute or so she made eye contact with him and waved her hand, asking him to go home without her. Gereon was confused, not understanding what was going on. He stared at Charlotte as she took the girl by the hand and led her to the metro station. She seemed to know the urchin, that was it.

**

Charlotte hadn’t expected to see her niece in the centre of Berlin among the beggars. Why would Ilse let her daughter go so far from where they lived? The girl was barely six, alone on the street, with no-one to look after her. How would she find her way back on her own? And who would help her if she got lost? She decided to take Klara home and talk to Ilse.

Ilse, her husband and their three children rented the corner of a barrack, a disgusting hole in the seedier end of the city. Charlotte had spent many years living in similar places, and there was nothing new to her there. Even so, she held her breath at the terrible stink of boiled cabbage, rotten eggs, dirty toilets and sweat. The walls were covered with grime and the floor was sticky, the whole place gross and off-putting.

Ilse and her family occupied a stuffy two-by-four room right under the eaves. Her sister was at home nursing her two younger children, but Erich was nowhere to be seen. The boys were dirty and very thin. The younger one, still a toddler, had wet pants and a smutty face; he was crawling near the cold oven and playing with lumps of coal. His elder brother was sitting at the table and melancholically running his spoon around an empty porridge bowl.

“Klara was begging on Alexanderplatz,” Charlotte said by way of a greeting.

“You?” Ilse was almost blind and hadn’t noticed that she had a guest. She stared straight ahead and frowned, “What are you doing here?”

“I brought Klara home,” Charlotte explained. “It was terrible to see her begging. Where is Erich?”

“In prison,” Ilse answered. “Arrested for burglary. You came here to accuse me, but who are you to judge, Lotte? I’m blind, I can’t work, but my kids still want to eat, three times a day.”

“I’ll help you out,” Charlotte promised and set a condition, “but Klara must stop begging.”

“We don’t need your charity,” Ilse’s voice sounded bitter. “Every time you turn up with your help, everything falls to pieces. Before the surgery I was able to distinguish at least something, I could work and earn money. But then you dragged me to that butcher, and look, now I’m completely blind.”

“I’m so sorry,” Charlotte whispered.

“I’ll never forgive you, Lotte,” an ugly grimace twisted Ilse’s face when she angrily spat out those hateful words. “And now tell me where Toni is! You promised to take care of her. I haven’t heard from Toni since the autumn.”

“Me neither, she escaped and never came back,” Charlotte said.

“You see?” Ilse got furious and yelled at the top of her lungs. “Everything you touch turns to ashes. You always bring bad luck, Lotte. You always cause trouble. Back off! Go away! I’d rather starve to death than take your filthy money again.”

The younger boy, scared by his mother’s sudden outburst of rage, started screaming piercingly. Soon his brother was screaming and crying too.

Charlotte couldn’t stand the terrible noise; her head was going to explode at any minute. She hastily fished her purse out of her bag and shook all the money she had out on the table, even nickel pfennigs, everything. Then she rushed out of the door, leaving the awful place for good.

***

When Charlotte got home, she felt less cold and hungry and more sad and hurt and broken. She found Gereon in the living room spread out on the couch, his eyes half open and full of hollowness. And of course there was his injection kit, a syringe and an empty vial nearby. He was breathing shallowly and didn’t respond when she called his name. He’d probably taken a double dose. Using drugs had been his only coping mechanism for years, and any highly stressful situation provoked a relapse.

Charlotte headed to the bathroom. She wanted to warm her icy hands with hot water, but Gereon hadn’t heated the boiler, and only cold water ran from the tap. Charlotte looked in the mirror and didn’t recognise herself. Who was that pale woman with messy hair, blemished skin and dark circles around her eyes? A murderer. A monster. A walking disaster.

She sat on the bathroom floor, crying quietly after an inexplicably tough and agitating day, feeling no kindness towards herself. It was she who had murdered the man, it was she who had failed to help her sisters and destroyed their lives. Ilse was right, everything she touched turned to ashes. In spite of her efforts, Gereon wasn’t getting any better, he was incurably ill, and the flicker of light they had seen at the end of the tunnel had turned out to be an approaching train. Their efforts were fruitless. They would be swept away by Anno, or Wendt, or the Nazis, or by Lucifer himself.

Charlotte shook herself off, changed into her nightgown and crawled into bed. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and burrowed down into it. It had been a disastrous day, but soon it would be yesterday, just another fragment of the past. She couldn’t come up with any other soothing words to say to herself and felt tears welling up in her eyes again. She couldn’t fall asleep, overwhelmed by the stack of intrusive images flashing through her mind: a beheaded cat, the dead man’s blood and brain splattered against the wall, cockroaches feasting on the dirty table, lice crawling on Klara’s scalp, Ilse’s face contorted with hatred and spite.

After a couple of agonising, sleepless hours Charlotte heard Gereon’s uncertain footsteps approaching. He had finally snapped out of his stupor and made his way up to bed. He carefully reached out to embrace her, but Charlotte didn’t want to be touched. She jerked away and turned her back on him. This time she had nothing to offer him. No peace of mind, no motherly comfort, no safe haven. The pain that she had been enduring for the last few hours was eating her up inside. At some point, she was completely wrung out from silent crying, curled up in a fetal position and eagerly slipped into deep and dreamless oblivion.

Chapter Text

Engelbert Rath was in a foul mood. He was restlessly pacing up and down his study occupied by gloomy thoughts, and even his favourite Gurkha cigar didn’t taste good that night. Nothing brought him satisfaction anymore. He was abandoned and forgotten, alone in this big empty house that he had built for his family a few decades ago. So many of his dreams had been crushed over the years. So many of his goals remained unachieved. At present, in his old age, only a half-deaf housemaid and a hunchbacked chauffeur kept him company here.

His life had started to go downhill after the war, when his beloved son Anno was reported missing in action. Engelbert had tried to console himself with the hope that Anno would eventually turn up, but he never did. Gereon, that pathetic nonentity, returned home instead. To annoy him, to remind him that all was lost and ruined, that he had no proper successor anymore. His wretched younger son hadn’t inherited any of his traits. He lacked brains, ambition and leadership qualities, he was blunt and stubborn in his bluntness. After ten years of service in the police force, Gereon had reached the rank of Kommissar, he wasn’t even a senior inspector yet. He would certainly just as gladly be a street constable, simply to spite Engelbert, the head of the Police Presidium of Köln.

Every day Engelbert praised Jesus for giving him the strength to overcome the obstacles he encountered. He kept his faith and promised that he wouldn’t give up until his last breath. For years, his biggest source of joy had been Anno’s son Moritz, but in 1929 the boy had moved to Berlin with his mother, and since then he never called or wrote to his grandpa. And never visited Köln either, even though Engelbert repeatedly invited Moritz to come over for the Christmas or Easter holidays. The boy must be too busy with all the exciting activities that Berlin had to offer. Or perhaps it was really that Helga, his former daughter-in-law, didn’t want her son to keep in touch with the Rath family, now that she had recently remarried. She wasn’t mourning for Anno any longer, and when he was officially declared dead, Helga carried on with her life. A short formal telegram was delivered, informing him that from now on she had to be addressed as Frau Nyssen and that her new telephone number was Berlin and then four digits.

Helga didn’t need old Rath’s money or inheritance anymore; her new husband was an industrial magnate who could afford to glue banknotes of the highest denomination to the walls of his residence in place of wallpaper. Helga had lived under Engelbert’s roof for eleven years, but then forgot his generosity surprisingly quickly, tossing him out of her life like a piece of rubbish. All too often, his kindness was requited with ingratitude.

Engelbert breathed a sigh of sorrow and sat down at his writing desk to look through the day’s post. A few bills, his accountant’s report and two personal letters. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. No personal correspondence for months, and now two letters had been delivered on the same day.

The first letter arrived in a silky embossed envelope sealed with wax. It had been sent from Michendorf by Karoline Wildenburg, his late wife's cousin. He thought the old witch had kicked the bucket long ago, but he was apparently wrong. That woman always annoyed him for no particular reason. Or perhaps the reason was that she and her husband were Gereon’s godparents, the only people on the planet who prioritised his younger son over Anno. Would it be wiser to burn her letter unopened and pretend it had got lost in the post?

The Wildenburgs didn’t have children of their own, and they both had a bad influence on his sons. Karoline was notorious for harmful, inappropriate gifts that Engelbert didn’t approve of. Instead of bringing his boys a set of tin soldiers, she had given them a Noah’s ark playset with figures of Noah, his family and the different animals. The ark had a door that opened and a deck that came off so that all the animals could fit inside. She arranged the figures on the carpet of their living room and told his children the Bible story, showing them how to play with the toys and encouraging them to pair the animals up, two by two. Hippos, lions, turtles and antelopes would coexist in peace, she said. Anno, his smart boy, pointed out that it was impossible, because the lion would get hungry and kill the antelopes. Gereon got scared at his words and started weeping. Engelbert wanted to step in and discipline the little sissy, but Karoline raised her hand, telling him that she could handle it on her own. She gave Gereon a hug and assured him that God wouldn’t let the animals kill or hurt each other because he was in control of every detail of Noah’s voyage. They simply had to trust that Jesus would bring harmony and good order to all creatures and would never abandon anyone in need. That ignorant woman had sabotaged Engelbert’s efforts to raise his son to be a real man by allowing him to show his weakness in front of others.

Karoline’s husband, Herr Franz Wildenburg, was also a real oddball. Once when they were visiting the Raths’ house, Franz took his boys to play in the garden (Engelbert never wasted his precious time playing with the children, unless it was a tactical game like chess or poker). Anno suggested they could catch a frog, cut it open and have a look at its guts, but Franz didn’t support his proposal. He said that instead maybe they could try to tame a frog and get it to eat from their hands. Anno laughed at such an absurd idea and walked off. Gereon stayed with his godfather and spent a couple of hours crawling around the pond. They found some crickets and earthworms in the back garden and sat very still as they offered them to the frogs perched on their extended hands. Eventually the frogs became interested in their treats and the bravest one got comfortable sitting on Gereon’s palm. Herr Wildenburg boasted about that achievement with his voice full of pride, as if Gereon had tamed a bear or a tiger.

Engelbert did everything to keep his sons away from Gertraud’s nutty relatives. He hadn’t heard anything from them since his wife’s death, and now he couldn’t think of any reason why they would have decided to approach him. He opened the envelope with his sharp paper knife and found a hand-written letter inside.

“Dear Engelbert,

I hope my letter finds you in the best of health and spirit. Today, on the March equinox, we feel the warm breath of spring, and the long cold winter is finally behind us. It is the zero point from which we shall start moving towards the summer, to beautiful months filled with sunshine and hopes for a better future.

A truly delightful thing happened a few weeks ago. Gereon contacted me and paid me a visit. It was good to see him after all these years, such a handsome and stately man as he is. I was thrilled to discover that he is following in your footsteps, carving out a career in the police force. I imagine you are very proud of him.

Gereon was accompanied by his fiancée, Fräulein Charlotte Ritter, who made a pleasant impression on me. I am fully aware of your concerns about her, as the young woman comes from a humble background and is not a Catholic.

I have every respect for your concern, dear Engelbert. However, it is not good that the man should be alone. Gereon is over thirty years old, and it is high time for him to start a family of his own. Their wonderful engagement will shortly be followed by a memorable wedding, and no doubt you will soon be blessed with little grandchildren. Your important mission would be to raise them as good Catholics.

Gereon and Charlotte feel deep affection for one another; the light of their love illuminated this sad widow’s dwelling. The Bible says that anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. I assure you that they both know God and are following His path.

May I be so bold as to make one suggestion, purely as Gereon’s godmother? Could you try to get to know Charlotte a little better and give her the chance to make an impression on you? I am sure that she respects your spiritual beliefs and will do her best to fit into your honourable family.

Warmest regards,

Karoline Wildenburg”

The sheet of paper dropped out of Engelbert’s hand, which had all of a sudden turned cold and numb. Hypertension, arrhythmia, ventricular fibrillation. He fiercely rang the bell and shouted for his housemaid, “Berta! Hurry up! My heart drops and ammonia, now!”

The medicine brought him relief and his heart rate eased, but he was still suffering from sharp chest pains. How dare Gereon bring his live-in lover to his godmother’s house and introduce her as his fiancée? Was he truly planning to get married to that hooker? Too disgraceful and scandalous even for a dud like him. Engelbert buried his burning face in his hands and rested his head on the desk. It took him a few minutes to recover from the initial shock, but it was quickly replaced by fury and exasperation. He angrily crumpled up Frau Wildenburg’s letter and threw it into the fireplace.

He drew a deep breath and turned to the other letter that was still unopened. Perhaps this one contained good news. Engelbert put on his pince-nez and examined the envelope thoroughly. The sender’s name wasn’t indicated anywhere, and according to the postmark the letter had been sent from Berlin, Mitte. The whole text was written on a typewriter.

“Dear Herr Rath,

My esteemed colleague,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you, but I simply cannot stand idly by, given the current desperate situation that your son Gereon has driven himself into. He truly is on the brink of disaster, and we must take immediate action to save his reputation and possibly his life. The matter is of a delicate nature, and I therefore address you anonymously, so as not to create unnecessary tension between us.

Regrettably, Gereon has been bewitched by a nefarious and dangerous woman. Merely saying her name leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but here it is – Charlotte Ritter. She spent years selling her body (I could have written “and soul”, but that creature has no soul) in the sleaziest brothels around Berlin, where she developed close connections with the underworld. Last year one of the most vicious and influential criminal masterminds of the city helped her to infiltrate the police force, and she was appointed to be your son’s assistant. I am very sure of the circumstances, as my corrupt late colleague Bruno Wolter (who used to be Ritter’s patron as well) supplied her with a false certificate of a clean criminal record. You see, her sticky tentacles reach out to every police department and division, and far beyond.

This infamous young woman is charming and manipulative; she has used her feminine wiles to establish total control over your son, and by now his will has been completely paralysed. A few weeks ago Ritter moved into your son’s flat, and she is now using him for her own ends. Sooner rather than later (if he hasn’t already) Gereon will become involved in criminal activities that will pose a huge threat to his career and to his whole life. In the worst-case scenario, he could end up being arrested, or even killed. That awful woman will stop at nothing! She surely plans to seize your assets and property too, for the scope of her greediness and voracity perfectly match her animalistic appetite.

Yesterday I heard that Gereon had proposed to her, and that Ritter was showing off her new engagement ring with a humongous flashy diamond. This is the last straw, I said to myself. I cannot bear the thought that she plans to smear your good name, my dear Herr Rath. Our colleagues in the Police Presidium are spreading rumours about your son getting married to a whore. They are laughing at his misery and mocking him, but Gereon seems to be blind and deaf, even though his dignity is being openly undermined.

You must now take immediate action to defend your honour before it is too late. I ask you, do not hesitate to act promptly and harshly. No method is too extreme when dealing with a hard-headed, reckless woman with a powerful criminal gang behind her. Do not be misled by her innocent looks and deceitful excuses. Remember, she is a messenger of Satan, a tempting serpent sent to lead your son to sin against God.

If you need any pharmaceutical support, you may contact this reliable pharmacist who I trust in the most sensitive cases: Herr Joren Hingst - Hohe Straße, 22, Köln. He is aware of your possible upcoming request. Mention the secret code word “Dornröschen” when you visit him.

Sincerely,

Your anonymous friend and colleague from Berlin”

Engelbert’s worst suspicions were confirmed. His younger son was not just a feeble-minded idiot, not just a harmless case of low intelligence and mental deficiency. He was insane, a man capable of uncontrollable, impulsive behaviours and actions. Two independent sources had informed him about Gereon’s matrimonial plans, and besides, Engelbert had caught a glimpse of that vile hooker with his own eyes. The threat was real and tangible.

Who this could mysterious anonymous friend from the Berlin police be? Ernst Gennat himself? Probably not, why would he keep Ritter in the Homicide Unit if he knew about her criminal background? It might be someone from the Vice Squad or the Internal Affairs Unit. Someone who knew him personally, most likely from the older generation of officers, and that person had to be connected with Köln, as the last paragraph of the letter suggested a local contact.

Engelbert usually entrusted his inferiors with his dirty work, but this time he had to face and conquer the challenge on his own. He couldn’t involve anybody else, not even his chauffeur. A visit to Herr Hingst would be a good first step. There was not a moment to lose, as the marriage could be registered very soon, perhaps within a week, perhaps tomorrow. His heart was quivering at the prospect, and his chest filled with anxiety and righteous anger. Good Lord, he would have to drive the six hundred kilometres from Köln to Berlin himself, and then come back. He would be fine, he would do it with God’s help. He couldn’t let that sly whore destroy the political career and flawless reputation that he had been building up for decades.

*

When the alarm clock rang at 6 o’clock, Gereon pretended not to hear it. He was lying motionlessly in bed with his eyes closed, waiting for Charlotte to approach him and wake him up. In vain. She was quietly carrying out her morning routine, ignoring the fact that he had slept through the alarm.

Gereon didn’t have the will to get out of bed, face Charlotte and go to work with her. At night she had pushed him away and turned her back on him, something she never did before. It was a clear sign of disapproval, that she didn’t want to be with him. Charlotte’s rejection hurt him so much. He felt lonely, anxious and incredibly sad. What could he do to win her favour again, or was it all lost already?

Even though things between them had worked well until yesterday, Gereon was always expecting to be rejected, watching for it, fearing it. And when it finally happened, he wasn’t much surprised.

Of course, Charlotte had every right to be upset and disappointed with him. He had let her down in a life-threatening situation, and she had needed to defend herself and him, making a fatal decision on her own. She had saved their lives at the expense of someone else’s. Even though the man she had shot was most likely a murderer himself, Gereon knew how terrible it felt to kill a human being for the first time. He would remember the first man he shot forever. It happened during the war. He was on guard one night, and a camouflaged French soldier tried to penetrate the front line, just past his position. Gereon noticed him and shouted “Halt!” and then “Halte-là!”, but the Frenchman didn’t stop. Gereon quickly pointed the rifle at his head and pulled the trigger. The enemy dropped dead.

Gereon’s comrades heard a gunshot and came running to see what had happened. The Frenchman’s face was a bloody mess, and he didn’t have any papers with him, but he could hardly be older than twenty-five. They searched his pockets and found a small blurry photograph of a young woman with a toddler girl on her lap. His wife and child. Gereon was struck by the thought that he was the one who had made that young woman a widow, and even worse, that the child had become an orphan because of him. The girl would never meet her father or find out how he died.

Gereon felt sick and almost vomited, unable to get enough air into his lungs. Anno promptly arrived on the scene and mocked him, calling him Saint Gereon the French-Slayer. “Nice shot, little gunnie,” he smirked and patted him on the head. “Now dig a grave and bury the fellow. Don’t expect others to clean up after you. And don’t forget to pray for the repose of his poor soul.”

Gereon had to comply with the order. The soil was thick with clay, making it hard to dig, the shovel was dull, and besides, he was awfully weak and nauseous. It took him forever to dig a big enough hole, and he worked his fingers to the bones, sweating, cursing and crying. The Frenchman was bigger and heavier than Gereon, but no one helped him move the body. It was so disgusting to touch the corpse, drag it along the ground and push it into the pit. Gereon stained his coat with fresh blood, and his hands were all bloody too.

When he made it back to the trench, he couldn’t swallow anything except a gulp of stagnant, stinking water. For the first time his hands were shaking, and he thought that the reason was vigorous physical activity. Later he realised that his psyche was causing it. The dead Frenchman often appeared in his nightmares, as well as other men he had shot at war and those he had killed while serving in the police. He had quite a few deaths on his conscience.

His reminiscences were interrupted by a dry metallic sound, and the lock on the front door clicked shut. Charlotte had left for work without him. Bitter, hot tears burned Gereon’s eyes. She was behaving as if he didn’t exist, and that was the worst punishment of all.

**

Charlotte woke up when the alarm clock rang. She didn’t switch it off straight away, but Gereon didn’t move, even though she was quite sure he had heard it very well. He probably needed his own space and didn’t want to confront her. Well, not that she was eager to open up about yesterday’s rather stressful visit to Ilse or discuss the accident in the basement.

When Charlotte got out of bed, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. The first cigarette of the day brought her some brief respite, but the idea of having breakfast caused more dizzy spells, and she decided to have a cup of coffee at work.

When she arrived at the Burg, some of her colleagues were already in. Another busy morning in the Homicide Unit was about to begin. The air was tinted with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and somebody’s strong-smelling cologne. That combination made Charlotte queasy. She smoked another cigarette in an effort to block all the other smells out. She would be alright without breakfast, she was not particularly hungry anyway.

As a rule, Charlotte started her working day by reading the crime reports published in the morning newspapers. This time she grabbed the Berliner Morgenpost, wondering whether Schulte’s death was mentioned in there at all. She quickly turned the pages of the newspaper but didn’t find any news about the stableman from Lichtenberg. Something else grabbed her attention instead. Half a page in the sport section was given over to a large advertisement for a boxing match that evening. Hubert Kluge would face Johann “Rukeli” Trollmann in a bid to retain his middleweight title. Charlotte’s heart missed a beat. Her possible half-brother would be in the city.

Last autumn she had inherited a bundle of private letters from a mysterious man that her mother had received over the years. The two had apparently had a secret affair, and the man could be Charlotte’s real father, at least judging by the content of their correspondence. She even visited the Gasthaus where her mother used to meet the man and found out that his name was Erwin Trollmann and he had since stayed there with his son Rukeli, who was now one of the day’s rising boxing prospects. Since then Charlotte had kept speculating on whether Ilse and Toni were not her full siblings but only half-sisters. That would explain why she looked very different from them and her mother. The colour and texture of her hair, her bone structure, her facial features. Her temper.

Charlotte was too confused to face her potential father candidate and put the question to him directly. His letters were sent from a small town near Hannover, where Herr Trollmann presumably resided with his family. It would be mad to turn up on their doorstep with a bundle of old letters and postcards that had been sent over twenty years ago and ask awkward questions. That’s why Charlotte tried to avoid these pointless speculations and distract her attention from the mystery. She always had plenty of more pressing problems to deal with.

One morning, however, Gereon surprised her by asking whether she knew anyone named Erwin. He explained that he had had a dream about them visiting his parents’ house in Köln but refused to say who Erwin was or how she knew him. Gereon’s blank face told her that he wouldn’t go into specifics. Why Erwin, out of all the male names in the world?

And now, had she been given a suitable occasion to see her possible half-brother and maybe get acquainted with him? Ilse and Toni had thrown her out of their lives and blamed her for everything that had ever gone wrong. Perhaps she could gain new relatives and find out whose daughter she really was. What if her father had been thinking of his “little Lottchen” for many years but didn’t dare come forward and introduce himself? He knew that her mother was married, and so was he. Did he even know that his “dearest Minna” had died last year? Charlotte cut the advertisement out of the newspaper and hid it inside one of the files. She still had some time to consider things.

At 10 o’clock Herr Lehmann from the Forensics Unit appeared at Charlotte’s desk.

“I need to talk to Kommissar Rath, but he seems to be out of the office.”

“Herr Kommissar isn’t here,” Charlotte produced her most charming smile. “Could I help you with anything, as his assistant?”

“I’ve prepared the ballistics report on the Schulte case. In brief, those communist students were shot with his rifle, the bullets correspond. Please could you hand this report over to Kommissar Rath? If he has any queries, I will be downstairs until five.”

Charlotte thanked Herr Lehmann and breathed a sigh of relief. Schulte wasn’t an innocent victim of police brutality. He was a multiple murderer, and that fact would surely justify their self-defence in the basement.

Gereon arrived at work shortly before the lunch break and walked past Charlotte without saying a word, pale and unfocused. His heavy eye bags told her that he hadn’t spent the morning sleeping. What on earth was going on with him now? She gave Gereon a few minutes to settle behind his desk and marched into his office with Lehmann’s file in her hands.

“Good afternoon, Herr Kommissar,” she smiled at him, trying to establish eye contact. “Herr Lehmann has brought the ballistics report…”

“You may put it on my desk,” he interrupted her, without raising his head.

“The students were killed with Schulte’s rifle. Isn’t that good news?” Charlotte wasn’t put off by his unfriendly tone and lack of emotion.

“Really?” Gereon wondered aloud. “Very good news indeed,” he seemed to relax a little and almost managed to look up at Charlotte. “Have you seen Böhm or Gennat?”

“Neither of them yet,” Charlotte answered.

Gereon finally raised his eyes and watched something that was going on behind her back. She flashed a quick glance over her shoulder to check what had drawn his attention and noticed Herr Haas from the Firearms Unit, who was hovering indecisively near her empty workstation.

“Another shooting session?” Gereon’s voice sounded strained. “Do you really need more of them? You certainly displayed your excellent shooting skills yesterday.”

The hostile comment hurt Charlotte as Gereon deliberately piled insult onto injury, clearly trying her patience.

“He is a good instructor, and I guess he deserves our gratitude, especially considering how it turned out yesterday,” she answered rather sharply. “Actually, I’m having lunch with him before we start our shooting session. I’ll be back after three o’clock.”

On saying so, she spun on her heels and quickly escaped from his office. Unlike Gereon, Herr Haas was sincerely happy to see her. He mumbled another greeting even though they had already greeted each other in the morning and smiled at her a little shyly, trying to cover his protruding front teeth. Charlotte couldn’t help grinning back. She had given all her money to Ilse the day before, so Haas’s invitation came at exactly the right moment. Either she would let someone pay for her lunch, or she had to do without.

They walked to Wurstküche, a small, busy restaurant a few streets away from the Burg. Herr Haas was talking about anything and everything, but Charlotte was listening to him with only half an ear, her own thoughts wandering elsewhere. Would it be acceptable to approach Rukeli Trollmann at his fight in Berlin tonight? Why was Gereon being so hostile and unfriendly towards her? And why was she still woozy and shaky? Twenty-four hours ago she had killed a man. It was probably normal to feel anxious and emotionally overwhelmed. Her restless mind was damaging her body. She needed to remain calm and gradually take the situation under control.

The restaurant was pretty crowded, and they had to share their table with strangers. Even though Charlotte was hungry, the smell of hot, overcooked food made her feel sick. She swallowed a few spoons of lentil soup, avoiding the pieces of Frankfurter, and made a desperate effort to keep it down. Herr Haas ate like a horse, stuffing himself with an enormous portion of ham hock, pea purée and sauerkraut.

When he was finished with his meal, he ordered dessert, coffee and fried yeast dumplings filled with jam. He sank his sharp, yellow teeth into one of the dumplings, bit off a large hunk and started to chew it, making lots of noise and getting grease on his chin. The young man didn’t realise that his slurping sounded disgusting and irritated Charlotte, who was watching him nauseated, afraid of losing her lunch right at the table.

“So yummy,” Herr Haas covered his mouth with his sleeve and let out a long burp. “I’m still a little hungry. Should have ordered five of those and not just three.” He looked at his empty plate with regret, as if he wanted to lick it clean but didn’t dare do so in public.

Charlotte hurriedly excused herself, ran to the toilet and vomited up everything that was in her stomach. She was shivering and sweating, and she needed a few more minutes to regain her composure. Then she rinsed her mouth with cold water and rejoined Herr Haas.

“I seem to have caught a stomach bug,” she smiled apologetically. “So I’d rather skip dessert. We can go to the shooting range whenever you’re ready.”

***

Gereon couldn’t focus on his work, as he was in terribly low spirits. Charlotte was easily keeping her professional and personal lives separate, talking to him in a business-like manner, as if he were her senior colleague and nothing more. But her mask of courtesy couldn’t delude him. He sensed that she despised him for yesterday’s cowardice and wanted to punish him. She had ignored him in the morning, agreed to have lunch with the annoying firearms instructor and had scolded Gereon for being disgraceful. Whatever next?

Gennat contacted Gereon on the internal telephone line and asked him to come to his office with Schulte’s case materials. Gereon gathered up all the files, photographs and reports that he could find on his own desk and decided to check Charlotte’s too, as he knew she had a copy of the threatening letter that Schulte had sent to the students somewhere there. He had a quick look through her neatly arranged piles of papers but couldn’t find it. Had she put the letter in a file?

He opened one of them at random, and a newspaper clipping fell out. An advertisement for that evening’s boxing match. Gereon had no idea that Charlotte was interested in boxing, as she had never mentioned it to him. But something must have drawn her attention, as she had cut out the event announcement and hidden it in the file. The match would start between half-past ten and eleven, depending on how long the undercard fights took to complete. Kluge against Trollmann, two rising stars frequently mentioned in newspapers and on the radio, both under twenty-five years of age. Even Germans who didn’t care about boxing at all were familiar with their names. Did Charlotte know either of them? She was pretty well connected, so it was certainly possible. Gereon tucked the clipping back into the file and headed to Gennat’s office.

****

Gereon hardly talked to Charlotte for the rest of the working day. He only delivered Gennat’s message that Böhm’s internal check hadn’t thrown up any errors or irregularities in their actions in the basement. He asked Charlotte to prepare Schulte’s files for archiving and left for Friedrichshain to examine a fresh crime scene without her.

When Charlotte made it home late in the evening, Gereon was already there. She found him in the kitchen inspecting the shelves of the cupboard, which seemed to be quite empty.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t buy any groceries,” Charlotte sounded apologetic.

“It’s alright, we won’t need anything much tonight,” he answered, with false lightness. Charlotte was briefly misled by his casual tone and hoped that their normal interaction was re-established, but she was wrong. “I presume you had a hearty lunch with Herr Haas, and I’ll do fine with flour, raisins, oil and vinegar.”

Gereon’s toxic remark caused Charlotte distress and almost made her cry. She could have told him that she had given all her money to her sister Ilse, whose daughter was begging near the metro station. She could also have mentioned that she had a nasty stomach bug and hadn’t managed to eat breakfast or keep her lunch down. But he was so cold and distant, so mean and sarcastic. Her excuses and explanations would probably just annoy him more.

Charlotte hurried to the bedroom and leaned against the wall, trying to breathe more deeply and calm down. She wasn’t sure whether they were having another bad day, or if Gereon had had enough of her for some reason and had decided to end their personal relationship, leaving them just as colleagues. It felt so unfair, as she had done everything to be good to him, but her efforts were not enough. She didn’t want to stay in his flat when he was behaving like that, but where could she go without money?

Suddenly, a daring idea flashed through her mind. What if she went to the boxing club to watch the fight that her possible half-brother was participating in? She had nothing to lose. Her relatives hated her, and Gereon didn’t want to be with her anymore. Things couldn’t get any worse. Yes, she needed to change her focus, go outside and look in another direction. If one door was closed, another one could open.

The clock on the wall showed quarter to ten; she had better get moving if she going to be on time for the match. Now that she had a plan and a destination in mind, she was able to act. She was not a weak, spineless woman who would spend another night crying over spilt milk or beg her man for mercy and forgiveness.

Charlotte decisively took off the striped dress she had been wearing during the day and changed into a pair of comfortable trousers, a navy-blue blouse and a brown woollen jumper. She quickly fixed her make-up, applying another coat of mascara and a hint of chocolate-brown eyeshadow. Finally, she used some waving lotion and a pin to style her hair, so that a couple of neat finger waves framed her face nicely. She looked at her reflection in the mirror carefully and critically. It was important to make a good first impression on her possible relative.

When Charlotte was putting on her scarf and coat, she caught a glimpse of Gereon, who was peering silently at her from the living room.

“Won’t you ask me where I’m going?” she wondered.

For a while they glared at each other without blinking, and it was Gereon who shifted his gaze first.

“It’s none of my business. You are free to come and go as you please,” he said tartly.

“Right,” a tiny, sad smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Deep inside, she was hoping he would ask her to stay at home, sit down with him and talk over a cup of tea or a glass of wine, but Gereon didn’t have any such intentions.

“Enjoy your evening, whatever you end up doing,” he clearly insinuated that she was going out to have fun.

Charlotte couldn’t afford a cab, and she had to cover the three or four kilometres on foot. It was going to be a long night, a turning point in her life that would be either a failure or a triumph.

*****

Gereon perceived Charlotte’s behaviour as another attempt at revenge. She had put on make-up, styled her hair and stepped out into the Berlin night. Well, today he had been quite unfriendly towards her. His remark about the empty kitchen cupboard was really mean, and she had looked offended. Gereon had started the day in a bad mood and was unable to overcome his irritation and put an end to their conflict. It seemed to him that Charlotte was demonstratively punishing and teasing him, and he had to act defensively.

Why did she ask if he was curious about where she was going? He didn’t have to ask, because he knew the answer already. Was she going to meet someone at the boxing match? Or was she wanting to unwind a little after another long working day? Sometimes she went to cinema alone, too, so attending some event unaccompanied wouldn’t be a big deal for her.

Gereon thought that he could try to recover the situation. Charlotte didn’t like to stay stuck in a negative emotional state, and that was something he could try to learn from her. Rather spontaneously, he decided to drive to the boxing club and catch up with Charlotte there. She would be surprised to see him, and he would apologise for his inadequate, childish behaviour. She would roll her eyes at him and give a sniff of disapproval, but then she would forgive him, they would watch the match together and go out for a late dinner afterwards. He pictured them in a cosy little restaurant where they could indulge themselves with a light meal, a glass of champagne and fine chocolate truffles. Charlotte would probably touch him under the table, running her fingers across his knee, building the tension, watching him melt under her gaze. Yes, enough with the misery, he wanted to get things going and revive their romance.

Gereon changed his shirt and tie, studied the street map of Berlin, worked out a route to the boxing club and left home at half past ten. It took him some forty minutes to reach his destination, and the guards on the door had stopped letting people in by that time. The Berlin Open Championship attracted crowds of boxing fans, and all the tickets had sold out weeks before the event. Besides, the undercard fights were already over, and the main match of the night had just begun.

Gereon didn’t waste time explaining. He showed his police badge to get in.

“More police?” the guard asked. “I’ve just let your female colleague in.”

Gereon nodded and entered the club. It was almost completely dark inside; only the ring was brightly illuminated. The arena was stuffed beyond capacity, people were sitting on benches and in the aisles, on the floor between the rows, simply everywhere. There was barely room to move. The crowd was loudly supporting Kluge, the local boxer and the reigning champion of Berlin.

Gereon didn’t care about boxing and didn’t bother to check what was happening in the ring. He was looking for Charlotte, but it wasn’t easy to find her in the semi-darkness. Fortunately, there were few women in the audience, and he eventually managed to distinguish her silhouette from the others. She was standing fairly close to the ring, near the narrow passage that led to the boxers’ changing rooms. It was a restricted area, and she had surely used her police badge to get there. Gereon frowned. He was not going to hack his way through the crowd and approach Charlotte. He understood that she had come here on business and wouldn’t like to be distracted.

After another one-minute interval the bell rang again, designating the beginning of round seven. Both boxers were clearly trying for a knock-out blow. Trollmann was throwing wild punches non-stop, without giving much thought to strategy or clever combinations. Kluge was avoiding his punches and tiring him out, seeking an opportunity to throw the one punch that would enable him to win the fight. He was the patient boxer who simply stood there, waiting for his opponent to attack. For every punch that Trollmann threw, Kluge had the perfect answer. For every move that Trollmann made, he knew the perfect countermove. The crowd got louder with every punch, rooting for the Berliner.

Kluge continued making tactical observations. He sensed his opponent’s frustration and confused him with multiple fakes and feints, performed at blinding speed and with nice precision. Finally, he noticed that Trollmann had lost concentration and found a good moment to outsmart him. Kluge feinted a left uppercut to his opponent’s body and unloaded with a long-range right hook that landed squarely on the side of his jaw. Trollmann was knocked off balance and couldn’t rise from the ring. The audience went mad, uproariously welcoming the phenomenal knock-out blow. Trollmann was still on his knees clutching at the ropes when the count reached ten.

Unlike the rest of the crowd, Charlotte didn’t seem excited about Kluge’s victory. When the match was over and it was declared that Kluge had retained his title, her attention was completely off the ring. She seemed to be following Trollmann, who hurried away towards the changing rooms after a brief doctor’s examination. Gereon mingled with the crowd and got a little closer to Charlotte, so that he had a better view of what she was doing in the restricted area. She approached the guard who was keeping watch outside the changing rooms and talked to him for a while, although without showing her police badge.

The guard nodded at Charlotte and knocked at the door of Trollmann’s changing room. The door opened, and the two men had a short dialogue. After that Charlotte exchanged a few more words with the guard, who returned to his position. She waited for some five minutes, impatiently pacing back and forth, completely unaware that Gereon was watching her, then knocked at Trollmann’s door. They spoke for a moment in the doorway, and then the boxer let her in.

Gereon’s heart was pounding with anxiety, beating too hard and too fast. For what purpose had she come to see this famous boxer tonight? His intuition was screaming that something terrible was going to happen. However, Gereon seldom relied on his gut feeling because in most cases it was based on fear. This time his biggest fear was losing Charlotte.

*

When Rukeli opened the door of his changing room to Charlotte, he was already fully dressed and pressing a wet, cold towel against his bruised face.

“The guard said that my sister was asking after me. It must be a mistake. I don’t know you.”

“Hello. My name is Charlotte Ritter, and I think I might be your half-sister.”

The boxer looked her up and down closely and rather tactlessly. For a moment he hesitated about whether to summon the guard or hear what the woman wanted to say. Purely for the sake of curiosity, Rukeli let her inside the changing room and closed the door behind her.

“What are you talking about? My sister? Are you mad?”

“Not at all, and I have evidence. A bundle of letters that your father, Erwin Trollmann, sent to my late mother. They seem to have had an affair before and after my birth. I can show you the letters and then we need to talk.”

Rukeli was daunted by her explanation. The towel dropped out of his hand, revealing his swollen, flushed jaw.

“Not here,” he finally managed to pronounce. “I’m staying in a nearby hotel. Shall we talk there?”

Charlotte nodded, and they left the boxing club through the back door. Rukeli was walking very quickly, stamping his feet heavily down onto the ground with every step. Charlotte could hardly keep pace with him. Judging by his clipped, unfriendly way of speaking and his abrupt movements, her brother was an intemperate young man. She hoped that he would soon get over the shock, enabling them to have a sensible conversation.

When they reached the hotel, Rukeli marched in without holding the door open for Charlotte, and it almost hit her in the face. He had a spacious, nicely furnished room on the ground floor. Of course, the rising star of German boxing could afford comfortable lodgings. Rukeli dropped into a high-backed leather armchair but didn’t invite Charlotte to take a seat.

“Show me the letters,” he demanded.

Charlotte took the bundle out of her bag and handed it to him. Rukeli skimmed the letters quickly, clenching his jaw and knitting his eyebrows together.

“I must admit that it’s my father’s handwriting. But he signed them with the letter E. How did you figure out his full name? How do you know I’m his son?”

“I visited the Gasthaus where he used to meet my mother. You see, it’s shown here, on this postcard. The receptionist there, a helpful elderly lady, found the old guest books and records. She told me that Herr Erwin Trollmann had stayed there with his son. They have a poster announcing one of your matches on their wall.”

“You’ve done an extensive investigation,” Rukeli became more and more sullen. “I didn’t know my father had had an affair. It doesn’t sound like him at all. Is your mother German? Was she married at the time as well?”

“Yes, she was German, married to the man I thought to be my father. It came out of the blue, and I’m as bewildered as you are,” Charlotte explained.

“Even if they did have an affair, we can’t know for sure whether my father is your father too. And it’s strange that you’re seeking him so determinedly now as an adult. What year were you born?”

“I was born in April 1906. I’m your elder sister, we are a year and a half apart.”

“Utter nonsense!” Rukeli exclaimed in exasperation, and a jet of saliva flew out of his mouth right into Charlotte’s face. “Are the parents who brought you up not enough? Don’t you have your own siblings?”

“My parents are dead,” Charlotte answered. “I inherited these letters and decided to find out who my real father is. I want to know my origins. I want to meet my blood relatives.”

“What do you expect?” Rukeli blushed with anger, “That you can just walk into our family, and that we’ll embrace you like some long-lost relative? My parents have been married for thirty years, and I have eight siblings. You are not one of them. You are a perfect stranger, even if my father did contribute to your conception, which I highly doubt.”

“But you have no right to bury the truth. I need to see your father and ask him…”

“My father is much troubled by gout, his health has deteriorated and he doesn’t leave home anymore. Not even for my matches. My mother nurses him day and night. And you’re going to disturb them by showing up with these stupid old letters and spoil their lives just because you’re curious? Why can’t you let them be? Forget the whole thing. And by the way, what are you doing running around Berlin alone at night?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Charlotte was put out by his rude questions and hostility.

“Don’t you have a husband and children?”

“No, I’m not married.”

“I see,” Rukeli clearly disapproved of her lifestyle. “You are almost twenty-four, you have no parents, no husband and no money. Correct? You found these letters and started sniffing around, eventually approaching your possible half-brother who happens to be a famous boxer. I’ve finally got the point,” he rose nervously to his feet. “You need my money. You’re trying to blackmail me! How much do you want?”

“Nothing at all!” Charlotte was startled by his cruel assumption. “Only the truth.”

“Stay away from my family,” Rukeli hissed at her angrily and produced a threatening gesture, raising his fist in the air. “Even if my father made such an unfortunate mistake in his younger years and had a child with some German woman, you will never be one of us. We are Sinti and you are not. You don’t speak our language and you don’t share our values. Sinti girls preserve their purity and uphold their family’s honour. And who are you? A slut who paints her face with tonnes of make-up! So ugly and disgraceful! I don’t want anything to do with you, ever.”

Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears she didn't want him to see.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got the message. I won’t disturb you or your family.”

“If you have any common decency at all, give me the letters and I’ll burn them straight away”.

“You can have them,” Charlotte said and tossed the bundle of letters onto the floor. “Goodbye.”

**

Gereon spent the rest of the night at home drinking. He followed Charlotte and Trollmann out of the boxing club, all the way to the hotel. The two were in a hurry and didn’t notice that they were being shadowed. Gereon’s fears were not unfounded after all. Another woman he loved had chosen somebody else over him, his story was repeating itself. Charlotte was attracted to a handsome young lad who had a strong, athletic body and emitted a powerful, masculine energy. A true alpha male. Trollmann had lost the match but claimed a greater reward.

Gereon had no right to judge Charlotte for what she was doing. She had never sworn fidelity to him, and they had never specified the nature of their relationship. He had heard her saying several times that she didn’t believe in steady arrangements or long-term commitments. So essentially she wasn’t betraying him or cheating on him. She was making her choices day after day, exactly as they had agreed. And now she had got fed up of Gereon’s stupid behaviour and offensive comments and preferred to give herself to the boxer. And why wouldn’t she? Charlotte was a sensual young woman who had her bodily needs and appetites.

Gereon was heartbroken, poisoned by a bitter cocktail of schnapps, disappointment, regret, guilt and despair. He couldn’t help thinking of Charlotte and Trollmann expressing their desires in the expensive hotel suite. Was the boxer as dominant in bed as he was in the ring? Was Charlotte blown away by his burning passion, eagerly surrendering to him or did they take turns to dominate one another? Did she whisper his name between breathy moans of pleasure?

Gereon tortured himself with these speculations, wondering if she would return to his flat before the morning, worn out and tired, with smudged make-up and love bites on her neck, smelling of another man and wearing a malicious, self-satisfied smirk. Would she drop into bed for a couple of hours’ sleep before going to work or would she quickly wash, change her clothes and leave for the Burg without saying a word? Both options were unbearably humiliating, but Gereon decided to drain his cup of humiliation to the dregs. He was prepared to accept his richly deserved punishment, however cruel or hard or severe it was going to be. Anno was right: he was alone in this world, his alliance with a like-minded soul hadn’t lasted, and he only had himself to blame.

Gereon wished he could fall asleep and never wake up again. He hadn’t eaten anything all day and was now drinking on an empty stomach. The schnapps was burning his insides like an unquenchable fire, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape the sentence of Gehenna. After his third glass of schnapps Gereon blacked out at the kitchen table.

Chapter Text

After leaving the hotel Charlotte had to walk back home. The trams were no longer running at this late hour, and she didn’t have coins for the fare anyway. Fifty pfennigs were enough to get home by metro, and for two marks, she could take a taxi. Why on earth had she given all her money to Ilse? Out of pity, of course. She simply couldn’t stand the idea that her niece and nephews were starving. The empty porridge bowl in front of little Max was such a heart-wrenching sight. Ilse had probably paid Erich’s debts with her hard-earned money and sent Klara back to the streets to beg and to dig through the rubbish bins the very next day. Charlotte frowned at the thought. It would have been wiser to give them groceries rather than cash, but what was done couldn’t be undone.

A brisk walk might help her calm down and the fresh night air would do her good, Charlotte decided. She needed to spend some time in the privacy of her own mind and put her messy thoughts back in order. The conversation with Rukeli hadn’t gone as she’d hoped, but she simply couldn’t be angry with the hot-tempered young man who had got so annoyed at her awkward attempt to claim blood ties with him. There was a clear physical resemblance between them: dark unruly hair, hazel eyes, even the shape of their noses. But they belonged to different worlds, and her brother’s moral principles rejected the very fact of her existence.

According to Rukeli, their father Erwin had a big, close-knit family, and although he was in poor health, he was being taken care of, surrounded by his loved ones, living comfortably. It would be wrong of her to impose herself on them and ruin their idyll. This new rejection was less painful than Charlotte had expected it to be. She didn’t regret meeting her brother, because she had found answers to some important questions and had discovered that she was half Sinti. Her ethnic origin might explain some traits of her character that made her different from typical Germans.

Charlotte wanted to tell Gereon what had happened to her that night and what she had recently discovered about herself. If only he would listen to her. If only her honesty could soften his heart. They were friends and allies first of all, and right at that moment, Charlotte really needed friendly comfort and support. They could turn down the lights, curl up under the blankets and talk until daybreak. She would like Gereon to wrap her up in his arms, listen to her stories and explanations and assure her that she would be fine, and that a bad day was always followed by a better one. Just a few more streets and she would be back home. Was Gereon staying up, waiting for her?

The alleys and avenues of Berlin looked rather eerie in the dim light of the streetlamps, and although Charlotte didn’t feel threatened, she was certainly still cautious, quietly sliding between the buildings like a vague, stealthy spirit. She avoided lonely passers-by and thuggish groups of boxing fans who shifted from one kneipe to another, screaming songs, cursing and kicking advertising columns and street signs. They were celebrating Kluge’s victory and searching for Trollmann’s supporters, eager to clash with them and start a brawl.

As Charlotte passed the archway of a multi-storey building, she caught a tall grey figure half-hidden in the shadows out of the corner of her eye. It was ominous and emanated menace. Charlotte sped up when the figure stepped out from the darkness and made a move in her direction. She heard fast, heavy footsteps behind her. Someone was following her.

A creeping sense of panic burned in her chest. She thought about crossing the road and starting to run, but the pursuer didn’t give her chance to escape. He quickly covered the couple of metres that separated them and attacked her from behind, grabbing her by the arm. Charlotte was about to swing around and face her assailant when she felt a pin-prick pinch in her neck and a strong hand squeezing her shoulder. She opened her mouth to shout for help, but no sound came out. Her voice rattled weakly in her throat, and a thick black curtain dropped in front of her eyes. Total darkness. No painful sensations, only numbness in her entire body and suffocating fear. Was she passing away? That was her last thought before she lost consciousness completely.

*

Charlotte didn’t know how long she had been dead to the world or anything of her whereabouts. At some point she started waking up gradually to an intense headache, a dull pain in her muscles, a low-pitched ringing in both ears and the other louder noises around. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, her legs were tied with a rope, she was blindfolded and had a gag in her mouth. She was probably lying in the back seat of a car, as she could feel the pounding of a moving vehicle and hear the sounds of its motor and tyres. Kidnapped, once again. Charlotte tried to push herself into a seated position. Her kidnapper, or the man behind the wheel, stretched out his arm and hit her around the head with something heavy. Another blackout.

Charlotte didn’t attempt to move again. Her body was sore, and her neck and limbs were numb, as she seemed to have spent hours in the same uncomfortable position. She was completely out of control and couldn’t do anything but gather her courage and wait for whatever would happen next. She hadn’t been killed yet, so her chances of survival were still greater than zero. Charlotte had experienced a similar unrelenting terror before, when the Armenian’s bandits had kidnapped her and kept her locked in the freezer for a few days. Screaming and crying hadn’t helped her back then, and she knew that it was crucial to keep her composure, whatever plans her assailant had.

Eventually the car turned from a bigger asphalt road into a smaller one. Charlotte heard the sounds of grit bombing the car’s body. After some twenty minutes the vehicle stopped, and the driver went away, leaving her alone. He would surely come back soon, and Charlotte was waiting for him, trembling with angst and dismay. The sound of the back door opening was followed quickly by the sensation of a cold gun muzzle against her neck. The kidnapper grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the car. Her tied legs wouldn’t carry her, and she felt terribly drowsy. The man realised she couldn’t walk on her own and cursed under his breath. He wrapped his arms around Charlotte’s waist and dragged her inside a building that was located just a few steps away from the car.

The man tossed her onto the floor and ripped off the blindfold so that she could see him and the place he had brought her. It took her a few moments to adjust to the bright daylight. Charlotte was rooted to the spot as she recognised the man whom she was the least prepared to face. Herr Engelbert Rath.

“You are detained,” he declared solemnly. “All resistance is futile. Do not try to shout or escape. The locks are secure. This cabin is surrounded by forest, and there are no trespassers on my private land.”

He knelt in front of her and placed a heavy iron cuff around her ankle. Then he removed the rope that tied her legs. The cuff was attached to a long chain connected to a thick metal ring suspended from the ceiling.

“Tomorrow I’ll start with the interrogations. Be ready to tell me the truth and answer all my questions.”

After saying those words Engelbert left the cabin, locking a huge oak door behind him. Charlotte was finally alone and on steady ground. She was still confused and foggy after the injection. Besides, she still had the gag in her mouth and her hands remained cuffed behind her back. But at least she could move around as much as the length of the chain allowed. The little log cabin was her cell and perhaps her last refuge. The two small square windows had iron bars over them. She would not be able to free herself.

The cabin was furnished with a polished wooden table and a broad bench without a back rest. A dusty deer hide was nailed to the wall, and a few empty shelves indicated that the owner used the cabin as a storage room. Old Rath had emptied it completely before bringing her here. He seemed to use it for dressing carcasses; that’s why he’d attached a ring and a hook to the ceiling. To hang up slain animals, skin them and cut them into pieces, separating the flesh from the bones. Would he do the same to her?

The floor of the cabin sloped slightly towards the furthest left corner. Charlotte noticed a compact metal lid there and carefully removed it with her free foot to find a small square hole underneath. The floor was designed so that blood of the dressed animals would run quickly down the drain. The length of the chain reached there quite comfortably. The hole could be used as a toilet, she decided.

Their journey from Berlin to the cabin had lasted hours. Engelbert had attacked her at about 2 o’clock in the morning, and they had arrived at the cabin when the sun was already shining brightly. Fortunately the days were longer than the nights in April. The prospect of spending many hours alone in the darkness in the middle of the forest was horrifying. The place had to be quite close to Köln, Charlotte figured out. Old Rath would hardly be hunting too far from home, maybe some twenty or thirty kilometres away, fifty at most.

Charlotte didn’t know at what point Gereon would notice that she was missing and get worried. He must have thought she’d had a wild night out and wasn’t waiting for her to come home. By the morning he would be angry and bitter, but not worried yet. Charlotte never skipped work, so by midday her colleagues at the Burg would all be wondering where she was. They would be searching for her and asking one another if anybody had seen her. But how could anyone ever guess that she had been kidnapped by Herr Engelbert Rath and locked in his secluded hunting cabin?

Not that long ago old Rath had appeared in Gereon’s doorway and accused him of bringing home a hooker. They had quarrelled and Gereon had fended him off. Now his father had decided to take care of her by himself. Why hadn’t he simply killed her on the spot? A bullet or a lethal injection could have saved him the trouble. Engelbert had mentioned his plans to interrogate her. What valuable knowledge did he want to obtain? The only jaw-dropping secret she knew was about Anno, but Charlotte would not reveal it to him, not under torture, never.

The assault operation had claimed a lot of old Rath’s energy. He was a shambles, breathing hard and nervously wiping sweat from his wrinkled, bald head. He was no longer in the best of health and normally used a walking cane. Pursuing her, pulling her in and out of the car, driving for hours and dragging her into the cabin had worn him out.

He would most likely come to the cabin on Saturday evening, after his working day. Charlotte winced at that thought. It meant that she would spend over twenty-four hours with a gag in her mouth, without water or food. He wanted to exhaust her and make her obedient. But she was not a lamb brought to the slaughter; she would stay strong until the end, no matter what.

**

In the morning Gereon woke up to the sound of his telephone ringing. The annoying noise bored into his brain like a drill, eventually forcing him to open his heavy eyelids. He found himself at the kitchen table, surrounded by a half-drunk bottle of schnapps, smelly cigarette butts and an empty syringe. It was light outside, and his wristwatch showed five past ten. He had a throbbing headache and a raging thirst, his stomach hurt, and his hands were shaky. Gereon drank a glass of cold water and walked around the flat searching for any traces of Charlotte but found none. She hadn’t come back after her night out.

He would be late for work again; he had recently fallen into that disgusting habit. Some colleagues would give him disapproving glances and squint demonstratively at the clock on the wall. They usually addressed their questions and inquiries straight to Charlotte, instead of waiting for him to arrive at the office. She was well organised and effective, punctual and methodical, with a good eye for detail, eager to deal with any task. It was strange that someone was bothering to call him this morning. What issue could Charlotte be unable to cope with? He didn’t want to see her and especially didn’t want to talk to her, because the idea that she had spent the night with another man was simply unbearable. That’s why she had chosen to wear a pair of trousers and a jumper for her date. She was planning to wear them again to work on the following day.

Gereon didn’t bother to wash his face, shave or change his shirt. He clumsily combed his greasy hair with his fingers, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror, repulsed by his own reflection. Sallow skin, huge eye bags, deep wrinkles on his forehead. The man he saw there was a miserable addict who had returned to drugs and alcohol after a short period of sobriety. A creature ugly on the inside and out. No wonder that first Helga and then Charlotte had left him for better men. Almost any man would be better than a wreck like him.

On the way to the Burg, he popped into a cheap café for a cup of coffee and a croissant. Not because he was hungry, but simply to postpone the looming humiliating confrontation with Charlotte.

He arrived at the Presidium at quarter past eleven, and immediately sensed that the Homicide Unit was bothered by something unsettling. His colleagues stopped talking when he stepped inside and stared at him questioningly, as if he owed them an explanation. It was definitely not their usual disapproval of him being late for work. Besides, Charlotte was nowhere to be seen. Her desk seemed to be deserted, and her chair was pushed all the way in. Gereon couldn’t see her coat on the rack where it would normally be hanging.

It was Henning who followed his gaze and said, “Fräulein Ritter is absent today. Do you know where she might be?”

“No. Why would I?” Gereon huffed and rushed to the safety of his office, unwilling to answer any more questions.

He had barely settled down at his desk when Gräf knocked at his door and barged in almost immediately. The photographer didn’t waste time on greetings or polite formalities and asked exactly the same question, “Where is Charlotte?”

Gereon shrugged his shoulders and adopted a cold, indifferent tone of voice: “She went out last night and didn’t come back.”

“Are you not worried?” Gräf scoffed in disbelief. He looked shocked and dismayed. “Did she say where she was going?”

“No, she didn’t,” Gereon opened one of the files that was lying on his desk and pretended to be reading a paper that was inside it.

“Wait! How often does she stay out all night without any explanation?” Gräf didn’t give in. “I mean since she’s moved in with you.”

“This is the first time,” Gereon admitted and pursed his lips.

“I don’t know what’s happened between you two, but Charlotte is in trouble. For real. Alarm bells!” Gräf sounded desperate but also persuasive, and he gesticulated like a broken windmill.

“I guess she’s spending a pleasant day in an expensive hotel suite with the famous boxer she went to meet there last night. No need to worry.”

“Hotel? Boxer? Did you spy on her? God!” Gräf exclaimed, wringing his hands in frustration.

“Yes, I followed her,” Gereon confirmed that awkward fact quite reluctantly. “And I saw with my own eyes that she went to watch a boxing match. When the match was over, she headed to a hotel accompanied by Rukeli Trollmann. Isn’t it obvious for what purpose?”

“No, it’s not obvious at all,” Gräf shook his head vigorously. “I know Charlotte is loyal to you and would never go looking for a one-night stand with a boxer. Or anyone else. What nonsense! Let’s go to the hotel and question Trollmann. We need to find her.”

“There’s no way I’m going there,” Gereon redirected his attention to the paper he was reading, demonstrating that he was busy with something far more important than a pointless argument with the photographer.

“Something bad has happened to Charlotte, or she’s being held somewhere against her will,” Gräf said. “Otherwise she'd be at work by now, or at least have given us a call. She’s never once skipped work since she got her position as criminal assistant. If you aren’t coming, I’ll go alone. Tell me which hotel it is.”

“Alright,” Gereon sighed. “I’m coming with you. The hotel is in Schöneberg, on Meininger Straße”.

***

Gräf said that he knew how to get from the Burg to the hotel, and Gereon let him sit behind the steering wheel. He took the passenger’s seat and silently smoked out of the window, doubting whether he was doing the right thing. Gräf had almost persuaded him that Charlotte was in trouble, but there was still a possibility that she was fine and was having fun with Trollmann. It would be hugely embarrassing to interrupt their dalliance, admit that he had spied on her the night before and had arrived to fetch her from the boxer’s bed. Gräf noticed that Gereon was in doubt and didn’t let him beat a retreat. When situations were critical, the humble man became very assertive.

Gereon showed his police badge to the receptionist and found out that Herr Johann Trollmann was staying in Room 3 and would be checking out later that afternoon. The few steps along the corridor felt like an eternity. Gereon held his breath nervously and knocked tentatively at the boxer’s door.

They heard footsteps approaching, and a moment later Rukeli Trollmann opened the door of his suite, without asking who was behind it.

“Hello. I’m Kommissar Rath from the Berlin criminal police,” Gereon sounded deadly serious and kept his badge at the boxer’s eye level.

“Gräf,” Gräf briefly introduced himself too.

“What’s the matter?” the young man asked, staring at them in bewilderment.

This time Gereon could see him up close. An enormous bruise on Trollmann’s jaw was the first thing that caught his eye. He was obviously feeling unwell and recovering after being knocked out.

“Can we come in?” Gereon craned his neck, trying to see what was going on behind the boxer’s back and maybe catch a glimpse of Charlotte in his room. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

“The train to Hannover leaves in an hour, and I don’t have much time,” the boxer showed the authorities the barest respect and did not invite his unwanted guests to enter.

“Is Fräulein Charlotte Ritter here?” Gräf asked.

“Of course not,” the boxer was startled by the question, but Charlotte’s name obviously rang a bell with him, as on hearing it, he quickly stepped back and let them inside his suite. “Why would she be?”

“Last night you came to this hotel together with her. We have witnesses,” Gereon explained.

“That’s true,” Trollmann didn’t deny the fact but didn’t seem eager to talk about Charlotte. “She spent about fifteen minutes here and then left,” he crossed his arms over his chest, taking a defensive pose. “And now the criminal police is searching for her. Great. I knew that woman was a nuisance.”

Gereon stared at the boxer in confusion, digesting the new information that didn’t fit with his previous hypotheses.

Gräf got annoyed with Trollmann for speaking about Charlotte disrespectfully, “Fräulein Ritter is a criminal assistant and works with us in the Police Presidium. She has disappeared, and you are likely to be the last person who saw her before that.”

“Either you tell us everything about your interaction with Ritter, or we’ll take you into custody,” Gereon was losing his temper too. “We’ll drive you to the police station and arrange official interrogations. I can promise you’ll miss your train, and most certainly the next one too.”

“Alright,” the boxer spread his hands, finally showing obedience. “I’m not messing with the police. I’ll tell you how it was, and you’ll let me go, eh? I met the woman yesterday after the match in the arena. She barged into my changing room and said we might be half-siblings,” Gereon and Gräf exchanged glances. “I asked her if she was insane, and she said she had some evidence to prove it. I didn’t want to discuss any personal issues in the arena and suggested we could talk in my hotel suite.”

“What time did you arrive at the hotel?” Gereon asked.

“I didn’t check the clock, but it can’t have been later than half one. She showed me a bundle of old yellowed letters and postcards she’d inherited from her mother. I recognised my father’s handwriting. They were sent around the time when the Fräulein was born.”

The boxer frowned and clenched his fists, revealing his strong negative emotions.

“Go on!” Gereon commanded. “What happened next?”

“I said the letters didn’t prove anything. My father’s the model of a family man, and I don’t know anything about his possible extramarital affairs. I asked her not to disturb our family.”

“Disturb?” Gräf raised his eyebrows. “Even though she might be your half-sister?”

“Look, my family is Sinti, and she is not,” Rukeli grew angrier with each new question. “She doesn’t belong to our community and never will. She is a half-breed and an opportunist. If she were a decent woman, would she be wearing trousers and make-up and hanging around Berlin alone at night? Of course not! The Fräulein told me she was orphaned and unmarried, and I figured she was after my money. I suggested I could buy the letters and asked her how much she wanted.”

Gräf rolled his eyes, amazed by the boxer’s arrogance and stupidity. “And then?”

“She threw the letters onto the floor and promised not to bother my family. Then she left. Probably at quarter to one or so.”

“I want to see the letters,” Gereon demanded.

“I burnt them in the bathroom right away,” Trollmann answered. “Now I’ve told you everything I know about the woman. I have no idea where she went after leaving this room. And to be honest, I don’t care. I hope I never see her or hear about her again.”

“According to what you said, she was upset by your assumption about the blackmail,” Gräf pointed out.

“Oh yes, some women are very good at shedding crocodile tears. They quickly turn on the taps whenever they try to manipulate men. She wanted me to pity her and give her some cash, but I didn’t fall for that ploy.”

“Enough!” Gereon barked. “The last question and we will leave. What’s your father’s full name?”

“Erwin Trollmann.”

On hearing the name, Gereon felt a strong spasm in his diaphragm and a nasty, bitter taste in his mouth. Erwin. It’s Erwin. The little boy in the sailor suit from his dreams.

Gräf noticed that Gereon had frozen on the spot and nudged him gently towards the door.

“That’s all. We will contact you again if needed,” he nodded to Trollmann and pushed Gereon into the corridor.

They walked out of the hotel in silence.

“I told you she wouldn’t get involved with another man. How could you suspect her?” Gräf didn’t conceal his irritation. “Charlotte tried to learn the truth about her father. Has she ever mentioned those letters to you? Or the Trollmanns?”

“Never,” Gereon was barely moving his numb lips, looking like a person who all of a sudden had been dragged into a deep pit of unhappiness. Rather absent-mindedly, he searched his pockets for a handkerchief. When he didn’t find one, he used his sleeve to wipe away the beads of cold sweat that were pouring down over his pale face.

“The boxer looks quite similar to Charlotte,” Gräf observed. “I do believe he might really be her half-brother. But good God, the man behaves like a brat. I bet he was very rude to Charlotte, he’s so full of himself.”

“And I was so stupid,” Gereon slapped his forehead, absolutely mortified. “I must find her!”

“We have to tell Gennat that Charlotte is missing. I could talk to him first and carefully give him some background information. Otherwise he’ll send someone to check her home. And her home is your home, and…”

“Do it, please,” Gereon nodded. “I’ll quickly check one location and get back to the Burg right afterwards.”

****

Gereon took the tram and went to Moka Efti, where Charlotte had been held captive when they were investigating the train case. The Armenian had approached him a few days earlier and scolded him for skipping Anno’s therapy sessions. Perhaps he had kidnapped Charlotte in an attempt to grab his attention and give him a shake.

The interior of Moka Efti had been completely refurbished after the serious accident involving the broken pipe that had happened last autumn. Gereon didn’t recognise the place, it looked different somehow. Less glamorous, probably. Red light bulbs and cheap, tasteless decorations made it kitschy and unappealing. The guard escorted him to Herr Kasabian’s office.

Gereon knocked assertively at the black leather door and shouted, “Police!”

The Armenian let him in almost immediately. “Herr Kommissar,” he gave Gereon a friendly smile, proffering his right hand for a shake. “How can I help you?”

Gereon ignored his gesture and got straight down to business, “Where is Charlotte?”

“Is she missing?” the Armenian seemed genuinely surprised. He returned to his desk and sat down. “What makes you think I know where she is?”

“You kidnapped her last summer and kept her in a freezer for days,” Gereon reminded him.

“Yes, that’s true,” Kasabian smirked without the slightest trace of remorse. “The girl was silly and stubborn, and it took us a while to get her to speak. But when she told me where the gold was hidden, I let her go. I’m a believer in fair play, Herr Rath. And this time I have no idea what happened to her. You may search my property if you like. Even without a warrant.”

“As you knew I’d be coming, you could have hidden her somewhere else,” Gereon didn’t give up.

“I see you’re pretty upset, but I really can’t help you this time. Maybe she got bored of playing her fun little game of cops and killers and switched to something fresh and exciting. Maybe she left for Paris with some rich patron or fled to Hollywood, for example. The girl has potential, maybe we’ll see her in some new American picture in place of Mary Pickford.”

Gereon wasn’t listening to the Armenian’s chattering. He’d realised that someone else had taken Charlotte and that he was just wasting his time in Moka Efti.

“Alright then,” Gereon put on his hat and took a step towards the door.

“Remember to be on time for your weekly psychotherapy session,” Kasabian dropped his usual ironic tone and spoke in a gravely low voice. “Don’t disappoint our mentor.”

Gereon spun around quickly, approached the Armenian’s desk again and attacked it, sweeping a pile of papers, a bottle of ink and a porcelain horse figurine onto the floor. The Armenian jumped at the sound of breaking china. A look of shock and anger swept across his face.

“What the hell!” he growled. “That figurine is worth your monthly salary. Haven’t you taken your meds today? Or is there something else wrong with you?”

“Tell him I’m not going on with the therapy sessions until Charlotte is back, safe and sound. And if you or any other bandits try to force me, I’ll act like a real armed police officer.”

“You’re treading on dangerous ground, Rath,” the Armenian was taken aback by Gereon’s unexpected outburst. “He’ll grind you into dust without batting an eyelid. I know it.”

“You know nothing, Kasabian,” Gereon hissed. “Just deliver my message. Whoever assaulted Charlotte will pay a high price for it. I promise.”

*****

After his fruitless visit to Moka Efti Gereon hurried back to the Burg in the hope that they’d received some news of Charlotte while he’d been away. His colleagues’ worried faces told him that she was still absent.

Gennat was waiting for Gereon in his office upstairs. The boss’s skewed frown and furrowed eyebrows conveyed concern and feelings of tension.

“Gräf told me our Fräulein went missing last night. He said it might be a case of criminal harassment.”

“I think so too,” Gereon nodded. “Otherwise she would have contacted us already.”

“That’s very unfortunate. If she doesn’t show up by Monday, I will officially pronounce her missing at our weekly briefing. In the meantime, question the people she talked to on Wednesday and Thursday. If there’s nothing that hints at her intention to disappear, she might have been kidnapped. Let’s hope she’s still alive and that we’ll be able to find her,” Gennat wheezed, drawing nervously on his cigar.

“Yes, sir.”

“However, we cannot ignore the possibilities of murder or suicide either. You never know how it’ll turn out with young women. Romantic heartbreak, unrequited love,” Gennat shrugged his shoulders and gave Gereon a short, pointed glance.

Gräf seemed to have provided their boss with a sufficient amount of background information.

“Alright, I’ll be checking the hospitals and morgues too,” Gereon bowed to Gennat and walked out of his office.

Before leaving the Burg he popped into the Firearms Unit to question the instructor who had taken Charlotte out for lunch. Any tiny hint might give him a clue about where to search for her.

Herr Haas was finishing his working day by cleaning and lubricating the guns that his trainees used at the shooting range. On seeing Gereon, he put a bore brush and a cotton patch aside and rose politely from his seat, extending his large, plump hand for a shake.

“Herr Haas, I’d like to ask you something about Fräulein Ritter.”

“Has something happened to her? They’re saying she didn’t come to work today.” The instructor was clearly worried about Charlotte too.

“It’s true,” Gereon confirmed. “We’re trying to figure out where she might be. Now we’re questioning the people who talked to her shortly before she disappeared. You met her during lunch break on Thursday, is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right. We had lunch together before our regular shooting session. At Wurstküche. She seemed to be upset or distracted and didn’t talk much. And, well, she didn’t eat anything much either, just some soup.”

“Did she mention any reason as to why she was in low spirits?” Gereon knew that his own meanness could have been the reason, but he wanted to hear the excuse that Charlotte had invented for Haas.

“Fräulein Ritter said she’d caught a nasty stomach bug. While I was eating my dessert, she rushed to the ladies’ room. These stomach infections can be pretty severe, and the Fräulein is so petite, almost see-through.”

“Alright,” Gereon clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth. He hated that this man had dared to comment on Charlotte’s appearance. “And what about the shooting session?”

“We did a practice test for her firearms licence. She did really well, and we scheduled the official test for the following week. She’s a very good shooter, may I say. Better than some of our male colleagues. Quite a unique woman!” Haas gushed. “The first and the only female in the criminal police, I assume?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Gereon cut him off impatiently. “Thanks for answering my questions.”

“Please do let me know if I can help with your search. I’m rather worried about Fräulein Ritter. To be honest, I admire her quite a lot.” Haas lowered his voice and added, “When she’s back and done with her shooting proficiency test, I’d like to get to know her in a less formal setting. Maybe ask her on a date. Of course, if she’s willing to get to know me better too.”

*

Gereon spent a few hours in the evening checking all of Berlin’s hospitals and morgues, asking about any young women admitted in the last twenty-four hours. No traces of Charlotte anywhere. She had just vanished into thin air, as if she had never existed. He left Charlotte’s description in every place he visited and asked the staff to contact the Homicide Unit if anyone matching the description turned up.

Gereon got home late. His flat seemed big and gloomy again. Extremely uninviting. In a daze, he walked into the kitchen, sipped on the bottle of schnapps that was waiting for him on the table, winced and poured the rest down the sink. Should he make himself a cup of coffee? No, all he deserved was a glass of vinegar or formic acid.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, Gereon pulled a notepad and a pencil out of his breast pocket and tried to reconstruct the past few days of Charlotte’s life. He drew a detailed timeline and listed all the facts he knew in chronological order. A couple of mysterious blank spots drew his attention. For example, Wednesday night. After the incident in the basement on her way home, she had spotted a little urchin near the metro station, a girl in shabby clothes whom she seemed to know. Charlotte talked to the child, took her by the hand, and they had travelled somewhere by metro.

Gereon didn’t know what time Charlotte had returned home on Wednesday night. He was still recovering from his panic attack and had taken a bigger dose of drugs than necessary. For several hours he hadn’t seen or heard a thing, and when he came to his senses, she was already in bed. At night she pushed him away, and he thought she was angry with him. But it was probably not about him after all. He could have been less selfish, he could have caught up with her near the metro or at least asked her a question afterwards. He existed in a make-believe world of his own fears, offences and delusions, simply ignoring Charlotte’s real problems and challenges.

She made a lot of sacrifices to give her relatives a better life, but none of them ever bothered to thank her. They took advantage of Charlotte and constantly used her for their own gains. She was sad and sick, and the conversation with her newly discovered half-brother was a disaster. Could she commit suicide? When she was trapped in the submerged car, she was ready to die, deliberately letting water into her lungs. She didn’t believe he’d be able to save her and wanted him to stop trying, to stop tiring himself out in vain. Fortunately, he didn’t give up. He would never give up on her.

Gereon prayed that Charlotte would be alive, hanging on, waiting for him to find her. On the other hand, his years in the police force had taught him that a quick death was sometimes better than captivity. She could have been kidnapped, raped, tortured, kept in a cold filthy place, in the darkness without food and water, tied, bleeding, with broken bones and ruptured organs. It was all his fault. He had let her go out alone at night, without asking about her plans. He had spied on her and quickly jumped to false conclusions about her interaction with the boxer. He ought to be ashamed of himself! Even Gräf knew that Charlotte wouldn’t sleep with another man to get revenge on him. She had never given him any reason for jealousy. Over the past weeks she had shown him more affection and care than he had received in his whole life.

Charlotte didn’t want revenge; it was completely against her nature. She desperately sought acceptance from people who were determined not to accept her. Her half-blind sister and crazy brother-in-law came to the Burg once and had made a terrible scene in the Homicide Unit, yelling at her and calling her names. Gereon was watching from afar and didn’t defend Charlotte. Not when her in-law started a fight, nor when Böhm bullied and insulted her afterwards. Last night she had hoped to get a new family member but had faced more humiliation and unfair accusations. He could have been there supporting her, making Trollmann more reasonable, or at least less abusive. Gereon could have asked Charlotte where she was going. She was ready to open up about her plans, but his pride had prevented him from posing the question.

Instead, he had offended her with his vicious, sarcastic comments, which could possibly be the last words she heard from him. How could he ever forgive himself for that? What if she died thinking that he hated and rejected her, if he never got the chance to kneel in front of her and beg for forgiveness… What if she was found dead, if his telephone soon rang to kill him with the announcement? He would have to bury her, and after that he would take his own life too. He refused to go on without Charlotte.

He was all alone in his dark, sombre flat. Charlotte’s belongings were spread around, as if she were still living with him. But the harsh reality was different. She might never set foot over his threshold again.

The bedroom looked the same as it had when they left it almost two days ago. Bed made, an open book upside down on her nightstand and a glass of water on his. Gereon pulled back the covers and slipped into the cold sheets. He lay on Charlotte’s side of the bed and pressed his face into her night gown, which still held a subtle scent of her body. Another night without Charlotte was ahead, long and relentless.

After a couple of sleepless hours Gereon realised that he wouldn’t be able to fight the insomnia on his own. He stumbled to the bathroom, searched in his medicine cabinet and found a vial with morphine tincture. Fortunately, he still had a few of them in his stash. He broke the vial and poured the yellowish liquid into his mouth, swallowed it and went back to bed. Morphine helped Gereon to zone out, transferring him from the nightmare of his current miserable situation into another one, equally vivid and agonising.

**

Again, he found himself in his parents’ house in Köln, on the second floor, walking along the dark, gloomy corridor that led from the stairs to his bedroom. The floor was covered with a rust-coloured rug that brought to mind dried blood. Gereon always felt claustrophobic there. The antique wall lamps gave out a dim yellow light that made the corridor dingy and grim.

Silence descended on the house, making it seem gaunt and empty. Gereon strained his ears, listening for any signs of life in the deathly stillness. He heard an old clock ticking downstairs on the mantelpiece of his father’s study. The hum of water in the pipes. And something else. A barely audible noise coming from the attic. The sound of inconsolable crying was quiet and yet heartbreaking.

Someone was in trouble up there, probably waiting for help. Gereon hurried along the corridor, tripped and almost lost his balance. His foot caught on something smooth and shapeless. His father’s leather game bag was lying on the floor, and the tail of a dead pheasant was poking out of it. Gereon impatiently kicked the bag away and rushed up to the attic.

It was evening, and dusk was extending over the attic. It was stormy and rainy outside. The long, gnarled limbs of the old maple tree scratched against the windowpanes, and heavy raindrops hit the glass and roof of the house. The air was moist, chilly and stale. Right next to the door, Gereon noticed the skeleton of his father’s broken telescope, the silent warden that guarded this kingdom of dust and despair.

The sound of crying was coming from behind the stack of wooden boxes. Gereon rushed to see who was hiding there and found a familiar little boy, his unmistakable doppelgänger. He remembered the fellow from his dreams. This time, instead of a woollen sailor suit, he was wearing blue cotton pyjamas. The child was all alone in the attic, shivering from the cold and crying bitterly. Why would anyone leave him here? The attic was an ideal hideout for bats and moths, but not for a defenceless child. Gereon approached the boy and squatted down in front of him. The boy’s shoulders shook up and down, as if he were having hiccups.

“Where’s my mummy?” he struggled to speak through his tears. “Where is she?”

Gereon didn’t answer. Instead, he stretched out his arms, offering the child a comforting hug. “Come here.”

The boy shook his head and pushed Gereon away with small, ice-cold hands that turned out to be surprisingly strong.

“Go and find her!” the child commanded, staring him right in the eye.

Together they started looking for the boy’s mother all around the attic, among the boxes and the huge piles of clutter. She was nowhere to be seen.

Gereon sidled past the shelves with his father’s hunting equipment, catching a glimpse of a large steel trap used for capturing hares and foxes, old Rath’s guns and gunpowder containers, a quail pipe, a decoy duck and a set of sharp sporting knives. All these items were covered with a thick layer of dust and spider webs. Gereon accidentally brushed his shoulder against something soft and fluffy stuffed behind the shelf. It was his mother’s mink coat, moth-eaten and crawling with larvae and carpet beetles. The obtrusive, pungent odour of naphthalene made him recoil in disgust.

A large brass bird cage hung from the ceiling. Many years ago Engelbert had bought a parakeet to please his wife, as they were having their living room renovated and were looking for new decorative items. “One bird is enough,” he snapped at the astonished bird seller. “If I buy a pair, they’ll nest and lay eggs. Too much noise, too many feathers. Just one.” Predictably, the bird grew more and more withdrawn day by day, until it refused to eat and eventually died from loneliness. The cage was taken up to the attic and hung there still.

Gereon took a second look at it and realised that the cage was not entirely empty; there was something small and glittery inside. He thrust his hand through the small door and picked up the mysterious item. It was an ivory-coloured satin headband decorated with embroidered leaves and transparent shimmering rhinestones. Who had put it into the old bird cage and why? Gereon spun around, wanting to show his find to the boy, but the child was no longer beside him.

“Erwin!” Gereon screamed, but nobody answered his call.

There was only the sound of bats flapping their wings in the darkness and the wind’s ghostly howling noise that gave him the creeps.

***

Engelbert drove to the hunting cabin with a heavy heart. He knew he’d done the right thing in detaining that vile hooker, but he couldn’t help thinking that he was breaking the law. She served in the police force, and so did he. Formally, this arbitrary detention would be considered a serious crime. If it were ever uncovered, it would cost him his career. The stakes were high, but he had to take the risk.

When he entered the cabin, the girl was sitting on the floor where he had left her the day before. She didn’t look particularly scared, only pale and exhausted. Engelbert held a pistol in his right hand and used his left to remove the gag from her mouth. The girl was short of breath, struck with an uncontrollable coughing attack.

“I have some bread and water in the car,” he said. “If you co-operate and don’t act foolishly, you might get them.”

“What do you want?” she managed to pronounce, her voice weak and hoarse.

“It’s me who is asking the questions here, and you are to answer them!” Engelbert roared. “When the interrogations are done, there’ll be a trial where I’ll be both prosecutor and judge. You’ll be sentenced according to God’s law and punished for all your crimes and evil deeds.”

She gave him a reproving look, shaking her head in disbelief.

“It seems you have no idea about proper police procedure here in Köln,” the girl had easily worked out their location! “And what about presumption of innocence and right of defence? Or do you represent the tribunal of the Holy Inquisition?”

The arrogant little bitch was mocking him, even though he was pointing his pistol right at her face.

“The first question,” Engelbert refused to let her bold comments distract him. “Where is the ring?”

“What ring?” she asked him, acting surprised.

“I’ll repeat the question,” he was growing anxious, quickly losing his temper. “Where is the ring?”

“You mean the Ring of the Nibelung?” she kept teasing him.

Simply unbearable! Engelbert slapped her hard in the face and spat at her.

“The engagement ring that my stupid son gave you!” he roared and kicked her in the thigh.

Her nose started to bleed, and blood streamed across her chin and down her neck, staining her clothes and dripping onto the floor. The girl kept staring at him, unblinking, with great intensity.

“He never gave me any such ring, and we are not engaged,” she said.

“You don’t want to co-operate,” Engelbert let out an exasperated sigh. Nothing was going according to plan. This stubborn woman was a tougher rival than he had imagined.

“I do,” she objected. “I can’t swear an oath because of the handcuffs, but I’m telling the truth. It’s up to you whether you believe me or not.”

“Your life is in my hands. You can’t evade my questions. If you don’t co-operate willingly, I have plenty of methods to make you talk.”

“Methods prescribed by the Holy Inquisition, I assume,” she scoffed.

“You’ve been whoring for years, yes?” Engelbert tried to throw her off balance by the sudden change of subject.

“That’s true, Herr Rath. But I don’t like the word whore or obscene language in general. I prefer to be called a sex worker. I might say that it’s not the easiest way to earn a living,” the girl’s face remained absurdly serious. “Compared with other service industry jobs, it’s a particularly demanding one, both physically and mentally.”

“Don’t witter. No more digressions. Just answer my questions,” Engelbert demanded. “Did Bruno Wolter, one of your clients, give you a false certificate of a clean criminal record?”

The girl looked puzzled, wondering how he’d found out that awkward fact.

“That’s also true, Herr Rath,” she admitted, after a moment’s hesitation. “He was quite pleased with the quality of my services and gave me one when I needed it.”

“Alright, you shameless creature, now tell me the name of the criminal mastermind who is pulling your strings. Who helped you infiltrate the police force? And what is your mission there?”

The girl wrinkled her forehead, “I’m afraid you won’t like my answer, Herr Rath. Because it will be too boring. No one is pulling my strings, and my only mission is to assist your son in police investigations.”

“Filthy liar!” Engelbert screamed and gave her another strong kick in the thigh. The girl was blinded with pain and let out a quiet whimper. “Do you choose to die from starvation, thirst or torture?” he spoke loudly and angrily, his heart pounding in his chest like a hammer. “Just shooting you dead would be too quick and easy. You deserve to suffer for longer.”

His firm glare and twitching jaw made no impression on the girl.

“If you say so,” she shrugged her shoulders indifferently.

“No one will ever find you. You are done, Ritter,” he shouted at the top of his voice, spraying spittle into her face.

“Sooner or later we all will be done, Herr Rath. If it’s my turn now, then I’m ready,” the girl was surely scared, but she didn’t back off.

Engelbert was startled by her resilience and obstinance. Nobody ever dared to talk to him like that, either at work or at home. The young woman was behaving as if he were her inferior, even though she was a handcuffed prisoner and he was her captor who could shoot her at any moment. So sharp-witted, never at a loss for words. She had the heart of a lioness and gawked at him almost contemptuously, silent despite the simmering in her bright, hazel eyes. As if he were a pitiful jackal impinging upon a captured queen of the forest.

Engelbert was short of arguments and ideas but couldn’t afford to reveal his confusion. They would go on with the interrogations later. He walked out of the cabin, then came back with a loaf of bread, a bottle of water and the Bible. “Turn your face to the wall!”

The girl obeyed his order, and he removed the handcuffs that had left ugly scarlet marks on her thin wrists. She had small hands, slim fingers and neat pink nails. Engelbert imagined how Gereon held the girl’s smooth white hand in his, kissed it and pressed it against his chest. How the girl ran her hand over Gereon’s hair in a gentle caress, how she stroked his neck and cheek, and probably whispered confessions of love in his ear. Never again. God hadn’t joined these two together, and Engelbert had separated them for good.

“You may read the Holy Bible until I come back to ask more questions. Remember, you can’t avoid punishment for all your crimes, especially perjury.”

“Thanks for your generosity,” the girl nodded. “Spiritual food is even more important than physical nourishment. I’ll give my special attention to the chapters about Mary Magdalene. She’s always been my role model.”

Charlotte’s mock piety made Engelbert blush with anger. What an impossible blasphemer!

Chapter Text

Charlotte spent the evening chewing bland wholemeal bread and flicking through the Bible. It was a thick book with a black leather cover and old-fashioned Gothic font. The left side of each page was in Latin and the right one in German. Published in Köln in 1890. Newlyweds were usually given an edition like that by a priest just after their wedding ceremony. Some pages of the book had little marks in the margins, and here and there she recognised Gereon’s scrawled handwriting. After closer examination of the Bible, Charlotte noticed someone else’s notes too, pointed letters with small loops and wide spacing in between. Most likely Anno’s hand. Poor boys had to learn the verses by rote and in Latin. She pictured Gereon as a child in front of this very book, trying to memorise his lessons for Sunday school. That’s when he got to know the notions of sin and God’s punishment that his father lived by so earnestly.

There was also a Bible in Charlotte’s family. One of the few books they could ever afford. It was only half as thick as the Raths’ one and solely in German, the Lutheran version. When Charlotte learnt to read, she opened the Bible and looked through it, but the book didn’t appeal to her because of its archaic language and lack of illustrations. After the war, when she got back home after being evacuated, she started to sneak the Bible pages to roll her own cigarettes. Loose tobacco didn’t cost much, and the Bible’s lightweight, opaque paper was perfect for the purpose. Once their grandfather noticed that lots of pages were missing, he decided to use the rest of the book to start a fire in a wood stove. The Ritter family had a very practical approach to religion.

Shortly after sunset, evening dusk fell over the cabin. Reading without sufficient light hurt Charlotte’s eyes, and eventually she had to put the book aside. She tried to stay optimistic, telling herself that things could be much worse. At least she had some bread and water, her hands were free, and the cabin was a better place to be held captive than the Armenian’s freezer, for example. It got a little chillier in the evening, and Charlotte lay down on the bench and covered herself with a coat. She could enjoy silence and solitude until her captor was back for further interrogations.

Charlotte was listening to the various noises of the dark forest. As a city dweller, she had no idea that some birds kept chirping throughout the night until dawn. Charlotte would never distinguish a robin from a wren or a redwing from a fieldfare, but she knew for sure that the tap-tap drumming sound was produced by a woodpecker. Screeching owls, gusts of wind and vague rustling noises made by some animal, perhaps a raccoon or a fox, didn’t frighten her. There was no reason to be afraid of birds or animals in the locked cabin.

The full moon was shining through the window, and the starry sky was clear and cloudless. After the car accident, when she had almost drowned and Gereon had carried her in his arms along the empty road, they saw the sun and the full moon in the sky at the same time. It seemed almost as unreal as Charlotte’s resurrection from the dead.

Later she borrowed a book on astronomy and learnt about that rare natural phenomenon known as a selenelion. There was a long scientific explanation about ecliptic angles, geometry and lunar phases that she didn’t bother to read. Those two miracles in a row were not a simple coincidence: they were a sign to them from above. Hers and Gereon’s lives would never be the same after what they had been through. They simultaneously stepped into a new reality, where they were meant to be together despite unfavourable circumstances, prejudice and obstacles. She knew it for sure, and so did Gereon, or at least that's what he said under hypnosis.

On the other hand, Gereon never told her that he loved her. Quite often his eyes and the tone of his voice conveyed affection, but he never made any confessions explicitly. He might be a man who could only love one woman in his life, and that woman was Helga. Indeed, Gereon approached her only after Helga had left him and moved out.

Sometimes Charlotte wanted to shake him by the shoulders and shout in his face that she loved him like crazy, but when she opened her mouth, the words got stuck in her throat. It would be so awful to express her real feelings without getting a response simply because he couldn’t reciprocate them. Charlotte didn’t want to break their friendship and ruin a strong bond that had united them since they had survived the car accident.

Their personalities and backgrounds were different, but they had a lot in common and got along very well, nicely complementing each other. Of course, physical compatibility played an important role too. When they danced in Holländer, sparks flew, and they couldn’t get enough of each other. After that night their mutual desire didn’t fade; on the contrary, their long wait just served to magnify it. They were eager to please each other and quickly got to know each other’s bodies, lustily giving in to their passion. But love would mean so much more than camaraderie and regular indulgence in the joys of sex.

Charlotte thought that Gereon might also be suffering from insomnia, might be leaning out of an open kitchen window with a burning cigarette and staring at the full moon. By now he was already a bundle of nerves, looking for her everywhere and questioning everybody he suspected of her kidnapping. Hopefully he wouldn’t conclude that she had escaped because of their recent conflict. Uncertainty made him anxious and helpless, and she felt sorry for him even more than for herself. If only she could send him a mental message asking him to search for her in the woods somewhere near Köln.

When it got totally dark Charlotte closed her eyes and assessed the variety of painful sensations around her body. A large purple bruise appeared on the outside of her upper thigh and hurt quite a lot. There was probably another one on her cheekbone; the heat and throbbing pain lasted for hours and didn’t go away. Engelbert had a heavy hand and a heavy foot too. Did he spank, hit and slap his children when they were small? Did he do it only to Gereon?

The handcuffs had left distinct red marks on her wrists, and her arms were aching after being locked behind the back for the whole of the previous day. In addition to the acute pain in the injured parts of her body, Charlotte distinguished some other unpleasant sensations. Her breasts were sore and swollen. Strangely, her comfy, well-fitting brassiere felt too snug, pinching her and cutting into her side. Her period was about to start, she figured out. Great. What an exciting prospect, to be bleeding for days without sanitary towels, without a chance of washing or changing clothes.

It was the fifth of April, and she always had her period at the beginning of the month. Suddenly Charlotte stumbled upon a shocking discovery. She didn’t have her period when living with Gereon. She had moved into his flat in mid-February, and now her period was over a month late. She had been so preoccupied with work and Gereon’s attempts to give up the drugs, her mess with the relatives, shooting sessions and the accident in the basement, that she hadn’t even noticed that she had skipped her period in March. It had never happened to her before.

Charlotte had spent years selling her body and had had multiple sexual partners weekly, if not daily, and, of course, she was well aware of birth control and took diligent care of it. Sometimes people said that she was just lucky, but her method never failed her, and she despised silly women who lived in poverty and bred like rabbits. Charlotte’s elder sister was one of them. She reproached Ilse for getting married to a crazy creep simply because he'd knocked her up. Charlotte had never feared a pregnancy, and now she persuaded herself that she was fine, that it was normal to miss a period once in a while. It would start soon, any minute.

She was trying to push her anxiety aside, but the little voice inside her head was distinctly and ruthlessly reminding her of the recent suspicious stomach bug she couldn’t shake for days, disgusting waves of sickness, sensitivity to smells, fatigue and dizziness. The classic symptoms any expecting woman complained of. Instinctively, Charlotte placed her hand on her stomach. Though it seemed to be perfectly flat, she felt bloated. The terrible hostage situation she was in had made her a hypochondriac, she decided. The stress was making her misinterpret her physical sensations. She would remain brave and calm and stop pointless speculations. In her current desperate situation, nothing really mattered, because her chances of getting out of this cabin alive were pretty slim.

By kidnapping and assaulting her, Engelbert had burnt bridges, he would never set her free. Unlike God’s law, the law of the Weimar Republic didn’t approve of his brutal methods applied to a colleague. Whatever she said or did would not save her from a death sentence. She could only try to stall for more time in hope that Gereon would find and free her.

Charlotte had no clue who had supplied Engelbert with the pieces of information his interrogations were based on. He asked about their engagement, and the only person who could tell him that tale was Frau Wildenburg. On the other hand, the elderly lady knew that they hadn’t exchanged engagement rings, and Engelbert was constantly asking about the ring, a wholly mythical item that didn’t exist, even within the scope of the legend invented for Gereon’s godmother.

The next big question mark was Engelbert’s comment about Bruno Wolter and Charlotte’s false certificate of a clean criminal record. Only three people were supposed to know about it. Wolter was dead, and he had told hardly anybody about forging a legal document in exchange for sex services. Gereon would never unveil that secret, especially not to his father. The third person was Charlotte herself.

And what was that nonsense about the criminal mastermind standing behind her back and some harmful subversive activities that she had carried out in the Homicide Unit? Someone diabolically smart had provided Engelbert with a set of those facts, shuffling truth and fiction and presenting her as a threat to the Rath family, as well as to the police force. Someone who knew what buttons to press and how to manipulate him. Someone who wanted to get rid of her to somewhere outside of Berlin without raising dust. Someone who wanted to destroy Gereon by taking away his ally. Anno. It could only be Anno.

*

On Monday at 8 o’clock sharp the members of the Homicide Unit gathered together for a weekly briefing.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Gennat greeted them, taking his seat in the middle of the table. “I say gentlemen because our only lady is absent, and that’s the first issue I wanted to address today.”

As if by command, everybody stared at Charlotte’s empty seat and then back at Gennat’s gloomy face.

“Fräulein Ritter has been missing since Thursday night, and we suspect that she has been abducted,” Gennat continued. “Kommissar Rath is investigating the case, and if necessary the rest of you are to help him.”

“This is the Homicide Unit,” Böhm reminded him sarcastically. “Why would we use our resources to investigate Ritter’s case unless she’s found dead?”

Gereon furiously clenched his fist and opened his mouth to object, but Gennat made a conciliatory gesture. “We are a team, and she is one of us. All for one, one for all, that is. Until Fräulein is back I expect paperwork assignments to be evenly distributed between all junior officers. Nowadays it seems to me that Fräulein Ritter is taking care of the majority of cases we prepare for the prosecutor’s office, as well as for archiving. So roll your sleeves up, dear colleagues.”

Then Gennat moved on to the murders they were currently investigating, but Gereon was only listening to him with half an ear. He was absorbed in his own much more important thoughts. Regierungsrat Wendt was the next person he planned to question. Wendt had quite a few reasons to seek revenge, and he was exactly the kind of man who could hit below the belt or stab someone in the back. Gereon prayed it was not him who had attacked Charlotte, because Wendt would rather eliminate than kidnap her.

**

For the past thirty-five years Engelbert Rath had started each and every one of his weekday mornings in the same way. He woke up at 6 o’clock, washed his face with ice-cold water, then shaved with warm water, got dressed and had breakfast: a hard-boiled egg, some buttered toast, four long rashers of fried bacon and a large cup of black coffee with two teaspoons of sugar. Two morning newspapers were always waiting for him on the left side of his plate. Engelbert read the regional and national news carefully and kept an ear to the ground, staying up to date with all the current developments. At half past seven his chauffeur drove him to the Police Presidium of Köln, where he spent the next nine or ten hours. Of course, sometimes he was out of the office, as he regularly attended important meetings in the Rathaus. He had been a member of the City Council since 1925 and planned to hold his position for at least two more terms.

This morning Engelbert was screwed up in a ball and had no strength to crawl out of bed and get ready for work. He didn’t sleep much at night, distracted by thoughts related to the girl locked in his hunting cabin. He suffered from sharp chest pains again, and his heart drops didn’t help at all. It might be wise to consult a doctor and ask for a new prescription, but Engelbert didn’t want anybody to see him visiting the hospital. And he wanted even less to reveal that he had heart problems, as his political rivals, those nasty vultures, would gladly use that information against him. A public figure of his rank couldn’t trust doctors and nurses to keep his medical records confidential. Everybody was so easily bribed these days. Perhaps Hingst the pharmacist could sell him something strong and effective without a prescription. The man never asked his name but became very willing to help him with anything after he mentioned a secret code word from the anonymous letter.

Engelbert cut himself when shaving, and the wound bled for a few minutes, so that he couldn’t start getting dressed on time. His toast was burnt, and his coffee was too watery and too sweet.

“Berta,” he roared.

“Herr Rath,” his elderly housemaid hurriedly shuffled out of the kitchen looking worried and guilty.

“What on Earth is wrong with you today? You’ve burnt my toast. You’ve put three spoons of sugar in my coffee instead of two. And where’s the Morgenpost?”

“I beg your pardon, Herr Rath,” Berta was clearly upset by his accusations. “I was a little sloppy when cooking breakfast, it won’t happen again. The other newspaper wasn’t delivered, or perhaps someone stole it out of the mailbox.”

“The head of the Police Presidium is a victim of mailbox theft. O tempora, o mores!” he laughed bitterly.

Engelbert arrived at work at quarter past eight, and his secretary stared at him in surprise, as if witnessing the Third Coming of Christ. His office was disgustingly dusty and untidy because it hadn’t been cleaned since last Friday. He didn’t want anyone to sniff around and go through the things he was hiding there. The girl’s handbag, for example. Engelbert had been keeping it in a locked drawer for a couple of days, and now he finally had the nerve to examine her belongings.

The flowery canvas bag with polished wooden handles didn’t look particularly luxurious, but it was roomy and functional. What would he find in it? A cheap pocket mirror, a dark maroon lipstick, a wooden comb and bobby pins. There was no cash inside her faux leather purse, only a couple of tram tickets and a haircut coupon torn from a women’s magazine. Cigarettes and matches. A bunch of keys, a pencil and a handkerchief. Nothing provocative or illegal, no diamond ring, no weapons, no notepads or any other informative items. Well, a library card and a few reader’s slips. What did she borrow from the library? Crime Scene Investigation, the Revised Penal Code, the Handbook of Court Procedures (third edition, revised and extended), Popular Astronomy. Could the girl be really so smart as to read these books, or was she just throwing dust in Gereon’s eyes?

The anonymous source from Berlin was right, her outward appearance didn’t match her vile personality. She looked like a student, or an office clerk, or maybe a librarian. Definitely not like a messenger of Satan or a stereotypical hooker. But the girl possessed charm and charisma, she didn’t have to dress like a slut to capture and keep male attention. She was surely surrounded by a crowd of admirers and could easily pick up a handsome, well-off man in spite of her indecent past. That kind of woman would never be interested in his dumb, mediocre younger son, which proved that she was on a mission and needed Gereon for some obscure purpose. Engelbert just had to discover what her secret mission was about.

The initial interrogations brought few results. Even though the girl admitted she had spent years whoring and had entered the police force using a forged certificate, she didn’t answer the most important questions and denied being engaged to Gereon. Thirst, hunger and idleness would soon make her more amenable. He would extract a confession and unveil that nasty plot come hell or high water, but then…

The idea that at some point he would need to dispose of the girl felt appalling. Murder was a mortal, unforgivable sin, and although she surely deserved a death sentence, he would prefer it to be carried out by a professional executioner. Not by himself. But in the current situation, Engelbert had to act on his own authority.

When the girl’s confessions had been obtained, he would put a tasteless poison in her water. The pharmacist from Hohe Straße supplied him with white crystals said to be more toxic than rat poison. A teaspoon of those crystals dissolved in a litre of water could kill a horse. A couple of gulps might be enough to get rid of a woman who didn’t weigh more than about forty-five or fifty kilos. She would die slowly from internal bleeding and thin blood that would refuse to clot. Then he would put her body into a large game bag and bury it somewhere deep in the forest, where nobody would ever find her. Theoretically, it had to be easy, but he knew that the girl’s shiny, hazel eyes would haunt his dreams until his last breath.

These gloomy thoughts were interrupted by Engelbert’s secretary, who knocked at the door of his office, “Herr Rath, your son is calling from Berlin. Shall I connect you?”

Engelbert felt a strong throbbing sensation in his left temple; the veins on the front of his forehead were bulging.

“Yes, please.”

He took a long breath and picked up the telephone.

“Rath.”

“Father.”

“If you want to apologise for your behaviour, go ahead,” Engelbert said.

“Not exactly,” Gereon answered.

“Then we have nothing to talk about,” Engelbert attacked Gereon quickly, without giving him chance to get a word in. “Forget that I am your father. You are not my son ex nunc. Moritz will inherit my estate, so you go and have fun with your hooker. My decision is final and irrevocable.”

A loud, unpleasant thud signalled that Gereon had hung up. Good. That underdog was always easy to con. He didn’t even say why he was calling, as Engelbert carried out a quick pre-emptive strike, stopping his mouth with a well-deserved curse and a threat. But Gereon was searching for the girl, and suspected him of abduction, which was a very unpleasant discovery. Would his son contact him again soon? Could Gereon be so bold as to ask some of his former colleagues at the Police Presidium of Köln to spy on him? He had to be very cautious in his words and deeds, without getting paranoid, of course.

***

Having had a brief and fruitless conversation with his father, Gereon contacted Wendt’s office. His secretary reported that the Regierungsrat was taking care of some important affairs in town. Obviously, it was a false excuse for spending a couple of hours in the stables. Wendt was an all-round equestrian, passionate about horse racing, and Gereon knew where to look for him when he was out of the office.

His intuition didn’t fail him. When Gereon arrived at the large private stables, Wendt was there, scrupulously brushing his horse’s mane. It was the newest addition to his string of horses, an excellent Arabian sire with impeccable breeding and a race-winning background, surely worth a fortune.

“Herr Kommissar,” Wendt turned to Gereon with a pained expression, as if suffering from a nasty toothache. “Investigating some shady mystery again? Hopefully you’re not going to shoot another of my stablemen. Soon I’ll have to resign from my position and start taking care of the horses by myself.”

“Such unfortunate situations can be easily avoided by recruiting law-abiding candidates instead of serial murderers,” Gereon shrugged his shoulders and demonstratively tossed a cigarette butt on the ground, even though there was a bin just a couple of metres away. “Well, I’m not here to talk about Schulte.”

“I’m all ears,” Wendt put the grooming brush aside, giving Gereon his undivided attention.

“My assistant, Fräulein Ritter, has gone missing, and we suspect it might be a case of criminal abduction.”

“Your female assistant. I might know who you mean,” Wendt narrowed his eyes. “A close friend of Greta Overbeck, Benda’s murderer. She attempted to pervert the course of justice but failed in doing so. Actions like that don’t mark her out as a wise woman. It seems that I am not the only one who makes poor choices when managing human resources.”

“Do you happen to know anything about the abduction I am investigating?” Gereon set a straight question, firmly holding his enemy’s hostile stare.

“I will answer that question with another one,” Wendt sneered. “Do you happen to know anything about the notorious journalist Kattelbach, who presents a great threat to German national security? For example, where he is hiding and who is providing him with highly classified documents that he regularly leaks to the press.”

Gereon realised that Wendt was playing cat-and-mouse with him. He was bluffing and using the occasion to fish for the information he needed. No, it was not him who had taken Charlotte.

“Why would I know anything about Kattelbach and his sources?” Gereon asked, rather abruptly.

“And why would I know anything about your missing assistant?” Wendt’s thin-lipped mouth twisted into a wry, sarcastic smile. “Good luck with your search, Herr Kommissar. Let’s hope that your assistant will be found without a bullet in her not-so-bright head.”

****

Whenever he walked past the Alexanderplatz metro station, Gereon always observed the little beggar children closely, as he wanted to find the girl Charlotte had once talked to. He knew these kids were afraid of police, so he had to be inventive in approaching them. Gereon kept a paper bag of chewy caramels and some small coins in the pocket of his coat in case he ever saw the girl and needed to start a conversation.

This afternoon he was finally lucky. The girl he was looking for was standing right near the metro entrance, digging through the rubbish looking for any scraps of food. She noticed that a stranger was watching her and froze on the spot. Gereon slow approached the girl and gave her a friendly smile.

“Hello!”

The girl studied him silently with her big grey eyes, ready to escape at any moment.

“Don’t worry, I won’t do you any harm,” Gereon remained calm and spoke to the child from a safe distance.

“My mother forbids me to chat to strangers,” the girl said.

“That’s clever,” he nodded. “But I think I saw you once before, when I was walking here last week with my friend. A young lady in a brown coat. She talked to you, and you went down to the metro station together.”

“My auntie Lotte!” the girl’s eyes and her whole face lit up with a huge smile.

“She’s my friend,” Gereon repeated. He had no clue how to talk to little children and get on their good side. “My name is Gereon. And what’s yours?”

“You have a funny name,” the girl wrinkled her button nose. “My name is Klara.”

“Would you like to try a sweetie?” he extricated the bag of caramels from his pocket and offered it to the child.

It was a good tactical move to win Klara’s trust. She carefully took one sweet and quickly stuck it in her mouth.

“So yummy,” she munched on the caramel with obvious enjoyment. “Can I have another one?

“Of course. You can have the whole bag,” Gereon assured.

The girl stared at him for a moment, as if she couldn’t believe her luck.

“Thanks. I'll save one for my mother and one for Max. Theo is too small to eat sweets,” Klara explained and swallowed another caramel. “Where is Lotte? I miss her. No one reads me bedtime stories since we moved into our new home.”

Gereon didn’t want to say that Charlotte had disappeared, so he avoided answering her question, inventing one of his own instead.

“What stories did she read to you?”

“About the little mermaid, about the ugly duckling, about the snow queen,” the girl strained her memory reciting the titles of Andersen’s fairy tales. “I like the story about Thumbelina, and Lotte likes the one about the steadfast tin soldier. Have you heard it?”

“No,” Gereon shook his head.

“It’s a sad story. In the end the soldier and the ballerina get burnt in the fireplace. I’ll lend you the book if you want. I can’t read yet and my mother is blind, so we don’t need it.”

“Very generous of you, I could borrow the book,” Gereon nodded. “And I would like to talk to your mother too. I need to ask her something.”

“She doesn’t like guests,” the girl sighed. “And she told me not to come back home until I’ve collected three marks.”

“I’ll give you five marks,” Gereon didn’t like having to bribe the child, but he couldn’t let her slip away. “And we’ll go to see your mother right now.”

“Money first,” Klara demanded, stretching out her small, dirty hand.

“Here are two marks. I will give you three more marks when you show me where your family lives.”

They went down to the metro.

“Don’t sit too close to me. I have lice,” the girl warned him.

*****

After half an hour by metro and ten minutes on foot, Gereon and Klara reached a part of Berlin that Gereon had never visited before. The place was nothing but a slum with long, uneven rows of ugly, decrepit buildings. They were all in deplorable condition, falling into disrepair and probably earmarked for demolition. Violence, alcoholism, unemployment, disease and prostitution flourished in areas like this.

“We live there,” Klara pointed her finger at a grey barrack with damaged walls.

The shabby building was home to a dozen families, and a true eyesore that embodied the rot of their society. Wendt’s stables were much cleaner and comfier than this smelly, decaying house. Near the front door, they bumped into a small boy who was carrying a bucket of water almost as big as himself. The barrack didn’t have piped water, so the residents had to carry water from the well located somewhere further down the street.

Klara led Gereon inside, and he winced at the noxious odour of filth, sweat and spoiled food. On the ground floor, a few people were queuing to use a toilet. They were speaking in loud voices, swearing and laughing.

An old man with an overgrown grey beard and missing front teeth blocked Gereon’s way and started shouting at him in a harsh voice, “Our little Klara brought a guest. Her very first patron. A respected gentleman, but a little la-di-da. Are you fond of kiddies, mate?”

A jaundiced middle-aged woman dressed in a greasy, loose, sleeveless robe grabbed the man by the elbow and took him aside, “Can’t you see he’s a copper, idiot? He’s come to ask about Erich.”

Gereon ignored the fuss and silently followed Klara, who was quickly climbing the narrow, stiff stairs that led up to the second floor. The dilapidated beams inside the barrack were riddled with cracks and close to collapsing. The roof was leaking, and the windows were in a truly pitiable state, some broken and some boarded up with swollen sheets of plywood. The house was definitely not safe to stay in. Gereon didn’t want to imagine his Charlotte living for many years in a hovel like that. If only he could have taken her from the slums much earlier, giving her the better and easier life she deserved.

Finally they stopped at the door of the room that was tucked right under the eaves. Gereon knocked twice and heard a raspy woman’s voice, “Come in! The door is on the latch.”

“Good afternoon. I am Kommissar Rath from the Berlin criminal police,” Gereon introduced himself and showed his badge. He recognised Ilse, as he had seen her before in the Burg, but she didn’t seem to remember him.

“Hello,” Ilse was sitting on the bed and staring in Gereon’s direction without meeting his eyes. She had probably been napping with her younger son, a thin toddler who was peeping out from behind her back. “Is it about my husband’s case?”

“I am afraid not. It’s about your sister and my colleague, Fräulein Charlotte Ritter. She has gone missing. Nobody has seen her since last Thursday, and now we are searching for her.”

“I have no idea where she could be,” Ilse answered, quite indifferently. She was prepared to talk about her imprisoned husband and obviously didn’t care much about Charlotte.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“She visited me here about a week ago, just briefly.”

“Now, it’s very important that you tell me the details of her visit. What did you talk about?”

“She saw my daughter Klara somewhere downtown and brought her home. I told Lotte that my husband was in prison, and that I’d gone blind. She was the one who paid for my failed eye surgery, so I have a perfect reason to be cross with her. The doctor she found turned out to be a butcher, and now I’m an invalid. I can’t provide for my children.”

“And what did she say?”

“She offered her help, but I told her we didn’t need anything.”

“Try to remember what language you used.”

“I was angry and used pretty strong language. How could I know that she’d go missing shortly afterwards?” Ilse got defensive. “I said that Lotte always brought misfortune and caused trouble. I asked her to get out.”

“Did she go away after that?”

“Yes, but before she left she gave me some money even though I forbade it. Thirty-six marks and fifty-five pfennigs. I’ve been up to my ears in debt since my husband got sent to prison, so I decided to use her money.”

“Thank you for answering my questions. We'll update you on the investigation in due course.”

“Before joining the police Lotte did all sorts of odd jobs and night shifts. I guess she gave them up though. But you could ask after her in cabaret restaurants and dance halls. And if Lotte doesn’t turn up, contact me then, too. I am her only legal heir, I mean her personal property and such. She wouldn’t have been paid her March salary if she disappeared before payday. I'm eligible to claim it as her closest family member. And I guess she has a bank account and some savings…”

“Alright,” Gereon frowned.

“I don’t know where she lives now. But if you hear that her place is being emptied, I’ll definitely need to go through her belongings.”

“We hope your sister will be found soon,” Gereon was startled by Ilse’s greediness and lack of sensitivity.

“And what if she's found dead? I must be ready for the worst. Will the police cover the funeral costs?”

Gereon didn’t answer her question and left the room without saying goodbye.

*

The last rays of the late evening sunlight illuminated the hunting cabin. Charlotte wasn’t waiting for Engelbert anymore, as she had decided he wasn’t going to pay her a visit this evening. But she was wrong. Shortly before sunset she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. Charlotte sat up straight on the floor and held her breath as the key made a total of four audible clicks. The door of the cabin flew open and Engelbert Rath rushed in.

“I’ll leave the door open,” he said. “It stinks like death in here.”

“Good evening. How very considerate of you, thanks,” Charlotte said sarcastically, but flashed him a grateful smile.

She peeped outside through the open door and inhaled deeply, enjoying a big gulp of fresh air. Nature was slowly reawakening after a long winter sleep, and the trees would be growing leaves soon. Would she ever see blossoming trees again? It would be terribly wrong to die during the season of renewal. The sounds and colours of freedom were so near and yet so far. Charlotte was longing to leave the cabin and follow one of the narrow paths winding through the enchanting, mossy forest.

“Tonight I would like to have my dinner in the company of a fair young lady. You are not fair, little bitch, but you are young and a wee bit prettier than my housemaid, that clumsy old cow.”

Engelbert seemed pleased with his hateful opening remark. He gave Charlotte a short, sarcastic bow and hurried back to his car. In a couple of minutes he returned with a large plate covered with a silver cloche and a small set of cutlery wrapped in a white linen napkin. Then he brought out a bottle of white wine and a glass. He arranged everything on the table and sat on the bench, ready for the meal. Engelbert hung the napkin around his neck and fixed it with an elegant silver chain.

“Stand up and come closer,” he commanded. “Hold my hands, let’s say grace.”

Charlotte stood up and took a step forward, obediently placing her hands on his large, sweaty palms. Engelbert squeezed her hands so hard that it hurt, but she bore the pain stoically, without letting the slightest sound escape.

“Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” Charlotte repeated.

Finally he let her hands free, “You bear pain like a man,” he praised. “Unlike my stupid younger son, who always wept when I tried to teach him life lessons. Now stop staring at me and pour the wine into the glass.”

Engelbert had removed the cork beforehand, and the bottle was resealed with a wooden stopper that didn’t require much effort. Charlotte slowly filled the glass to its widest point and placed it to the right of Engelbert’s plate, taking care to touch only the stem.

He took off the cloche, uncovering a variety of cold appetisers neatly arranged on the plate. Strangely enough, despite not having eaten for many hours, Charlotte didn’t crave any of these foods. They looked peculiar, and she wasn’t quite sure what they were.

“What shall I start with?” Engelbert smirked. “Maybe escargots in garlic butter?”

Was he really going to eat snails? Charlotte turned pale and quickly gulped down a lump in her throat.

“Are you going to throw up?” he pretended to be surprised. “Snails taste good. Haven’t you ever tried them?”

Charlotte shook her head and briefly closed her eyes, feeling sick. The very idea of eating snails was disgusting, though she had heard that the French ate snails, sea urchins and frogs’ legs. Engelbert noticed her reaction, rejoicing at her confusion.

“You must be hungry. Take a snail and try it. Look, you do it like this, hold it tight with the tongs and then twist the fork to separate the meat from the shell.”

“Actually I’m not hungry, Herr Rath. The bread you gave me last time was delicious, and I feel so well fed, thank you.”

“Rejecting food is rude. Do you want to upset your host? Take a snail and give it a try, I say, otherwise I will stick it in your throat with its shell still on.”

That prospect sounded nasty, and Charlotte knew that Engelbert wasn’t kidding. She took the smallest snail and followed Engelbert’s example. It tasted like oil and garlic, quite bearable if she tried not to think of it as a snail.

“Thank you,” Charlotte nodded, swallowing the snail down.

“The next appetiser,” Engelbert announced, picking up a small, roasted piece of bread that had something brown spread on it. “The other one is for you.”

“What is that?” Charlotte asked and right away regretted her question.

“Jellied elk nose. Great for virility,” he munched on the toast and sneered at Charlotte. “The elk was my hunting trophy. I use all animal parts in one way or another. Do you like it?”

“Absolutely,” Charlotte beamed. “It tastes like honey.”

“Good girl. And this one is for you alone, no need to share with me,” he sipped on his wine and pointed his fork at a long, pinkish piece of meat that resembled a half-cooked sausage.

Charlotte cut a piece of the meat with a blunt knife and put it into her mouth. It was rather tasteless, tough and chewy.

“You must love it,” Engelbert rubbed his hands with satisfaction, studying Charlotte’s facial expression. “It’s a boiled elk’s penis.”

On hearing these words, Charlotte felt a severe urge to gag. She desperately tried to stop herself from throwing up, but forceful coughing triggered strong stomach spasms. She bent forward, her shoulders were quivering, and just a moment later she was vomiting on the floor and listening to Engelbert’s loud, vicious laughter.

“How rude of you!” he exclaimed. “This lousy mongrel from the barracks has no idea about gourmet cuisine. Fortunately, you’ll get a chance to taste some exquisite delicacies before you die. The soft-boiled chicken embryos and sautéed lamb brains are so tender that they will surely melt in your mouth. This gorgeous dish has been prepared just for you, my dear would-be daughter-in-law. And the best-value bottle from my wine cellar. You can’t accuse me of being greedy or inhospitable. Wine tastes better than water, right?”

He came up to Charlotte and forced her to the floor in a pool of her vomit.

“Are you not going to say grace after the meal?” Engelbert snapped and began to strike her on the back. “Are you not going to say anything at all?”

Charlotte didn’t answer his questions, silently withering in pain and making Engelbert even more furious. She was beaten up and humiliated, and her breathing was ragged, yet she was able to endure pain and committed to keeping quiet. He ripped her up from the floor by her hair and shook her violently.

“I will make you find your tongue very soon, little whore,” he promised.

Charlotte was fearing a punch to the stomach that would certainly be fatal to her possible pregnancy. She finally dared to admit that she might be expecting. A brand-new life might be slowly developing inside her, probably as small as a grain of rice or even tinier. It was a relief to realise that she was not struggling alone after all. Gereon was physically present here, in this gloomy hunting cabin, giving her the strength to carry on.

Miraculously, Engelbert loosened his grip and took his hands off Charlotte.

“Enough for today. Enjoy your appetisers, I will be back soon with the main course.”

**

Gereon spent a few days driving around Berlin like a madman, looking for Charlotte everywhere, checking different locations and talking to people who could be behind her abduction or know something about her whereabouts. His search yielded no results. In a moment of despair, he admitted to himself that the probability of finding her alive was very low, and even Gennat with his vast experience didn’t believe that she would ever come back to the Burg. He said that in May he would reopen the vacancy for the position of criminal assistant, because the Homicide Unit was suddenly severely short-staffed without Charlotte.

Gereon kept shifting between hope and hopelessness, trying to stay on the move without allowing fear to paralyse him. His past sorrows and misfortunes seemed distant and unimportant compared with his present misery. He would miss Charlotte forever. It hurt so much to be apart, because their souls were connected, and Gereon didn’t believe that his pain would ever pass. He was grateful for those fleeting moments of happiness they had found before all hell had broken loose and some devilish power had torn Charlotte away from him again. He was numb to the world, his chest was hollow inside and he couldn’t feel his heart beat anymore. He struggled to contain himself, to stop tears rolling down from his eyes. Charlotte would not want him to cry or seek comfort in drugs and alcohol.

At night Gereon wandered restlessly around the flat, touching at random everything that reminded him of Charlotte. For the first time since her disappearance, he opened the closet where she kept her clothes. It looked tidy, and all her garments were perfectly organised by type and colour. Blouses, skirts, trousers, dresses. Gereon ran his fingers over the fabric of the dress she was wearing when they danced in Holländer and later at Gräf’s birthday party.

Bittersweet memories flooded his head. Their spontaneous move towards each other, their first kiss, their mutual longing. He was so stupid back then. Why on Earth was he clinging onto his relationship with Helga when his mind and heart were already occupied with Charlotte? Why didn’t he just leave Helga without a backward glance when he realised that his feelings towards her had faded into indifference? How terrible it would be if he had to marry Helga because of an unintended pregnancy, out of a sense of duty. It would be a fatal error, and he would never get together with Charlotte in that case, never find out what genuine love and passion meant.

Gereon left their bedroom and went to the living room, where he studied Charlotte’s bookshelf thoroughly. All the books were borrowed from the library. Which books would she buy if she had the chance to create her own home library? Fiction, perhaps. She loved nautical novels, and so did he. It would be fun to build up a joint collection, to read the same books and then discuss them, for example, over a glass of wine. Charlotte liked to learn new things and gain new perspectives; her thirst for knowledge never ceased to amaze him.

Gereon remembered that he wanted to add Andersen’s fairy tale book to her shelf. Klara sneaked it into his hands when he was talking to Ilse, and he brought it home. The only book Charlotte owned. It had a worn and distressed green fabric cover and well-thumbed pages. She had re-read it to her younger sister and later to her niece many times and surely knew these stories by heart. Gereon leafed through the book and found a few black-and-white illustrations. One of them hit him right in the stomach. A one-legged uniformed soldier was admiring a graceful ballerina who was standing in an arabesque and wearing a pretty tutu decorated with spangles and sequins. The tutu resembled the collar of Charlotte’s dress.

Everything brought her to his mind, he couldn’t stop thinking about her even for a minute. He was going insane, he would never adjust to his loss. Very soon he would be ready to step over the edge to search for her in the afterlife. Charlotte and little Erwin were probably waiting for him there. Suicide didn’t kill people, but grief and loneliness did.

Gereon took the teddy bear she had given to him from the shelf and gently stroked its plush muzzle. When I saw him, I knew he was the one; these words said by Charlotte and the soft tone of her voice were burnt into his memory. When Gereon saw Charlotte, he knew that she was the one too. Before had he learnt her name, even before they had exchanged apologies in front of the elevators.

She had bewitched him the very first time he caught a glimpse of her. It happened the day he arrived at the Burg, and their eyes met somewhere in the foyer. He was passing by with Wolter, and she was standing there among the other typists, staring at him with a sly, charming smile that grabbed his eye more than the bright emerald-green hat she was wearing. As if he recognised her at the unconscious level. His drug-addled brain wasn’t aware of the fact for quite a long time, but some strong, dark instinct pushed him inexorably towards Charlotte.

The tension between them was almost palpable, and when he held her in his arms after the car accident, everything just fell into place. Anno, Helga, drugs and conspiracy represented destructive forces in his life. Charlotte was a new start, an ability to create and move forward. Probably to be happy, as absurd as it seemed. She proved to him that he was capable of feeling happiness, just like any other human being in the world. She taught him to appreciate the tiny, prosaic things he had often overlooked before. Seeing the sunrise and sunset, eating breakfast in bed and making love afterwards, laughing at silly jokes together, having a good hair day.

Gereon put Otto the Teddy back on the shelf and picked up Charlotte’s rag doll. He remembered how Charlotte fidgeted with it on the day she moved into his flat. A few weeks had passed, but it felt like an eternity ago. It was a homemade doll, most likely sewn by Charlotte’s mother and stuffed with scraps of cotton fabric. The doll had brown wool hair, black button eyes and a stitched-on smile. It was wearing a cotton blue dress and a frilly beige apron that used to be white years ago. A very simple doll, but very dear to Charlotte. Gereon wished he could find out the history of this toy and learn how the girl and the doll had survived the war and overcome all the other hurdles they had faced together.

Suddenly Gereon’s fingers detected some small, solid and angular object inside the soft toy. It held a secret. Gereon found a pair of scissors in his drawer, carefully undid the seam on the doll’s back and found a tiny hidden compartment there. He gently pulled the mysterious object out of the toy. A cross pendant made of yellow gold was hanging on a matching gold curb chain. Jesus Christ on the holy cross. Gereon used to wear a very similar one until he lost it shortly after the war. Why did Charlotte have a Catholic crucifix necklace inside her rag doll?

Gereon put the chain around his neck and fastened it. It looked and felt annoyingly familiar, even the length was perfect. The chain fell a few centimetres below his collarbone. Gereon didn’t know how to get rid of that strange sense of déjà vu, because it definitely couldn’t be his chain and his cross. Of course not. He tried to think logically. There were thousands of similar cross pendants in Germany. His was likely to be buried between the floorboards in his parents’ house in Köln. Or had he dropped it down the drain while bathing? One day he just realised that his cross was missing. And now, about ten years later, he had found an identical one hidden inside Charlotte’s rag doll.

Even though it couldn’t be his pendant, he had regained the cross in the most unexpected way, just when he was about to step into a darkness of despair and lose his faith. Miracles probably happened to those who believed in them. Gereon perceived the find as a good omen. Charlotte was still alive. He had to obey Erwin and find her. Giving up was not an option.

Chapter Text

Engelbert Rath was going through the toughest time in his life. It was worse than the weeks when his wife was slowly dying from the Spanish flu, and almost as bad as the time after the war when Anno was declared missing in action. Ten days ago, he executed a successful coup-de-main attack on Berlin and kidnapped the young woman who posed a threat to his son’s and his own career and security. He had kept her in his hunting cabin for ten long days; he had interrogated her four times, but she remained unbreakable.

The girl was beaten till she bled, he hardly gave her any food and added yeast and vinegar to her drinking water. No effect. She must have taken up a vow of silence, and Engelbert was afraid that she might die soon. Die without making a confession.

It seemed to him that he was suffering at least as much as she was. His chest pains had become so severe that he had to visit pharmacist Hingst once again, this time to get drugs for himself. He was given a few small vials containing a transparent substance, but he had no idea what that medicine was. The pharmacist suddenly forgot how to speak German and gave him some brief incomprehensible explanations in Dutch. The medicine eased Engelbert’s heart pains, but his head was all over the place, worse than ever. He couldn’t concentrate on anything, and his brain was fixed exclusively on the girl he held captive.

He was quickly losing the ability to tell what was real and what was not. He was constantly looking around and watching out for slim young women with dark, curly hair. What if the girl had found her way out of the cabin, or someone had set her free, and she had arrived in Köln to pursue him, to tell everybody that she was kidnapped and assaulted by the head of the Police Presidium and member of the City Council? He noticed one such woman in the street by a newspaper stand and had to make sure that it was not his escaped prisoner wanting to buy cigarettes before coming to expose him. Another young brunette was reading wall announcements in the foyer of his workplace. Was she searching for his office? No, it couldn’t be his girl; this one was much taller and some twenty kilos heavier.

Engelbert developed uncontrollable paranoia. It seemed to him that his housemaid was suspicious of his evening ‘hunting’ activities during the off-season. She watched him rather curiously when he asked her to prepare snacks and drinks before he left for the forest. His chauffeur wasn’t any better either, persistently offering his services whenever Engelbert took the car key and went driving by himself before dark. When he was away, they surely sneaked apple cider out of his wine cellar and gossiped together trying to figure out what was going on in the forest. What if the chauffeur had decided he would check the hunting cabin and was simply waiting for a suitable occasion to do so, for example, his day off?

Engelbert couldn’t relax even in his fortress, at work. He knew that his subordinates were plotting to harass him, exercising harmful activities behind his back. Fürstenberg and Hochschulz from the Internal Affairs Unit made him feel threatened and nervous. They booked an official appointment through his secretary and arrived at his office with absolutely inscrutable faces, declaring that they had started investigating a case of professional misconduct and criminal wrongdoing committed by a senior official. They didn’t name that official, and Engelbert couldn’t ask them, because such a question would violate the policies of their division. Basically, these sly rats were warning him that they were spying on him. Both were friends of Gereon and possibly his marionettes. Engelbert was hemmed in on all sides as the enemy ring quickly tightened around him.

He knew that the girl wouldn’t carry on for much longer. Though she was enduring pain like a man, she had the body of a feeble woman, and one excessive blow could be enough to kill her. She had accepted her destiny and was ready to die, so his chances of obtaining her confession were gradually getting slimmer. And without that, all his actions against her became precarious and even criminal. He had to be inventive and find a way to scare her, a way to make her blood run cold. Ordinary measures were insufficient. Pain alone wasn’t making her talk, but terror combined with rough violence would. Alea iacta est – he had to prepare the final lethal strike because he had already passed the point of no return.

At the end of his workday, Engelbert visited a familiar antiquarian who sold all kinds of bizarre items brought in from overseas, mainly smuggled. The girl spoke about the Holy Inquisition, and he had to meet her expectations. The seller hung a ‘Closed’ sign on the shop door, so that no random passer-by would accidentally drop in and disturb his very important customer. The head of the Police Presidium enjoyed a wide range of exclusive offers and benefits from the service-minded antiquarian.

A couple of months ago, Engelbert purchased four gold plates that were found beneath the Indian temple and dated back to the early Baroda period. Not that he cared about the historical artefacts or collected specific Indian dishware; he just couldn’t miss a chance to buy those plates over Paul Moldenhauer’s head. It was so sweet to upset his old rival, whose vast collection of Indian antiquities was missing those particular items. Rath and Moldenhauer used to be on friendly terms when studying Law and Political Sciences at the University of Bonn, but later his former fellow student by far outperformed him by being elected to the Reichstag and becoming the Minister of Finance. So it was a matter of honour to buy those goddamn plates from under his nose.

This time, Engelbert was looking for something intimidating and peculiar, but he couldn’t tell the seller what exactly he wanted to purchase or for what purpose. The antiquarian showed him the whole megillah: sunken shipwreck coins, vintage books and artwork from around Europe, Asian ephemera, brass and porcelain dishes, African drums, elephant and walrus ivory, and even a stuffed sea turtle from Australia. None of those items would serve his purpose.

Right before leaving the shop, Engelbert glanced up and noticed a row of Venetian masks hanging on the wall above the entrance. That was what he needed; the plague-doctor mask was frightening enough. Then he followed the seller to the apparel section and picked out the black, hooded cloak of a novice Benedictine monk. Engelbert was ready for his final duel with the messenger of Satan. He would definitely not lose this one.

*

After ten days of captivity, Charlotte was on the brink of emaciation. It was not the first time in her life she had had to survive on very little food for many days. Thirst exhausted her much more than hunger. After she was done with the wine, Engelbert had brought her a bottle of water that tasted terribly acidic, made her even thirstier and caused severe heartburn.

Charlotte decided to hibernate like a hedgehog or a bear during the winter. She lay still on the bench with her eyes closed and tried to sleep as much as she could. Eventually, her cues for sleepiness and wakefulness were turned upside down, and she lost track of what day of the week it was. She couldn’t sleep in the darkness of the night and took multiple naps during the day. There was nothing to do in the cabin, besides reading the Bible and waiting for old Rath to arrive.

In the past, Charlotte never wasted her time on daydreaming, considering it to be an impractical and useless habit that would bring only disappointment because none of her dreams were likely to come true. Of course, she had had a few goals, such as getting the position of criminal assistant in the Burg. Once she achieved this, she did her best to be a good assistant, but she knew that her career in the Homicide Unit would never progress any further. She had to retake every qualification exam multiple times while her male colleagues easily passed them on the first or second attempt without any major preparations.

Her rank in the police hierarchy would always be the lowest, as well as her salary. She was the first woman who dared to intrude in that male-dominated field, and they would never allow her to become a Kommissar, to investigate crimes on her own, to have male subordinates. No, it was simply unthinkable. Not worth dreaming about.

In captivity, Charlotte had plenty of time to spare on the one hand and probably not many days of life left on the other. So she decided it would do no harm to let herself daydream, to experience something nice and exciting at least inside her head. She started with simple and casual dreams, for example, enjoying a glass of cold lemonade and a piece of chocolate cake. Or vanilla ice cream with colourful sprinkles in a waffle cone, or a warm fresh-baked pretzel dipped in honey. These heavenly visions made her stomach growl and rumble, triggering sugar cravings and strong hunger pangs.

Charlotte decided that dreaming about food in her current situation was simply inhumane, so she turned to less materialistic dreams. What would she like to experience before death? She had always wanted to visit the State Opera House. To her, it represented elitist art and high culture that she had no chance of interacting with. It would be so fancy to have a seat in the stalls and listen to some stout opera diva performing an aria from Tosca or La Traviata, surrounded by snobs in penguin suits and ladies in mink wraps with shiny strings of jewels around their wrinkled necks and massive stones in their ears. During the interval, she would treat herself to a glass of champagne and a caviar canapé. Charlotte mentally shook her head as she started thinking about food again.

Another dream of hers would be a trip to the seaside. Would it be the North or the Baltic Sea? Or might she be so bold as to dream about the turquoise Mediterranean waters? No, too unrealistic; it was too hard to imagine herself on the Côte d'Azur, in Majorca or in Santorini. The North Sea would do just fine. Some small seaside resort in Lower Saxony with white sandy beaches and neat rows of strandkorbs, or perhaps a secluded cabin like this one, but near the coastline and better furnished – and obviously without iron bars on the windows. Each and every one of her dreams included Gereon. She wanted to do all of those nice things with him.

She pictured them walking along the windy, empty beach hand in hand, listening to splashing sea waves and turning their faces to the hot summer sun. In her dreams, there was no room for Helga or any random film actresses who he happened to know ‘just because’, and Gereon belonged exclusively to her, Charlotte. He would look at her with his luminous green eyes full of admiration, gently kiss her wrist and call her ‘darling’ or maybe ‘sweetheart’. All right, that was too much even for a dream. The word ‘sweetheart’ was simply not part of his vocabulary. She chuckled at the thought and squeezed her eyes shut again.

**

Charlotte woke up in the wee hours to the sound of grit crunching under somebody’s solid tread. She blinked her eyes open. Grim darkness still reigned, but there could be no mistaking it: her captor was quickly approaching the hunting cabin.

She heard four dry clicks, and the heavy oak door creaked open. Engelbert’s tall figure was illuminated by a glim he was holding in front of him. Charlotte was lying on the bench and watched him step inside, place the oil lamp on the table, and pull the door of the cabin shut. In the dim lamplight, Charlotte noticed that he was dressed in a very strange outfit. She was surely supposed to be rattled by the sight of his baggy, hooded cloak and white mask with a long bird-like beak. Besides, he had a sharp hunting knife and a thin stick in his right hand. A horsewhip. Charlotte didn’t like what she saw and had to gather all her courage not to cringe away in fear. Tonight, Engelbert was determined to carry her by assault. Things were swiftly coming to a head. Was she still twenty-three or had she turned twenty-four? She would probably not find that out.

“What fancy attire,” Charlotte praised, propping herself up on one elbow and grinning at him. “You’ve dressed up for the night. Does it stink so bad in here that you need to wear a mask that keeps away miasma? Do you have all fifty-five herbs inside your beak? I think I can smell lavender and peppermint.”

“Shut up!” Engelbert didn’t expect to be met with derision and clearly felt more embarrassed than annoyed. “Your hands!” His voice sounded muffled and unclear.

He fished the handcuffs out of the folds of his cloak and locked them around Charlotte’s wrists.

“Down on your knees, face to the wall!” Engelbert grabbed her hair and pushed her to the floor, forcing her to kneel.

Very soon, Charlotte sensed the cold metal of the blade pressed against the nape of her neck. Engelbert moved the knife along her back, cutting through her jumper, blouse and underwear. He stripped her from neck to waist, leaving her shoulders and back entirely exposed.

“This is our last interrogation. Tonight, you must answer all my questions. If you do, I promise that your death will be quick and painless. If you do not, here is a foretaste of how you will die.”

On saying this, he forcefully whipped her naked skin. Charlotte heard a nasty crack as the first lash landed on her back. Nothing more than a light sting. Engelbert took a short pause to muster his strength, and then continued. The next few lashes set her back on fire. She felt impact, friction burn and cut all at the same time.

“Love thy neighbour as thyself!” Charlotte yelled hysterically, squirming on the floor. “You don’t love your neighbour, not even your own son! You old crazy creep!”

“Confess!” Engelbert groaned.

The next lash went deeper in her skin as if a razor was slicing her back, lacerating her flesh. Worse than being cut with a knife. That sharp pain was impossible to endure.

“Stop it! Enough!” She was quickly approaching her breaking point.

“Who is your master? Confess!”

Charlotte turned around to face her abuser and held her index finger up, asking him to wait. To her relief, he stepped aside and gave her some space. She slowly rocked back and forth, allowing the blinding pain in her back to fade to a dull ache. Finally, she was able to speak coherently again.

“You don’t know what you are asking for. It would be better for you to be unaware of the secret I tried to keep. Better not to know the name of the mastermind who is making Gereon’s life hell.”

“Who is he? Tell me his name!” Engelbert ripped the beaked mask off his face, uncovering his ugly grimace.

“I warned you,” Charlotte was breathing heavily. “Now step back, lower your whip and let me speak. I will disclose his name.”

“Oh, yes, you will.”

She jerkily drew air into her lungs and uttered a single short word: “Anno!”

“Don’t you dare say my son’s name, bitch!” Engelbert’s jaw and fists clenched.

“You’ve been demanding the confession, so be brave enough to listen to it. Don’t interrupt me.” Charlotte’s eyes were gleaming with fury. Maddened by pain, she wanted to hurt her torturer back and she knew how to do it. “Your beloved son Anno didn’t die on the battlefield between Malmaison and Laffaux. He survived but decided not to show up at your house. He changed his name and started his life from scratch in Berlin as Doctor Schmidt.”

“You’re lying!” Engelbert recoiled in horror, the blood drained from his face.

“Too bad I am telling the truth. Go to Berlin and visit the Institute of Experimental Psychiatry, ask after Doctor Schmidt, and you will see that I’m not lying. Imagine, you’ve been mourning Anno for eleven years, and he lives.” She tasted each of her bitter words before spitting them out in Engelbert’s bloodless face. “The only love of your life remains unrequited. He doesn’t care about you, poor Herr Rath. Or perhaps he despises you. Does it hurt? I bet it does. Now you know what Gereon felt when he did his best to please you and you showed him nothing but contempt.”

“No, no, no…” Engelbert shook his head in denial, opening and closing his mouth like a beached whale. The veins on his temples were bulging and cold sweat beaded on his brow.

“In this light, I see that Anno resembles you quite a lot, and he also has a thing for masquerades and farcical clothing, even for masks. You think he drilled a few hundred Bible verses in Latin and became a good Catholic? Quite the opposite. Have you ever heard of the Satanist order Fraternitas Saturni? Anno is one of its founders. He arranges occultist rituals and speaks with the dead. All his practices are based on the Luciferian doctrine. Once, I participated in a ritual in which he established a connection with the murdered actress Betty Winter. He was wearing a hooded cloak, very similar to the one you are wearing now, and a mask. And you know, it’s better for him to hide behind the mask because without it, his face is simply revolting. It was damaged in the war, probably burnt. He looks like a monster, and he is a monster.”

Engelbert clapped his hands to his mouth and cried out, “My son! My boy!”

“He supplied you with a bundle of calumnies about me because he considers me a threat and wants to get rid of me. Human sacrifice nicely fits with his ideology. And you blindly obeyed him and agreed to commit a crime and a mortal sin. To attack a woman who threw down a challenge to Anno and his evil plot. You do his dirty work, Herr Rath. It is a trap. Don’t you understand? We all are his targets and victims: you, me and Gereon. That’s all. I rest my case.” She held her head high and looked Engelbert in the eye. “Now stab me or shoot me and go to hell. One day, you will surely reunite with Anno there.”

Old Rath wasn’t listening to her anymore. He awkwardly picked up the knife and the oil lamp and slowly stumbled to the door, swaying from side to side like a tree in the wind. He left the same way he arrived, unexpectedly, and the cabin was plunged into darkness again.

***

At home as well as in the workplace, Gereon felt stuck and unable to function. He looked pale and ragged because he hadn’t slept in days, his eyebags more pronounced than ever. Nothing could pull him out of his misery because it was Charlotte who made all the difference in the world. And now, without her, his world had been knocked off its axis.

As if in a trance, he drove to the Burg, walked into his office and settled at his desk. No case was of interest to him except Charlotte’s, but her case was impossible to solve because of the lack of forensic evidence and witnesses. Gereon had to loosen his grip and allow it to unfold at its own pace and let things happen. Patience was not his virtue, and he grew more and more heartsick with each passing day.

At 10 o’clock he received a call from the morgue about an unidentified woman’s body that had been hauled out of the Spree the previous night. The pathologist said that the woman was between twenty and twenty-five years of age, slim and dark-haired, which matched the description of Charlotte that had been given to the morgue. Gereon had no heart to go there and view the body, so he sent Henning and Czerwinski to check it and restlessly chain-smoked in his office until they called him back to report that the body didn’t belong to Charlotte.

Gereon’s nerves were strained to the limit when his desk telephone rang again. A switchboard operator said that the call was from the Police Presidium of Köln. Gereon expected to hear his father’s voice and so answered the call rather abruptly.

“Rath.”

“Hello, Gereon, Fürstenberg here.”

His old friend and former colleague from Köln. Every once in a while, they talked over the telephone, but it had been a couple of months since their last conversation, and Thomas Fürstenberg wouldn’t contact him in the Burg unless it was an emergency.

“Hello, Thomas!”

“I’m sorry, buddy, but this time I’ve got some bad news.”

“Go ahead.”

“Your father had a heart attack last night. Infarctus cordis acutus. They contacted us from St Antonius Hospital. His housemaid found him on the floor of his study this morning. He had been unconscious for a while without immediate medical attention. Now the luminaries of medicine are trying to save his life, but unfortunately they can’t promise anything at this point. Do you hear me?”

“I do,” Gereon said absently.

“You’d better contact the hospital and talk to Doctor Brendler. He is in charge of your father.”

“Alright.”

“Gereon, buddy, I hate to say it, but his condition is critical. He is not likely to make it. You need to come to Köln as soon as possible.”

“I can’t leave Berlin now,” Gereon objected dispassionately. “My assistant has been abducted and I’m investigating the case.”

For a moment, Fürstenberg kept silent.

“Of course, it’s up to you, but can’t they appoint a substitute for the time you need to be away? I mean, you have sufficient reason to go.”

“I am not going anywhere until Fräulein Ritter is found,” he said firmly.

“You have a female assistant? In the Homicide Unit?” Fürstenberg sounded amused.

“I do,” Gereon answered. “Thanks for your call, Thomas, and goodbye.”

Gereon didn’t know that his father had heart issues. But he was over sixty years old, a workaholic and a heavy smoker, surely at risk of heart attack because of the sum of these factors. Gereon didn’t want to contact the hospital or inform Helga. He was ashamed of the sudden feeling of liberation that he experienced when Fürstenberg told him that his father was not going to survive. It would mark the end of their toxic relationship, and the curse old Rath yelled down the telephone last week would be his final one.

To distract his attention from thoughts about his father, Gereon raised his head and checked what was happening on the premises of the Homicide Unit. Through his office shutters, he caught sight of Doris and the other typist whose name he didn’t remember. They were standing by Charlotte’s desk, both holding white crocuses in their hands. They briefly talked to Henning and asked him a couple of questions, but he only shrugged his shoulders in response. The women put their flowers in a glass of water and left.

Gereon tried to concentrate on checking the transcripts of the interrogations he had carried out the day before, but soon he was distracted again as Herr Haas from the Firearms Unit walked into Inspektion A. He brought green and white carnations and, after a brief hesitation, arranged them in a jar of water on Charlotte’s desk, right next to the glass with the crocuses. He respectfully bowed his head and stood still for half a minute. Anxiety slowly built up in Gereon’s heart.

At noon, three younger constables who usually guarded the lobbies of the Burg also made their appearance. They took off their caps to express respect and added a few ivory tulips to the jar of carnations. Gereon stared at them with grave wonder, feeling like he was going crazy. Did all these people know some terrible news about Charlotte that he didn’t know yet? Why were they laying floral tributes at her desk as if by tacit agreement?

Finally, Gennat and Gräf came over. Gennat had a small plate with a piece of chocolate cake in his hand, and Gräf was solemnly carrying a single white rose. They hung around Charlotte’s desk rearranging the flowers in the jar and exchanging short quiet remarks. Eventually, Gennat placed a hand on Gräf’s shoulder and left. Gräf met Gereon’s eyes and popped his head into his office.

“Today would have been her 24th birthday,” he explained, gesturing at Charlotte’s desk. “She is remembered and missed by many. The girl with a warm heart, without attitude or arrogance.”

Of course, April 15th, Charlotte’s birthday. Gereon didn’t even realise. How come his colleagues knew and he didn’t? It struck him that so many people cared for Charlotte, discussed her abduction and speculated with each other while waiting for any news or details. Nobody dared to ask him any questions because he had been so reserved and hostile lately. Not that he was the life and soul of the Unit normally.

“Right,” Gereon nodded. Would have been: he noticed that Gräf talked about Charlotte as if she wasn’t around any more.

“Let’s go to Kneipe after work,” Gräf proposed, “and drink a toast to Charlotte.”

Gereon opened his mouth to refuse, but then he looked at Gräf’s mournful face and saw the shimmer of tears rimming his eyes.

“Let’s do it,” he said.

****

It was a small crowded Kneipe with a typical collection of lower middle-class Berliners grabbing a glass of beer after the working day, chewing on cheap sausages and listening to the football match broadcast on the radio. Gereon ordered red wine and Gräf was loyal to his favourite drink, the sidecar.

“To Charlotte,” they said in unison and lifted their glasses.

For a while, they remained silent, giving space to the quiet melancholy that had simultaneously descended on both of them.

It was Gereon who finally broke the silence. “When did you meet Charlotte for the first time?”

“About three years ago in one snazzy dance hall in Kreuzberg,” Gräf said. “That place doesn’t exist anymore, thank God. It was the first night I dared to cross-dress in public – not a very successful attempt, though. Some drunk idiots drove me into a dark corner and wanted to rip my dress off.”

“Damn.” Gereon expressed his sympathy, lightly patting Gräf’s shoulder and waiting for him to continue reminiscing.

“There was no way to escape, and I knew I was going to get beaten up. A fearful feeling paralysed me; I was mentally submitting to the bully. That’s when Charlotte stepped in. She emerged out of thin air and rushed to help me, a total stranger. A skinny short girl commanded those four big bruisers to back off, and surprisingly enough, they obeyed her. My ass was saved.”

“I can imagine. I was shocked at her reckless behaviour quite a few times,” Gereon sneered.

“She checked to make sure that I was alright and fixed a hole in my dress with her bobby pin. It was too loud to talk there, so we went outside and got acquainted. We took a long walk and chatted about everything as if we had known each other for ages. Charlotte encouraged me not to give up on cross-dressing and to try it again in some safer venues, for example, in Holländer, Kakadu or Affe Klub. I followed her advice and met a lot of like-minded people, including my darling Fred. So I’m very grateful to Charlotte. Later, when she was looking for typist’s tasks in the Burg, I helped her whenever I could, and now I am privileged to call her my friend.” Gräf fell silent and after a moment added, “Believe me, if I were after women, I would certainly have thrown myself at her feet.”

Gereon chuckled at Gräf’s confession. “Was she very different back then?” he wondered aloud.

“Charlotte has slowed down quite a lot. She is much more relaxed nowadays. Before she got the position of criminal assistant, she was literally working day and night. Her mother fell ill, and Charlotte provided for the whole family alone. Her grandfather, mother, two sisters, creepy brother-in-law and a couple of nieces, or was it a niece and a nephew? Do you think they ever thanked her? No, no and no. If I were her, I would have walked away and left those folks behind, but Charlotte has such a strong sense of duty. She simply couldn’t let them down.”

“When I met her last spring, I had no idea about her life in the slums and her night shifts in the basement. I thought she was a typical party girl who was having fun all around Berlin and working for the police force purely to sate her thirst for excitement. She never complains about anything, never asks for help,” Gereon frowned.

“I know very well what she has gone through,” Gräf sighed. “She was born into the wrong family. A woman as smart as she is deserves a university and not a brothel. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean any woman deserves a brothel, but for someone like Charlotte, it’s a double travesty.”

“Tell me something else I don’t know about her. Anything. She’s always been a riddle to me, even more so after she disappeared.”

“She entrusted me with quite a few secrets, and I promised to keep them to myself.” Gräf sipped at his drink and continued, “But I can tell you one thing. She probably wouldn’t get too mad at me for disclosing it. After you saved Charlotte from the flooded car and Wolter shot you, she wanted to see you in Charité. She was too weak to walk but was determined to make it there anyway, so I offered her a ride.”

“I didn’t see her there then.”

“I’ll tell you why in a minute.” Gräf wanted to go into details. “First, we headed to Neukölln and stopped by a narrow strip of meadow that separates the new part of the district from the old one. Charlotte gathered a little bunch of wild flowers, and I drove her to Charité. When we arrived, you were already leaving the hospital. Charlotte spotted you near the front door together with a woman and a kid who she thought were your wife and son. Of course, she immediately retreated. Her face was filled with disappointment.”

“And once again, I had no idea,” Gereon mumbled, his cheeks heated with embarrassment.

“In such a situation, any other girl would have got mad and tossed the flowers away, but not Charlotte. Instead, she took a couple of deep breaths and looked around the park. She noticed a legless war invalid in a wheelchair with an extremely pained expression on his face. She went up to that guy, handed him the flowers and said a few words that I didn’t hear. He gave her a broad grin and kept smiling until we left. And Charlotte was beaming too, smiling through the tears.”

“That’s how she is.”

“I asked her if she was alright, and she said that you both survived the train case, and she couldn’t have asked for more,” Gräf said.

“I never bought her flowers or any gifts,” Gereon frowned. “I never visited her in hospital. She deserves someone better than me.”

“You saved her life twice, and that counts,” Gräf reminded him. “As for gifts and such, one can always do better. But I’m sure that Charlotte doesn’t want anybody else. She wants you, and she’s been happy with you. You are enough for her.”

“That’s what she said to me.” Gereon managed a small smile.

“It’s been nice to talk to you but now I need to go home. Fred must be wondering where I am. If you get any news about Charlotte, please, call me any time, day or night. Promise me.”

Gräf loosely wrapped his arms around Gereon’s shoulders and pulled him into a warm, comforting hug. And just like that, their friendship was raised to a higher level. If only their joint efforts would be enough to get Charlotte back.

“I promise,” Gereon nodded and finished his glass in a single gulp.

*****

On the drive home, Gereon thought he might need some more alcohol. There was no one waiting for him in his big, empty flat, only a half-consumed bottle of schnapps. He parked his car on the street opposite the building where he lived and was about to cross the road when he heard heavy footsteps approaching him from behind. Gereon turned around to face a tall man wearing a black draped coat and a hard felt hat with a short brim. The man he least wanted to meet.

“Hello,” Anno said.

“You?” Gereon snapped. “Are your bandits waiting around the corner?”

He quickly pulled out his pistol and pointed it at Anno.

“Put your gun down. I came alone.” Anno’s cruel ink-dark eyes, magnified by thick and heavy glasses, remained fixed on Gereon’s. “Herr Kasabian told me that you were upset about your assistant’s disappearance and unwilling to proceed with our therapy sessions.”

“Yes, you got that right.” Gereon tried to sound confident and conceal the anticipatory anxiety that had already left a metallic taste in his mouth and caused numbness in his limbs.

“I can see that you are distressed and overwhelmed. Let’s go to my clinic and deal with your condition. I will help you to get back on track.”

“No, I am not going with you. Let me be. Crawl back to your catacombs alone. There is no drug and no clinic that can help me with this. I need my woman back. And if I can’t have that, I only need my gun and one bullet.”

“Maybe I could give you some insight into your assistant.”

“You mean those trashy Satanist tricks? Or do you really know where she is? Do you know what happened to her?”

“Would I talk about her here, in the street? Of course not. You don’t have any leads. If you want to hear my insight, you will follow me to the clinic.”

Anno got into his car, the luxurious Rolls-Royce Phantom, and turned on the ignition. Gereon hesitated for a few moments, but he simply couldn’t waste a chance to find out something new about Charlotte. Anno was right; he had run out of options.

*

The ride to the Institute of Experimental Psychiatry was silent and stiff. Gereon foresaw that Anno would strike him with his twin weapons of belittlement and control, implanting fears in his mind and suppressing his will. He used sophisticated manipulative tactics to transform Gereon into something he wanted him to become. A human machine. A heartless mechanism obedient to its operator. A capsule without filling.

Throughout his life, Gereon had developed a strong aversion to all kinds of hospitals, clinics and lazarettos. They symbolised infirmity, wounds, contagious diseases and death. The smell of iodoform, alcohol, sick bodies and greasy meat soup was omnipresent and truly disgusting. Anno’s clinic smelt exactly like that. The ground floor was given over to war veterans whom he treated for shellshock, psychosis and epilepsy. The second floor was occupied by patients with other severe mental and behavioural disorders, schizophrenia and various brain injuries. Most of them were locked in security wards and kept there for months, even years, until they were treated to death and burnt in a small private crematorium located in the vicinity of the clinic.

Gereon received his treatment on the basement floor where Anno tested his experimental methods, including hypnosis, electric-shock therapy and deep-sleep therapy. Somewhere there, below ground level, in the chilliness and sterility of his labyrinthine chambers, Dr Schmidt had founded his own operating theatre where he performed novel surgical operations on the brains of those patients deemed irrecoverably insane and thrown on his mercy by frustrated relatives or other medical facilities. He sawed their skulls open and sectioned areas of their brains he believed to be associated with mental disorders. Once, he told Gereon that if therapeutic treatment did not provide satisfactory results, psychosurgery would be his last chance to improve. Not a very heart-warming prospect.

When Gereon and Anno arrived at the clinic, a mute, ghostlike night nurse was standing guard by the front door. She led them to the basement and into a small ward without windows that contained only an examination table for the patient, a stool for the doctor and an instrument stand with vials, tourniquets and syringes. The nurse dimmed the lights and left the ward, closing the door behind her. Gereon wasn’t sure if she was a human being of flesh and blood or an ephemeral shadow of the Inferno, that large, pulsating tumour his elder brother had grown in the bowels of Berlin.

“Take off your jacket and gun holster, roll up your sleeve and lie down,” Anno commanded. “Have you taken your injections as prescribed? I don’t see any fresh track marks on your arm.”

“I have,” Gereon assured him.

“It’s important that you don’t lie about the medication, because otherwise the procedure will be ineffective. The substances you are supposed to take have a cumulative effect. If you don’t inject them regularly, the therapy won’t be successful.”

“Shall I take off all my clothes to show you the track marks?” Gereon pursed his lips, pretending to be irritated by Anno’s suspicions.

He didn’t want to disclose his attempts at drug withdrawal, which he had started in late February with Charlotte’s encouragement. Gereon hadn’t injected drugs even once since she had disappeared. And now he planned to stay alert and, for the first time, follow Anno’s procedure with a focused mind.

“No need. I believe you. Just wanted to make sure. Now I will give you an injection and soon we will start our session. No radio broadcast this time. We will dive deeper than we ever have before. Trust me, I know the answers to many of your questions.”

Anno promptly got to business, taking a vial, removing its cap and drawing a transparent substance into a syringe. He inserted the needle in a quick, controlled manner, injecting the drug into Gereon’s upper arm. Then Anno took his pulse.

“I will lead you on a journey towards the light.”

Gereon felt a familiar stinging and burning at the injection site along with the obligatory dizziness and nausea. His vision narrowed, and soon Anno’s face became blurry and bulbous. Gereon’s eyelids fluttered shut no matter how much he struggled against those unpleasant sensations and the gradual loss of consciousness. Empty and despondent, he was ready to enter the tenth circle of hell.

**

In a few minutes Gereon started slowly coming to his senses. He managed to flick his heavy eyelids open to find himself lying prone on the dusty wooden floor of a dark cluttered room with a slanted roof. The cursed attic. The moonlight was shining weakly through the window, giving just enough light to distinguish the objects scattered across the floor next to his face. A beheaded plush teddy bear, scraps of cotton fabric, sequins and shimmery gemstones.

“Erwin! Charlotte!” Gereon called out, a shudder passing through his body.

“Stand up and come here,” the voice was coming from behind the stack of wooden boxes.

Gereon levered himself to his feet and took a few shaky steps forward, following the flickering candlelight. Anno was sitting at the round poker table. Old Rath used to play poker on Saturday nights back in the days when he still received guests in his house. As the years passed, his comrades gradually became traitors or political rivals, and he didn’t need a poker table, so it was sent up to the attic. Instead of cards and chips, Anno had a burning candle and an open book in front of him. Instead of his usual white medical robe, this time he was wearing a wartime military uniform.

“Welcome home, Gereon,” Anno smirked. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long, and finally you’ve found your way up here. Take a seat, little brother, and talk to me.”

“Where are they?” Gereon shouted helplessly, dropping into a dusty upholstered chair. “Tell me!”

Anno was busy rolling himself a cigarette. He ripped a page from a book and put some fine-cut tobacco on it. Gereon glanced at the book and noticed some colourful illustrations featuring children and a large, clear font. “Emil and the Detectives”, he was quite sure.

“They? You probably mean a woman and a child. They are both figments of your inflamed imagination that seem to be real, although they are not. Only delusive shadows induced by barbiturates and morphine. They never existed.”

“No, I know they exist.”

Anno used the candle burning on the table to light his cigarette and took a long drag.

“You need to calm down. The truth is that you have nobody in the whole world. You are all alone here, like a desert island in the middle of the ocean.”

“What have you done to them?”

Anno shook his ashes into an ashtray. Gereon took a closer look at it and noticed that it was not a regular metal or porcelain ashtray, but a big spiral seashell with a whorl.

“We are dealing with your childhood trauma, Gereon. It’s a long and difficult process, and your brain is searching for ways to repair past distressing experiences, replacing them with false ones. You are deceiving yourself,” Anno kept puffing hard on his cigarette, filling the attic with thick, strong-smelling smoke. “You missed a few therapy sessions in a row, which triggered a major relapse. You are falling back into your old bad habits. You are stumbling in the darkness because you turned your back on the light of the Truth. Do you want to find the way out of the darkness?”

“Yes.”

Anno exhaled a cloud of smoke that resembled a human skull.

“It all started in March 1899. Our mother’s prolonged pregnancy resulted in a hard, exhausting labour. The infant didn’t want to come out of her womb and enter this world. The midwife had to use forceps to pull it out. That infant was you, Gereon,” Anno relished these revolting details and loudly swallowed down his saliva before continuing. “When you were finally born, our mother left you to cry for hours, she wouldn’t respond to your calls, she didn’t want to breastfeed you or change your nappies. Since day one, you knew that you were an unwanted addition to our family because our parents already had the excellent successor they needed. Nobody needed you, but you appeared all the same.”

“I didn’t ask our parents to conceive me,” Gereon frowned, knitting his eyebrows together. “I would rather never have existed.”

“Once you were born, you always wanted to take my place, to step into my shoes even for a brief moment. That’s why you abandoned me, your only brother, on the battlefield, that’s why you ended up in a secret long-term relationship with a woman who was emotionally unresponsive. Just because she happened to be my wife. All these circumstances are connected, like links in a chain.”

“I loved Helga long before you proposed to her,” Gereon objected. “And she was responsive, she loved me too.”

“Helga loved only herself and her comfortable, carefree life in our father’s house. It’s bizarre that you still deny that obvious fact,” Anno’s expression was cold and unfathomable, as if he were talking about any woman and not about his own wife. “After I was declared dead she immediately began her transition from one expensive home to another, even more luxurious one. And voilà, her deep affection for you quickly faded away. When given a chance, she didn’t hesitate to take the throne in Nyssen’s kingdom.”

“Everything was fine before I started with your prescriptions and psychotherapy. Your experimental methods don’t work for me.”

“Oh no, you were far from doing fine. You used drugs and alcohol to soothe yourself when you experienced difficult emotions, but they didn’t help you because you were disoriented. You didn’t understand what goal you had to accomplish. You were falling to pieces when I picked you up and promised to guide you towards the light of the Truth. You leapt at that opportunity, and now there is no way back.”

“I know the woman and the boy exist. I know their names. They talk to me and to each other. I’ve met them here in the attic, and also on the seashore.”

“They are false memories, Gereon, wholly fabricated by your traumatised brain. Why do you think the boy from your dreams looks like you in miniature?”

“He is my son,” Gereon clenched his jaw.

“Delusion!” Anno scoffed. “You don’t have a son, and you never will. Even if you happen to impregnate a woman, no child will ever be born. Remember your recent unsuccessful attempt with Helga? Oh, yes, I see that you do. If you try again, the same scenario will repeat itself. Every new embryo will be doomed. You know why?”

“Why?”

“You are a modern human machine. Just like Siegfried, you will accomplish your mission and disappear without trace, without leaving any evidence that you ever existed.”

“Charlotte… Where is Charlotte?”

“Sassy Lottchen,” Anno gave him a small nod. “The Ritter without fear and beyond reproach,” he produced a loud snorting sound, as if he had something caught in his nose. “The girl with the emerald hat. The girl with scars and bruises on the outside and on the inside. The girl with muddy, cold water in her lungs. Beaten and raped more times than she can remember. Your eyes are brimming over with tears, my brother. You pity her as much as you do yourself, don’t you?”

“Where is she?” Gereon’s throat constricted, and he blinked away hot tears helplessly.

“She was also a wounded soul, Gereon. She was trying to heal her own trauma that was quite similar to yours, that’s why you related to each other so strongly. Psychiatric science has proven that any adult survivor of trauma looks for healing and tries to connect with others who have had similar traumatic experiences. It’s a universal coping mechanism commonly used by those who suffer from acute stress disorder.”

“We’re good for each other, I feel much better when she’s around.”

“You idealised that woman and appointed her to be a caring motherly figure who admires and respects you for who you are. And she eagerly took on that role, simply for her own therapy, because just like you, she was the black sheep of her family. She gladly adopted a poor bullied boy with tears in his eyes, her little sweetheart. She gave him the name of her biological father who brought up nine other children but ignored the very fact of her existence. She cared only about healing her own trauma and not about you as such, my dear silly brother.”

“You’re lying,” Gereon snapped out. “We love each other.”

“Love, love,” Anno repeated the word, making it sound like gibberish. “Have you noticed that you tend to label your interactions with women with that sentimental, obsolete notion? Leave it to cheap novels and melodramatic films. Forget Charlotte. She will not sabotage our therapeutic process anymore. She is gone.”

“What have you done to her?”

“I told you already, dead or alive, any particular human being is an insignificant piece of nothing. Something you mustn’t dwell on. A useless rag doll was gutted, and it was you who undid the seam on the doll’s back.”

“Did she die because of me?” Gereon yelled in despair.

“She tried to prevent the unpreventable and paid for it. Now she is gone, and we have much less fog around and much more room for the light of the Truth,” Anno took one last drag and stubbed his cigarette out in the seashell, “It’s been a fruitful session, Siegfried. You have earned some rest.”

Anno blew out the candle, and the attic went dark.

***

Gereon got back home late at night, exhausted and in need of a hot bath. When he stepped into the hallway, he heard the faint sound of a telephone ringing incessantly somewhere upstairs, presumably in his flat. It might be something important and urgent. Feeling like his heart was beating in his throat, Gereon summoned up the last of his strength and leapt up the stairs as fast as he could. He rushed into his flat and picked up the receiver just before the telephone stopped ringing. A sleepy switchboard operator dispassionately informed him of an incoming long-distance call from Köln. Gereon spent a few seconds catching his breath and listening to the buzzing sound on the telephone line, until a clicking noise suggested that the connection was established.

“Rath.”

“Gereon, it’s Thomas again. I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. You didn’t answer your home telephone, and I thought you were on the rota, but in the Presidium they said…”

“Alright,” Gereon impatiently interrupted his explanations. ”What’s that? Did he die?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s something odd I’ve come across recently. I thought you needed to know.”

“Well then?”

“Your father is on sick leave now, and no one knows when he’ll be coming back. So as the head of the Internal Affairs Unit, I had to go to his office and withdraw his official seal and watermark paper, so that nobody could misuse them while he’s absent. A standard procedure when a senior official is receiving hospital care.”

“Are you calling me in the middle of the night to tell that?”

“When I was searching for your father’s seal, I opened the locked drawer of his desk and found a woman’s handbag inside it. A flowery canvas bag with wooden handles. Perhaps it was wrong of me to do so, but I opened it and looked through its contents. And among other things, there was a library card. Issued by the Police Presidium of Berlin. The holder of the card is Fräulein Charlotte Ritter. Isn’t that the name of your missing assistant? Gereon, are you still there?”

The receiver almost dropped out of Gereon’s shaky hand, “Holy Hell! I’m coming to Köln on the next train.”

“I’ll pick you up from the railway station by car.”

“Thanks. I’ll be forever in your debt, Thomas.”

“See you in Köln soon!”

Gereon checked his watch. The hands showed that it was quarter past three in the morning. After a short hesitation, he dialled Gräf’s number, his heart thumping madly.

“Gräf, it’s me.”

“Is it about Charlotte?”

“Yes. I’ve just heard that traces of her have been found in Köln. I’m going there on the first morning train.”

“In Köln? I’m coming with you,” his tone brooked no contradiction.

“Alright. I’ll meet you at the railway station at 6 o’clock. Near the ticket counter,” and then he added, “It’s my father who’s behind Charlotte’s abduction.”

“Oh man!”

Chapter Text

When Gräf arrived at the railway station, Gereon was already waiting for him there with train tickets in his hand.

“The train leaves at six-thirty, platform five,” he said instead of a greeting and rushed through the waiting lounge and main hall towards the platforms.

Gräf tried to keep up with his fast pace, “Thanks for letting me come with you. I’ve brought my photography equipment just in case. And I left a message for Gennat.”

“Carriage three, compartment three,” Gereon’s voice and facial expression were grim and emotionless, and Gräf deduced that he had better stay silent until they had boarded the train.

The ticket collector showed them into their compartment and wished them a pleasant journey.

“Have you slept at all?” Gräf noticed that Gereon was still wearing the same suit, shirt and tie as the night before, when they went to the Kneipe together. “You don’t owe me any explanations. All I want is to find Charlotte and bring her kidnapper to justice, whoever he is.”

“Absolutely,” Gereon opened the window and lit his cigarette.

“Are you going to meet your father and question him about Charlotte?”

“No. Yesterday he had a heart attack and was admitted to hospital. He’s still unconscious.”

Gräf nodded and unfolded the morning newspaper. Gereon appreciated that he didn’t ask anything about his father’s motives or about his own shady activities related to Anno. Gräf was a tactful person, empathetic and understanding. Intuitively, he always recognised other people’s boundaries and didn’t cross them. It was good to be travelling to Köln with him and not alone. When Gräf was around, Gereon had to keep his head and stay collected.

Over the past year they had done a lot of crazy things together. They boarded a shaky aeroplane and flew to Russia to take photographs of the secret military aerodrome. Gräf had nearly dropped out of the aeroplane hatch but still managed to accomplish the task. Then he helped with the train episode and later sneaked into the archives to obtain the materials for Benda’s case. Gräf lent a hand during the hostage standoff, when crazy Ullrich stabbed his own assistant to death and was about to kill Charlotte and Gennat. Gräf never denied any requests and often put himself at risk for the sake of others. Yet he didn’t consider himself a hero. Unlike Gereon, he was brave enough to openly admit his weaknesses, which actually made him an incredibly strong person.

At the present moment Gereon couldn’t say any of those things aloud. He didn’t feel like talking. Maybe some other day. He pictured the three of them together in some noisy, crowded Kneipe, chatting about everything they had experienced. A few shots of schnapps would loosen their tongues, and he would be able to say out loud the phrases he had just formed inside his head.

Gereon didn’t have the faintest idea why people like Gräf or Fürstenberg ever wanted to be his friends. Why did they tolerate his grumpiness and moodiness? He never put much effort into friendships and didn’t try to develop or maintain them. For example, he never cared how Gräf was getting along with Fred (or was it Ted?), even while Gräf was actively helping him get together with Charlotte.

As for Thomas, Gereon was rather bad at keeping in touch with him. He had attended Thomas and Judith’s wedding a year ago, before moving to Berlin. They had talked over the telephone three or four times during the past year, but Gereon never mentioned Helga or Charlotte and never asked anything about Judith. They spoke mainly about work, sometimes about politics and the stock market, but didn’t discuss any private issues. As a result, Thomas had no idea what Charlotte meant to Gereon, and why he prioritised her over his dying father without the slightest hesitation. Gereon simply could not say aloud that Charlotte was the only person who really mattered, the only one who kept him going, that he loved her like he had loved no one else in his life. Well, he couldn’t say those words to Charlotte either, let alone to Thomas or any of his other friends, Ironically, he opened up to Anno, his evil elder brother who wanted to dehumanise him, to deprive him of his liberty, to ban him from everything he held dear.

Gereon felt immensely guilty about what had happened to Charlotte. It was his father who had assaulted her, and he hadn’t shielded her. What a bad detective he was! When making a list of suspects, he didn’t include his father on it, even though they’d had a major conflict when Engelbert broke into his flat and saw Charlotte there. His father had a solid motive, but instead of asking him about Charlotte during their last telephone conversation, he had just hung up, annoyed by his threats and curses. Anno spoke about Charlotte using the past tense. It was probably too late, and she had paid with her life for choosing to be with him, for attempting to solve his problems.

Gräf knew that Gereon wasn’t asleep even though his eyes were closed. He was lost deep inside his head, and obviously occupied by gloomy thoughts. Sometimes he opened his eyes, stared into the void for a few moments and then closed them again. Gräf didn’t want to picture what Gereon would do if they found Charlotte dead. What would be the right way to support him? Especially if his own father was a murderer. Anyone would go insane in such a situation, and although Gereon was calm and stoical on the surface, Gräf perceived despair and frustration behind his mask of aloofness.

At midday the train reached Hannover and stopped there for an hour to replenish its coal and water supplies.

“Let’s get out of here and have lunch. There must be a cafeteria at the railway station,” Gräf suggested.

“You can go. I’m staying,” Gereon muttered. He had no appetite at all.

“We’d better eat something here, we don’t know when and where we’ll get our next meal,” Gräf was talking to him persuasively and patiently, as if he were a cranky infant acting against his own best interests. “If not for yourself, please, do it for Charlotte.”

Gereon stood up, put on his hat and coat and reluctantly followed Gräf. There was absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do for Charlotte.

**

At 5 o’clock in the afternoon the train finally stopped in Köln. Thomas Fürstenberg was waiting for Gereon at the end of the platform. He was a tall man in his early thirties with a slender build and raven-black hair, dressed in an immaculate grey suit and an elegant fedora. His fine facial features were rather aristocratic, and there was a certain sharpness in his expression, which gave the impression that he was more intelligent than the average person. The man’s big brown eyes were glossy and mesmerising, capable of pulling his interlocutors into a whole new universe. A conspicuously handsome specimen, Gräf sighed.

“Gereon,” Thomas exclaimed, locking his friend in an embrace and slapping him on the back. “Good to see you again. Unfortunate that the circumstances are so mixed,” for a moment he studied Gereon’s gloomy face. “Gosh, Berlin has been unkind to you, my friend. You look terrible. Those eye bags are huge, and you’re going grey at thirty!”

Gereon frowned and left all these comments unanswered.

“Please, meet my colleague Gräf,” he said instead. “Gräf, this is Fürstenberg from the Police Presidium of Köln.”

The men shook hands.

“Nice to meet you. Welcome to Köln, Kommissar Gräf.”

“No, no, I’m just a police photographer,” Gräf chuckled and pointed at his camera bag.

“Quite amazing!” Thomas produced a charming, dimpled smile. “Berlin is five steps ahead of us. You have a position of police photographer and females in the Homicide Unit. Nothing like that could ever occur here. We are terribly backward and old-fashioned.”

When they got in the car, Fürstenberg asked Gereon, “Are we going to your place?”

“To my father’s place, yes. You can speak in Gräf’s presence. I have full confidence in him.”

“Alright. I assume you are playing some risky political games in Berlin, and your father did something to your assistant to re-establish his control over you.”

“Kind of,” Gereon replied vaguely. He didn’t want to admit that he was simply a pawn on the chess board, and that someone much cleverer than him was making moves and choosing tactics.

“Given that he’s on his deathbed now, he probably bit off more than he could chew,” Fürstenberg speculated. “So tell me, when was your assistant was abducted, and where do you think we should look for her?”

“In the early hours of April 4th, in the centre of Berlin. We need to search my father’s house for any clues. I went over Berlin with a fine-tooth comb and didn’t find any traces, so she must be somewhere else. Perhaps in Köln.”

“So that means she’s been missing for twelve days,” Fürstenberg sounded sceptical. “If it really is your father and his actions get publicly disclosed, it would mean the collapse of his career and reputation.”

“Do you think I care about his reputation after what he did to Charlotte?” Gereon snapped. “He can die and burn in hell as far as I’m concerned.”

Fürstenberg noticed that Gereon talked about his assistant using her Christian name, and he was again surprised at the liberal approach to police work in Berlin.

***

Engelbert Rath lived in one of the expensive and prestigious residential areas of Köln built on reclaimed land in the Rhine river basin. Along the wide, elm-lined avenue were mansions built out of grey stone and occupied by respected families of local politicians, bankers and high-ranking officials. Only those who were in power and had big money could afford to live such a lavish lifestyle, to maintain large properties, to employ housemaids, gardeners, drivers and maybe secretaries. Gereon had left Köln about a year ago and since then had walked along this avenue only in his nightmares. When he looked at the house where he had spent most of his life, he didn’t have the feeling of coming back home after a long absence.

Gräf knew what position Engelbert Rath held in the police force, and he had certainly made some assumptions about Gereon’s family background. But he was still bewildered by a huge two-storey house with eight windows on the façade and a long balcony above the front door. Could that spacious attic count as the third floor? The mansion was surrounded by a rather ascetic garden that had no decorations such as flowerbeds, arbours or benches to charm the eye. Only old trees with overgrown branches, a criss-cross network of narrow footpaths and a shallow pond with murky, brownish water. When they got out of the car, Gräf noticed two granite statues of griffins flanking the porch. Seriously? No wonder Gereon had left that grim grandeur behind, escaped to Berlin and chosen a simple, undemanding life that surely suited him better than this grey, stony shrine guarded by the griffins.

The elderly, uniformed housemaid opened the door and stepped aside on seeing Gereon and two unfamiliar gentlemen.

“Herr Rath,” she mumbled, lowering her eyes and adjusting her starched apron. “I was not expecting you.”

Gräf opened his mouth at the sight of the polished marble floor, solid wood staircase, antique brass chandeliers and a stuffed stag’s head with large antlers hanging right above them.

“Good afternoon, Frau Säurig,” Gereon said. “I’ve just arrived from Berlin, and these are my colleagues. I need to ask you a few questions.”

Gereon headed to his father’s study, and the others followed him. Gräf behaved as if visiting a history museum, cautiously stepping along the Persian rugs, clearly aware of the dried mud that might have stuck on the soles of his shoes. Engelbert’s study was a high-ceilinged room with a stacked stone fireplace and two walls of bookshelves. Hundreds or even thousands of books were neatly arranged behind the shiny glass doors. Some of them were old and valuable folios; a special display cabinet was given to the first translation of “The Divine Comedy” in German. The room smelt of dust and decay, as if it were an antiques shop specialising in rarities and collectibles rather than part of a private home.

“Was it you who found my father unconscious and contacted the hospital?” Gereon spoke to the housemaid politely but firmly. “I need the details.”

“Yes, I woke up at 5 o’clock and came to dust the study before making breakfast. Herr Rath was lying on the floor, right here, on the carpet in front of the fireplace. I talked to him, but his eyes stayed closed, and he didn’t answer. He was still breathing, so I called St. Antonius Hospital and within about twenty minutes Doctor Brendler was here. They put Herr Rath on a stretcher and drove him away.”

“Thank you. You did everything right. Have you cleaned here after my father was taken to the hospital?”

“I have dusted,” the housemaid looked worried, probably suspecting that she had done something wrong after all. “But I didn’t touch Herr Rath’s papers or any other of his belongings.”

“Good. Now one last question and you may go. Have you noticed anything unusual in my father’s behaviour in recent weeks?”

“No, nothing special,” Frau Säurig vigorously shook her head. She would surely remain loyal to her master until her last breath. “Shall I prepare your bedroom, Herr Rath?”

“No need, I am not staying overnight.”

After Berta left the room, Gereon and Fürstenberg started their search. Gräf was watching them from the side.

“What’s that?” Fürstenberg pointed at a shapeless black garment abandoned on the chunky leather armchair just next to the fireplace.

Gereon picked up the strange piece of clothing, which turned out to be a hooded cloak with a rope belt and large pockets in the seams.

“A monk’s robe,” Fürstenberg made a guess.

Gereon checked one pocket of the cloak and found a leather sheath with a sharp hunting knife inside it. There was some dried blood on the blade. In his distress, Gereon grew even paler, and Fürstenberg took the garment out of his hands in an attempt to distract his attention from the terrifying find.

“I can hear something metallic clinking inside the cloak.”

He checked the heavy folds of the garment and searched the other pocket. It contained a bunch of keys, one small key and two bigger ones. “This smaller one is a universal handcuff key. What about the other two? Do they look familiar?”

Gereon shook his head. With a tremendous effort of will, he pulled himself together and started searching the drawers of Engelbert’s bureau. He couldn’t permit himself to be weak now, when he was a step away from solving the mystery of Charlotte’s abduction. There was nothing remarkable inside the drawers. Papers, letters, blank cheque books, a pince-nez and a magnifying glass, an ex libris stamp and an ink pad, a box of Gurkha cigars.

“What does he keep in this one?” Gräf asked, attentively studying a rectangular carved ivory box. “It’s locked.”

“I haven’t seen it before,” Gereon grabbed a sharp paper knife off the desk and forced the lid open. The box contained an envelope with Engelbert’s home address and a few glass vials. Two of them were empty and two contained some transparent liquid. There was also a medicine bottle with a skull-and-crossbones symbol on it. The label said, “One teaspoon of powder to a litre of water”. Poison.

“A bloody knife, a bottle of poison and a key for some handcuffs,” Fürstenberg reeled off. “I’m sorry, but this doesn’t look good. Let’s search the rest of the house and the garage.”

First they examined a wine cellar and a laundry room, and then headed to the kitchen. On hearing their footsteps, the nervous housemaid hurriedly jumped to her feet and quickly shut the cupboard door, concealing something inside it.

“Open the cupboard,” Gereon commanded.

Nothing important, just a cordial glass and a bottle of apricot-flavoured liqueur.

“Only one tiny glass after dinner,” she said, rather innocently, “as a digestif. And to the master’s health, of course…”

The living and dining rooms looked the same as they had ten, twenty, thirty years ago.

“I’ll check the second floor and the attic myself,” Gereon said. “And then we can go to the garage.”

Gereon wanted to examine the attic alone. It was a very special place in the house where lots of negative energy had accumulated over the years. Besides, he didn’t know how his psyche would react when he climbed the rickety ladder and pushed open the stiff door. He visited the attic in his nightmares and under hypnosis. Last night Anno had brought him there and said that Charlotte was gone. It meant that little Erwin was gone too. Had he been driven into the attic today to obtain a convincing confirmation of these dreadful facts? Would it be the right place and the right moment to shoot himself? He slowly reached for the holster of his gun. Gräf and Fürstenberg would hear a bang and run upstairs to find him dead, his blood and brain splattered all around. No, he couldn’t be so selfish. His friends didn’t deserve that.

The attic was cluttered, exactly as he remembered it from his nightmares. A broken telescope, a birdcage and a pile of wooden boxes were in their usual places. Engelbert’s hunting equipment had been taken to the attic too. He always stored it there in the off-season. No traces of Charlotte anywhere.

Gereon went back downstairs, “Nothing.”

He led Fürstenberg and Gräf to the garage that occupied half of the basement. The garage door was closed but not locked, which seemed very strange, as Engelbert was the proud owner of a Horch 8, a luxury vehicle that had been named “Germany's most beautiful car” at a prestigious automotive contest two years ago.

Gereon switched on the lights. The car was parked crookedly inside the garage and covered in dried splashes of mud.

“He was driving in the countryside,” Fürstenberg pointed out. “It’s been raining here in the last few days, but the roads in Köln are never this muddy,” he bent to examine the car more closely. “See, the paint is chipped, looks as if the car’s been struck by loose gravel.”

Gereon checked along the back wall of the garage and discovered a few portable fuel cans piled there.

“He needed lots of fuel to travel to Berlin,” Fürstenberg deduced. “Or to drive back to Köln from Berlin, to be precise. He couldn’t refuel when he had a handcuffed woman on his back seat because he didn’t want the petrol station attendant to see anything. Of course, he could have explained that he worked for the police and that the woman was detained, but he didn’t need any curious witnesses, so he topped up with fuel himself on a side road using this funnel.” A special fuel funnel was hidden in between the cans.

They opened the rear doors of the car and examined the back seat with torches. Gereon inspected the car floor and found a pin, one that Charlotte used to fix her hair. Had she left it there on purpose to indicate her presence?

In the meantime Fürstenberg opened the right front door and saw an oil lamp abandoned on the floor by the passenger seat.

“He was lighting his way in the darkness on the night he had a heart attack. I wonder why he chose to use this oil lamp and not a torch,” Fürstenberg wondered aloud. “To keep his hands free!”

“Is your father fond of gardening?” Gräf interrupted Fürstenberg’s speculations, showing them a short-handled shovel that he had just discovered inside a large canvas bag attached to the car’s luggage rack.

“A shovel? Damn. These clues don’t bode well for your Fräulein,” Fürstenberg said.

Gereon was completely unmoored, caught in a whirlpool of terror, startled by his inability to do anything or even to decide what to do. His pulse was beating loudly in his ears, and his brain felt foggy. A wave of panic bloomed in his chest. Fürstenberg had known Gereon for years and realised that he couldn’t talk or understand anybody talking to him in such a state. It was time to take radical measures. He pulled Gereon’s hat off his head and gave him a strong slap across the face.

“Sorry, my friend,” Fürstenberg said and put the hat back on Gereon’s head. “We need your brain working right now. Where’s a secluded place in the countryside that your father could possibly hide Ritter?”

Gereon let out a long puff of air, slowly recovering from his friend’s refreshing slap. “He has a hunting cabin in Königsdorfer Forst.”

“The forest of secrets. Alright, we’ll drive there then. Do you remember the exact location?”

“I do.”

****

Gereon gave clear and precise directions to Fürstenberg, and soon they left the residential areas of Köln behind. The asphalt road ran through the dense, carnivorous forest and at some point, they turned onto a smaller country lane covered with loose gravel and grit. Soon their car came up against a barrier across the road. Its arm was locked down, and there was a big sign on it forbidding people from trespassing onto the private land of Herr Engelbert Rath.

“These tyre tracks are quite fresh,” Fürstenberg said. “But how to get past the barrier?” he got out of the car and tried to unlock it with the keys they had found in Engelbert’s cloak. “Seems that we don’t have a key. It was probably in the bundle with your father’s car key, because none of these fits the lock. Shall we go the rest of the way on foot?”

“Still over a kilometre ahead,” Gereon estimated. “Let’s break it.”

The three of them started pushing the arm of the barrier upwards, trying rip it off its hinge. Although its surface was still painted, the iron structure had corroded beneath the paint layer, and they managed to break it through their joint efforts. It was the last obstacle on the way to the cabin. As the moment of reckoning drew near, the tension in the car became palpable. Gräf was squirming restlessly in the back seat, Fürstenberg was hitting the accelerator furiously, and Gereon was blinking rapidly, fighting against the red spots flying chaotically before his eyes.

In a few minutes they reached the end of the road and saw a simple handcrafted log cabin and a little turn-around area, wide enough to back up the car.

Gräf blocked Gereon’s way to the cabin, grabbing him by the sleeve. “Better that Fürstenberg checks the cabin,” he said. “She might be dead. She might have died days ago. I don’t want you to see her like that. Let him in first.”

“No,” Gereon shook off Gräf’s grip and pushed him aside. His pulse was racing, and his eyes felt strangely moist, but his hands were steady as he inserted the key into the lock. He turned the key four times anti-clockwise, and the door creaked on its hinges when he pulled it open.

His heart missed a beat when he saw Charlotte lying prone on the floor, her coat pulled over her head and upper body. Gereon caught his breath, knelt next to Charlotte and removed the coat. Her clothes were torn apart, and her naked back was bruised and covered in red welts and dried blood. He carefully shook her shoulder, “Charlotte.”

She opened her eyes and recognised him, letting out a short gasp of shock.

“Gereon,” she called his name, barely moving her lips, unable to acknowledge the reality of having him beside her.

Gereon helped her into a sitting position and nodded to Gräf, who quickly bent over to unlock her handcuffs. Fortunately, another key in the bundle fitted the lock of the iron cuff around her ankle.

“You found me,” she whispered in utter disbelief, looking at Gereon and Gräf with bleary eyes and trying to work out whether she was hallucinating or seeing them in the flesh.

“Thank God, she’s alive!” Fürstenberg was genuinely ecstatic about the fact. “Let’s take the Fräulein to hospital.”

He noticed multiple dried blood stains on the floor and a horsewhip abandoned on the table.

“No,” Charlotte breathed out in consternation. She shifted her glance and noticed an unfamiliar man. “Take me home.”

She threw out her hand weakly in a helpless gesture, giving Gereon a beseeching, pained look.

“Charlotte, we are in Köln,” Gereon explained. “You are wounded. You need to be taken care of. Let the doctor examine you.”

“No, no, just give me water. I’m so thirsty.”

Gräf had a water bottle with him and immediately handed it to Charlotte. After many hours in cuffs, her hands were so numb that she couldn’t raise them or hold the bottle upright by herself.

“My hands aren’t obeying me,” she complained.

Gereon held the bottle to her lips, and Charlotte took a few long, greedy gulps. Cold water had never tasted so delicious. She nodded gratefully to Gereon, implying that she had drunk enough.

Fürstenberg got down on his haunches in front of Charlotte and politely introduced himself, “I am Thomas Fürstenberg from the Police Presidium of Köln.”

“Charlotte Ritter.”

“If you don’t want to go to hospital, would you mind coming to our place? My wife could have a look at your wounds. She is a nurse and can assess whether you need further medical attention.”

“He is my friend,” Gereon said. And that meant a lot, because Charlotte never heard Gereon call anyone his friend before. Perhaps she could trust that well-dressed gentleman who had an air of intelligence and savoir-faire about him.

“Fine by me,” Charlotte nodded in agreement. “I want to get out of here.”

“Let me carry you to the car,” Gereon suggested, stretching his hands out to her.

“Please, don’t,” she pulled back in protest. “My back is painful to touch. I will walk.”

Gereon and Gräf carefully helped Charlotte to her feet. She was unsteady and limped on her left leg that had been chained up for so long, and her knees were wobbling, making each step a real challenge. But it felt so good to get out of the stuffy cabin after many days of captivity. The recent warm weather had advanced the arrival of spring. Young green grass was growing everywhere, and large clumps of white anemones were scattered all over the woodland.

“The trees have grown leaves,” Charlotte stared at the green crowns of beeches and oaks in wide-eyed amazement, as if witnessing a miracle. “Spring is here.”

Even battered and exhausted, she admired the beauty of nature as it awoke. Gereon followed her gaze but couldn’t think very coherently yet. Any season was perfect when Charlotte was beside him, and the opposite was also true; the bright spring sunshine and lovely hues of the forest remained unnoticed when he thought that he would never hold her in his arms again.

Gereon and Charlotte sat in the back seat of the car together, and she couldn’t help but think how truly miserable he looked. The past weeks had drained him as much as herself. A blood vessel in his left eye had burst, and the blood had spread out over the entire white part of the eye. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, and rough stubble sharpened his features, making his face even more angular. Gereon went totally blank and mute, as he always did when he was dumbfounded. Her small, pale hand resting in his palm seemed to be the only flimsy thread keeping him connected to the world.

*****

Fortunately, it didn’t take long to get to the Fürstenbergs’ home. They lived in a western suburb of Köln, in a quiet street of one- and two-storey private residences. Their wooden house was painted mustard yellow and had a solid stone foundation. The beautiful outdoor terrace created a lovely visual link between the house and a garden that was not too big but very well maintained. A metre-high natural fence enclosed neatly trimmed shrubs and small evergreen trees. Spring vegetables and flower bulbs had already begun to sprout. There was even a small birdbath with a fountain, a delightful resort for the neighbourhood’s flocks of thirsty and curious birds.

Thomas knocked at the front door before inserting the key into the lock.

“Just to let her know that I am not alone,” he smiled.

His wife turned out to be a short, curvaceous woman in her mid-twenties, not exactly corresponding to either modern or classical ideals of beauty. Her blue chambray dress did little to flatter her fair complexion, making her skin look dull and washed out. The woman’s coarse brown hair was pulled back tightly into a sleek bun. Her thick, bushy eyebrows almost grew together, and her prominent hooked nose jutted out from her face, particularly noticeable from the side. Love was blind, and here was living proof, Gräf thought to himself.

“Good evening,” the woman greeted them cheerfully and made a friendly gesture, inviting them in.

“Judith, please, meet Gereon’s colleagues from Berlin, Fräulein Ritter and Herr Gräf. My wife, Judith Fürstenberg.”

“Nice to meet you,” a wide, sincere smile lit up the woman’s face, making it much more attractive. “Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable.”

“I’ve told you a little about Fräulein Ritter’s predicament,” Thomas reminded her. “We’ve just found her… somewhere… wounded. She doesn’t want to go to hospital, and I suggested that you could assess her condition.”

“Of course, I will do my best,” Judith wasn’t surprised by such a request. “Fräulein Ritter, would you follow me to the bathroom, please?” she smiled at Charlotte. “Thomas, in the meantime, perhaps you could offer the gentlemen an aperitif. I will serve dinner when we are done.”

Charlotte liked the interior of the house as much as its exterior. The light wooden floors and ceilings matched nicely with the pastel wallpapers and cosy textiles. The mint greens, pale blues and powder pinks made her think about spring gardens, Easter celebrations and summer holidays. Gereon had his arm around Charlotte, holding her close as they walked towards the bathroom.

“Here we are. Gereon, please, wait outside,” Judith raised her eyebrows when he attempted to step inside.

Charlotte’s first impulse was to object and let him in, but then she thought that she was too filthy and disgusting to appear in front of him naked. She gave Gereon a short, pitiful look before Judith shut the door in his face.

The spacious tiled bathroom had a square roof window and a clawfoot tub. One could take a bath and stare at the starry night sky in the evening or else soak up the sunshine in the morning, an exquisite luxury. Judith put the plug in the tub and turned on the tap.

“I hate unnecessary formalities, so could you just call me Judith?”

“I will, if you call me Charlotte.”

“Let me help you,” Judith took the coat off Charlotte’s shoulders and gulped in astonishment at what she saw under it.

“Sorry, I stink like an old kipper,” Charlotte apologised.

“Never mind. I work in a women’s prison, so I’ve seen and smelt all sorts of things,” she helped Charlotte take off her clothes. “I’m so happy they found you. Last night Thomas spent hours on the phone to Berlin until he caught up with Gereon. He couldn’t disclose any details to me because it’s a police investigation, but I suppose some nasty bandits kidnapped and tortured you. You look like you’ve been released from Château d'If.”

“You’ve got a pretty accurate picture of what happened,” Charlotte cracked a weak smile.

“May I add some chamomile and lavender to the water? They have soothing and healing properties.”

“Thank you, that would be lovely,” Charlotte nodded.

Judith put a dash of dried chamomile and a few drops of lavender oil into the water and helped Charlotte into the bathtub. The warmth of the bath and the pleasant herbal scent relaxed Charlotte’s mind, and she simply ignored the pain when the water came into contact with her wounded skin. She washed her face, hair and body thoroughly with a bar of soap and a soft flannel that Judith had given her.

“Let me wash your back. That crust of dried blood needs to be cleaned off,” Judith took the soapy flannel from Charlotte’s hand. “What are these long welts?” she frowned.

“I’ve been whipped,” Charlotte admitted.

“Sick bastards!” Judith let a swear word slip out. “Whipping anybody for any reason is simply despicable. And this wound behind your ear? Looks like a burn. It must hurt.”

“He pressed his cigar there. That one isn’t very sore anymore, it only stings when water touches it,” Charlotte tried to sound nonchalant. “Judith, may I ask you a favour?”

“You don’t have to. I won’t speak about anything I have seen or heard.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Judith gave Charlotte a large bath towel to dry off and patted her back gently with a smaller one.

“The scratch on your neck and these lacerations are quite bad, they’ve swollen up and turned red. It may be a sign of inflammation. Sit down for a moment. I’ll bring some iodoform to disinfect them. And I’ll lend you something clean to change into.”

Gereon was waiting for Charlotte in the corridor right next to the bathroom, and when Judith opened the door, he caught a glimpse of Charlotte sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Her back was bruised and covered in fresh welts left by the whip. She was terribly thin; her spine was sticking out and her ribs showed.

Anger, sorrow and hatred towards his father suffocated him. Keeping these feelings deep inside was making him sick and miserable, chest tightness and a rapid heart rate denoted an approaching panic attack. It always hit him quickly and ruthlessly. Gereon rushed out of the house for a breath of fresh air. He would spend a couple of minutes on the terrace and collect himself. He couldn’t collapse in front of his friends, he couldn’t let his weakness prevent him from taking care of Charlotte. He just couldn’t.

*

Fürstenberg and Gräf were sitting in the living room with an aperitif and discussing their action plan for the following day. They seemed at ease with each other and spoke like old acquaintances. Judith was passing by, carrying a medical kit and clean clothes.

“We are almost done,” she said. “It’s getting late. You must be exhausted. I assume our guests are staying overnight?”

“Probably,” Gräf produced a charming, coy smile and shrugged his shoulders.

Thomas and Judith exchanged glances.

“Of course they’re staying,” Thomas confirmed. “Gereon is hardly planning on taking his colleagues to his father’s place. Well, not that he’s told anyone about his plans.”

“Good,” Judith beamed, “But we have only two spare bedrooms in our house. Herr Gräf, would you mind sharing the bigger one with Rath?”

Gräf opened his mouth to say that Gereon would surely share the room with Charlotte, but then decided that it was none of his business and simply shook his head.

Judith hurried to the bathroom, where Charlotte was patiently waiting for her.

“I’m really sorry, but it will sting quite a lot,” Judith sighed. “You can scream or curse if it helps you bear the pain, I won’t take it personally.”

Charlotte held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut, ready for more terrible sensations. She firmly decided to remain silent, as she didn’t want to worry Gereon if he was somewhere nearby and heard the sounds coming from the bathroom.

Judith disinfected Charlotte’s wounds with iodoform, admiring her resilience and courage. She lent her a white cotton nightgown and a grey hand-knitted jacket. Judith’s clothes hung loosely on Charlotte.

“My nightgown could accommodate three women of your size,” Judith chuckled at the vision, then her expression turned serious. “Did your captors give you any food at all?”

“Only a little,” Charlotte answered. “Thanks a lot for your help, dear Judith. I feel so much better now. Like I’ve been reborn.”

“I’m glad I could be of help, Charlotte,” Judith smiled back at her. “I’ll quickly make the beds and then call you to dinner. You must all be so tired.”                                                                                    

**

Charlotte entered the living room and saw Gräf and Fürstenberg by the burning fireplace, occupying green and white striped Bergère chairs and chatting casually over drinks. Gereon was not part of that cosy setting.

“Where is he?” Charlotte asked. She didn’t know how Gereon had described the nature of their relationship to Fürstenberg, so she decided not to refer to him either by his rank or by his name, choosing a safe pronoun instead.

“He must be smoking on the terrace, I guess,” Fürstenberg answered. “He’s been there for a while.”

Charlotte found Gereon on the terrace floor, hit by a panic attack. He was sweating in spite of the night chill and shivering uncontrollably. She slumped on her knees beside him and squeezed his shoulder.

“Gereon, can you hear me? Do you have your drugs somewhere with you?”

“I don’t… do drugs anymore,” he managed to utter a single stammered phrase as he desperately tried to focus his eyes on hers.

“Great. I am glad,” Charlotte whispered. “We’re alright. You found me. Breathe deeper.”

Charlotte loosened his tie and opened the first two buttons of his shirt. She gently stroked his back, patted his head and cooed soft, reassuring words into his ear. A light rainfall had started, and a gust of wind blew a few cold drops into their faces. The rain released the smell of the spring garden, damp earth, sticky young leaves and the fresh tulip bulbs that were planted along the fence.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said in a broken voice, delirious with despair.

Charlotte saw all his affection and fears well up in his eyes. She pulled Gereon into an embrace, wrapping her arms around him. He laid his head on her shoulder, and she could feel how his body trembled in her arms.

“I thought so too. But you see, that’s not the case.”

She planted a small kiss on his neck, right behind the ear.

“All that he did to you,” Gereon closed his eyes and let out a deeply held breath.

“I will be fine. I heal quickly. I’ve been injured worse before. Judith says these are flesh wounds. I don’t need stitches or anything.”

“Did he force himself on you?” that question skittered across Gereon’s mind making him feel even sicker.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Really?” Gereon asked, his voice strained, his eyes boring into her face.

“Really. I’m not lying,” Charlotte assured.

“All the same, he battered and whipped you. I’ll kill him with my bare hands,” implacable hatred was visible in his expression.

“Please, don’t. He’s not worth it. It would be so wrong to end up in prison because of him.”

Gereon gradually stopped trembling and brought himself back to reality.

“If God exists, my father won’t live much longer,” Gereon’s mouth twitched as rage crackled along his nerve endings. “He had a heart attack the night he tortured you, and he’s still unconscious.”

“Sorry, I don’t have the energy to think about him right now,” Charlotte averted her gaze, clearly implying that she didn’t have energy to talk about Engelbert either.

“Totally understandable,” Gereon rose slowly to his feet and helped Charlotte to stand up too. He realised that she had come to look for him straight after her bath. Her hair was dripping wet, she was barefoot and had a nightgown on. She could catch a very bad cold. Most of all, he wanted to take Charlotte to bed and wrap himself up with her, holding her close and letting her know how much he had missed her.

“Do you think we could go inside?” she rubbed her thumb along his lower lip. “Judith said she would serve us dinner, and those two have almost downed a whole bottle of vermouth while they’ve been waiting for us.”

***

Gräf and Fürstenberg didn’t want to bother Gereon and Charlotte, who were having a little tête-à-tête on the terrace. Gräf never spread gossip, so he preferred not to comment on anything connected with Herr Kommissar and his female assistant.

“Dinner is ready,” Judith called from the kitchen. “Please, come to the table.”

Fürstenberg drained his glass of vermouth and peeped out of the window facing the terrace. He saw that Charlotte was cradling Gereon’s face with both hands, and Gereon encircled his arms around her waist, possessively and protectively. She raised herself on tiptoe and softly brushed her nose against his, saying a few quiet words and accompanying them with a sweet tiny smile. They were blissfully unaware that someone was snooping on their private moment.

“My deductive abilities failed me,” Fürstenberg let out a soft whistle of surprise and turned to Gräf. “Judith!” he called out. “Have a look! It seems that Gereon and his assistant aren’t just workmates. Herr Gräf?”

“Well, they are also… flatmates,” Gräf came up with a rather diplomatic response, prompting Thomas and Judith to exchange smiles. “And I will do fine in the smaller guest room,” he added hurriedly.

****

When Gereon and Charlotte finally made it to the kitchen, Gräf and Fürstenberg were sitting at the round dining table, sipping red wine and Judith was toiling over a hot stove.

“Here you are. Please, sit down,” she invited.

Gereon helped Charlotte to take her seat without letting go of her hand. They could not take their eyes off each other, existing in their bubble. Gereon was not ashamed or afraid to show his feelings for Charlotte in front of his friends, or rather he was still too confused and disoriented and therefore unable to treat her with the formal politeness expected from a senior colleague.

Judith was serving the food on fine porcelain plates. Her husband, Gereon and Gräf got similar portions of veal schnitzel, boiled potatoes and cauliflower. For herself and for Charlotte, she prepared smaller plates with a spoonful of steamed rice and soft scrambled egg.

“After so many days of starvation, you should start eating very carefully. Dense foods would upset your stomach,” she said apologetically, setting the plate in front of Charlotte.

“Yes, I promise to be careful. But you can have your schnitzel, Judith. Really,” Charlotte tried to sound convincing.

“I’ll eat the same as you. Female solidarity is not a myth. It’s a principle I live by,” Judith chuckled. “Gereon, would you let Charlotte’s hand free? It must be difficult to eat with only one hand.”

Gereon didn’t seem to hear Judith’s request or perhaps didn’t want to comply with it. Charlotte delicately freed her hand from his.

“Let’s take a few bites,” she pleaded quietly. “And then go to bed.”

“Such proposals are hard to resist. Aren’t they, old man?” Thomas quipped.

Charlotte grew to like the couple more and more. They welcomed her into their home and surrounded her with care and attention without getting dramatic or obtrusive. They did their best to cheer Gereon up, too, as he was still shocked and out of sorts. They didn’t ask any questions about her captivity in the forest, giving her time and space to breathe in and out.

A tear rolled down Charlotte’s cheek and fell into her plate, “I’m sorry. I am not usually so weepy. You have both been so kind to me even though you don’t even know me.”

“Kölners are nice people,” Thomas said, “with some minor exceptions. Too bad Köln’s reputation has already been tarnished in your eyes. I hope you will give it a second chance someday.”

“I definitely will,” Charlotte answered. She knew that Köln was not at fault for what had happened to her and decided to pay a little compliment, just to be polite to her good-natured hosts. “By the way, I like the sound of the Kölsch dialect when you two talk between yourselves.”

“Kölsch?” Thomas burst out laughing and almost choked on his schnitzel. Judith caught the giggles too. “I don’t want to disappoint you but that’s Yiddish.”

Even Gereon couldn’t suppress a snigger.

“Right,” Charlotte said, rather casually, “Then I like the sound of Yiddish. It’s much more fun than high German.”

She jokingly kicked Gereon under the table and shot daggers at him, showing a glimpse of her cheeky self, the sprightly girl he had once fallen for, and that was a very good sign.

*****

When they had finished their meals, Gereon and Charlotte excused themselves, wishing everybody good night. The Fürstenbergs and Gräf stayed in the kitchen for the dessert. Judith mentioned a spicy tzimmes cake and Thomas boasted about limoncello, a sweet liqueur they had been saving uncorked since their Italian honeymoon. A special guest from Berlin provided an excellent occasion to open the bottle.

“Poor Gräf will fall victim to your friends’ hospitality,” Charlotte said to Gereon when they had closed the door of the guest room behind them. “Tomorrow he will have a monumental hangover. Vermouth, Rhine wine, that yellow Italian elixir, whatever it is. I also spotted a bottle of cognac hidden in their cupboard.”

“Oh yes, Gräf is in dire straits,” Gereon chuckled. “It’s impossible to outdrink Fürstenberg. I’ve tried many times without much success.”

He took off his jacket and gun holster and started a struggle with the knot of his tie. Charlotte thought that he could have stayed with his friends, given that he hadn’t seen them for so long, but quickly realised the absurdity of the idea. Gereon clearly needed only her arms and some privacy behind closed doors. She helped him to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt and take them off. Although she had missed their skin-to-skin snuggling, they certainly couldn’t sleep naked in someone else’s house.

After many nights spent on the bench and on the floor, it felt divine to climb into a big fluffy bed with soft, clean sheets, plush pillows and a warm woollen blanket. Charlotte lay down and waited for Gereon to join her. He switched off the lights and carefully got under the blanket, alarmed that he might hurt her wounded back with an awkward move or touch.

“Could you lie on your back, please?” Charlotte asked. Because of the inflamed welts, she couldn’t sleep on hers.

He complied with her wish and whispered, “Come here.”

Charlotte snuggled closer beside him, rested her head on his chest and put her arm across his body, adjusting into a comfortable position. He loved it when Charlotte lay atop him and enjoyed melting into her embrace, being held after an endless succession of lonely cold nights, sensing the familiar feel of her body, giving her security and absorbing her warmth.

“I want to apologise for what I said to you the day you were kidnapped. I wish I could go back and fix it, but obviously I can’t.”

Charlotte gently stroked his shoulder and chest, “Apology accepted. It’s all been downhill since I shot Schulte. A series of minor misfortunes led to a bigger disaster.”

“He spent twelve days harassing you,” immense sadness lingered in Gereon’s voice.

“Twelve days is nothing compared to enduring him for thirty years. He’s sick in the head, Gereon. It’s not just a personality quirk or a weird lifestyle. His pleasure is harming the harmless, it must be some sort of mental illness.”

“Even if he is truly sick, I will never forgive him,” he said bitterly.

“I was trapped in the cabin, and I was trapped in my mind,” Charlotte sounded calm and thoughtful. “There are so many things I want to talk to you about. But now we are both tired and need our sleep to gain strength for tomorrow’s challenges.”

Gereon’s fatigue was really severe, it was more than a lack of sleep. His energy was completely depleted, but he knew he had to keep moving and pushing on, “Some procedures must be sorted out here in Köln before we can go back to Berlin.”

“Promise me that you won’t do anything to your father,” Charlotte dreaded the prospect of him killing his father.

“I promise,” he said, rather reluctantly.

Gereon was carefully running his hand through her unruly curls, feeling the soft strands wrapping around his fingers. That sensation helped to relieve his mental tension, and he began to relax. It still terrified him to think what would have happened if Thomas hadn’t found Charlotte’s handbag in his father’s drawer, and he hadn’t got to her in time. He was ever so thankful to Thomas. Only a few hours ago he had stepped into the hell of the cursed attic considering blowing his brains out, and now he was ascending into heaven, protected by the delicate wings of his guardian angel. What was it, a concourse of favourable circumstances or some disposition of Providence?

“Your friends are wonderful people, and their house is simply gorgeous, but I want to go home tomorrow.”

Charlotte’s voice drifted through his awareness, but Gereon wasn’t sure if he was still awake or if he was talking to her in his dream. Having had so little sleep over the last week, it was difficult to think straight and speak clearly.

“I am home already,” he murmured.

“Because you are in Köln?”

“Because you are my home.”

On saying those words, Gereon placed Charlotte’s hand on his chest, right where his heart was beating. He felt alive again. For a brief moment his inner demons were quieted, and all his anxious thoughts subsided in the face of his ineffable, silent love for Charlotte. It would take some time to readjust to the life they had shared before she was kidnapped, to recover from the wounds, both visible and invisible. He had been given another chance to remedy his past mistakes, and he firmly decided not to repeat any of them in the future.

Chapter Text

Morning came too soon. Gereon woke up before Charlotte and silently watched the sun rising behind the thin cotton curtains. A new day in the city he had tried to estrange himself from for the entire year. He was running away from the past, but it always caught up with him anyway, because it was a part of him, and he had to carry that heavy baggage everywhere he went.

Charlotte was still cuddled up next to him, her head resting on his chest. She was peaceful and very pale, and light as a feather, almost weightless. He found her just hours before her body would have given out. She might have died alone in the cabin if the previous day had gone differently. Gereon couldn’t stop making up the worst-case scenarios in his head, torturing himself with dreadful images of Charlotte, cold to the touch and stiff, unresponsive, not breathing, with no pulse and fixed dilated pupils. Strong irrational fears played out in his mind, blinding and smothering him.

Charlotte sensed the change in Gereon’s breathing and stirred awake. She yawned and stretched out on the bed like a cat, releasing tension from her body after remaining in the same position for so long. She leaned on her elbow and looked at him with glad, affectionate eyes, letting him know that she was happy to wake up with him, by his side. Charlotte gently rubbed the stubble on his chin with her index finger and reached forward to kiss him good morning.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better," she smiled and sat up in bed. “What are our plans for today?”

“I’m going to examine the crime scene with Fürstenberg and Gräf, you wait for me here,” Gereon said. “When I’m done, we’ll take the train to Berlin.”

“Right,” Charlotte didn’t like the prospect of passively waiting for Gereon and Gräf to come back, but she didn’t want to see the hunting cabin ever again, so she decided to agree with that plan. “You also need to search your father’s belongings. When interrogating me, he mentioned a few facts that were not supposed to be common knowledge. For example, Wolter helping me out with a certificate of clean criminal record.”

Charlotte’s incredibly inquisitive mind never shut down, it was restlessly seeking solutions as soon as she opened her eyes and probably even in her sleep.

“Hmm…” Gereon was craving a cigarette, unable to function without his morning smoke and a cup of coffee. It was hard for him to keep pace with the speed of her thinking.

“But he asked a few weird questions too,” Charlotte got out of bed and started pacing around the room. “It seems to me that he was manipulated, because some of his assumptions were accurate, and some sounded like pure fiction fabricated by the one person even sicker than your father. Anno must be behind it. Who else?” Charlotte got right to the point.

“I seized an anonymous letter and a few vials from my father’s house.”

“Without a warrant? That’s clever. I’ve always told you that my crime scene search methods are much better than Gennat’s. Where is the letter now? Let me read it,” Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest, dead serious and demanding.

“Charlotte, you can’t investigate your own abduction. And supposedly I can’t investigate this case either as my father is the assailant. Thomas and Gennat will proceed with it.”

“And yet you are going to examine the hunting cabin,” she rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"I haven’t contacted Gennat, so officially I’m not banned from the investigation,” Gereon avoided Charlotte’s eyes, pretending he was busy getting dressed. It was disgusting to wear the same smelly sweaty shirt for the third day in a row.

Charlotte wanted to protest further, but she knew that Gereon was right, and her request was violating police procedure. There was no use arguing with him at that point and stressing him out more by judging his professional choices.

“Thomas and Gennat don’t know anything about Anno,” she said in a quiet voice. “And I guess we aren’t going to enlighten them. So they won’t find the conspirator, and even if your father is punished, the danger won’t be eliminated. Anno is still there, and we’re both his targets. Did you see him while I was away?”

“Could we talk about him later?” Gereon looked around the room implying that he’d rather discuss Anno somewhere else.

“Fine,” Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. “And now I need some clothes to get dressed.”

“I should have brought some of your clothes from Berlin, but to be honest it didn’t occur to me. I’m sorry. I could ask if Judith can lend you something. Would you let Gräf take photographs of your wounds? They would be valuable pieces of evidence along with the snaps from the cabin.”

“Thanks. Yes, he could do that. As long as I’m not identifiable in the pictures.”

*

Surprisingly, Gräf and the Fürstenbergs didn’t seem to be suffering from a hangover. They were chit-chatting over breakfast, enjoying warm waffles with strawberry jam and sipping steaming hot coffee. Gereon had hardly seen Gräf that talkative before. He was giving a lecture on different types of cameras, comparing the models imported from the United States with those manufactured in Germany.

“The majority of photographers will lose their jobs soon because anyone will be able to take quality shots quickly and easily. Kodak is developing a revolutionary new film folding camera,” Gräf disclosed this open secret with a comically solemn face. “It will be possible to load the cartridge into the camera in daylight.”

“No way,” Thomas shook his head in disbelief, genuinely fascinated by Gräf’s explanation. Judith didn’t share her husband’s enthusiasm for the topic. She was melancholically chewing her waffle and staring at Gräf with a courteous indifferent smile.

Gereon’s polite cough made all three of them turn, “Morning!”

“Morning!” Judith said. “Please, join us for breakfast.”

“Thanks, I could have a quick cup of coffee. Gräf will take photographs of Charlotte’s wounds before we go to examine the crime scene. We need to get moving, gentlemen.”

Gräf and Fürstenberg gave him a glance of reproof, as if to say that they were having a great morning until the fun spoiler turned up. But Gereon ignored their displeasure because he didn’t want to stay in Köln any longer than necessary.

**

When Gräf was done with taking pictures, and the men left for Königsdorfer Forst, Judith knocked at the door of the guest room to lend Charlotte her camisole, dress and a pair of stockings. All these pieces of clothing were too big for Charlotte, but her own blouse and underwear were completely ruined, and she couldn’t afford to be too picky.

“Are you ready for more scrambled eggs and tea?” Judith smiled. “It’s so bright and warm this morning. We can sit on the terrace if you don’t mind.”

Charlotte liked the idea and helped Judith carry the tray of food and tea to the garden. The terrace was furnished with a rectangular glass-topped table and four cane chairs, a perfect spot to have a light breakfast in the morning or a romantic candlelit dinner for two at night.

Charlotte was curiously looking around, observing the Fürstenbergs’ living environment that was utterly foreign to her, yet very likeable. A host of sparrows was perching on the bird bath, waiting for treats. Charlotte crumbled a slice of bread and threw the crumbs onto the lawn, attracting hungry sparrows, jackdaws and wagtails from the whole neighbourhood. She liked to watch wild birds in their habitats, the sight of caged birds always made her sad.

Judith briefly inspected the vegetable patches with straight rows of lettuce, radishes and carrots she planted a week ago. Then she took the seat opposite Charlotte and gave her another broad friendly smile.

“I’m happy that we have time to chat and get better acquainted with each other.”

“Absolutely,” Charlotte sounded equally thrilled. She could use her interrogative strategies to obtain some information from someone who had known Gereon longer than she. “Are you a native-born Kölner?” Small talk was a good way to start the conversation and carefully steer it in the right direction.

“I come from Düsseldorf,” Judith answered. “My father owns a private medical practice there, and my elder brother followed in his footsteps. Nowadays they run the practice together. I dreamed of becoming a doctor too, but unfortunately I’m not cut out for university.”

“You must be playing down your talents,” Charlotte grinned and sipped on her tea.

“Not really. My grades in the end-of-school exams were significantly below average, so university wasn’t an option for me. But nursing school turned out to be a good solution. Less theory and more clinical classes. In my student years I mingled with Rotfront, which my family didn’t really approve of. Bourgeois prejudices are still so strong in the middle-class.”

“Not sure about Düsseldorf but in Berlin the communists are pretty wild. No wonder their party was banned after what happened last May.”

“I must agree with you on that. Their ideology is appealing to me but the means they use are not. I participated in conferences of Communist women and peaceful demonstrations, distributed leaflets and translated them into Yiddish, but I always separated myself from any terrorist activities. When Rotfront declared that violence was an essential attribute of the red revolution, I couldn’t sympathise with it anymore, so I left the party.”

Unlike Charlotte’s friend Greta, Judith was able to think critically and refused to follow the agenda of political extremists. Surely for the better.

“You chose to work in a prison. What a gloomy place,” Charlotte visited a few prisons in Berlin and didn’t envy their personnel.

“It is, but even though I don’t earn much, I find this job very rewarding and fulfilling. You might say it’s a calling, my attempt to help those in need.”

“You are surely making a difference,” Charlotte wasn’t willing to discuss the prisons any further, so she smoothly changed the subject. “How long did it take you to get used to living in Köln?”

“I didn’t know anybody here, so I had to build my network from scratch. First of all I found my way into a synagogue and then joined a local Zionist club to make new friends. A big group of young activists were planning to move to Palestine and establish a Jewish state on the western side of the Temple Mount,” Judith’s eyes glowed with excitement when she spoke about that project. “I started taking Hebrew classes and preparing for immigration."

“That sounds like a pretty crazy plan.”

Although Charlotte had an adventurous spirit too, she had always been pragmatic, and the idea of moving to Palestine sounded utopian to her. Judith was the same type of harmless, starry-eyed idealist like, for example, Malu Seegers. These young women came from wealthy families and enjoyed pleasant, carefree childhoods. They grew up to become broad-minded egalitarians, eager to join the liberal movement, communists, Zionists or any other blatherskites who promised peace in the whole world and brotherhood of all nations. People who didn’t have to worry about making ends meet could afford to play such games.

“Sometimes the craziest of plans work out and become a huge success,” Judith answered. “But when I met Thomas, everything changed.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“In a jazz club. For a while I couldn’t believe that a man like Thomas, or to be honest any man at all, would ever pay attention to me.”

“Why so?” Charlotte raised her eyebrows.

“I was a twenty-two year old woman who had never been kissed before,” Judith couldn’t keep a tincture of bitterness out of her voice. “Thomas is incredibly handsome, and I’m not beautiful, not even pretty. We danced together most of the night and I couldn’t believe my luck. I suspected that he was drunk or made some stupid bet with his friends, or was simply mocking me, or whatever, so I didn’t tell him my name and he had to use his sources to figure out who I was. On the following Saturday he caught up with me at the synagogue, and I thought he seemed innocuous. We started seeing each other, meeting after work, going out dancing and…”

“And he captured you heart?”

“Of course he did. Once I capitulated and let him spend the night in my flat. In the morning he proposed to me.”

“To make an honest woman out of you?” Charlotte giggled.

“Yes. The circles in Köln are so narrow, particularly within the Jewish community. Gossip about non-marital relationships spread immediately, and everybody fears getting a bad reputation. After having seen me with Thomas, some girls who I considered to be my friends, turned their backs on me. They speculated that Thomas wanted to marry my father’s money, which could hardly be the reason, as he held quite a good position by the time.”

“They were simply envious.”

“Probably.”

“Did Thomas serve during the war?”

“Yes, he was a forward observer in an artillery regiment on the Western front. Thomas was awarded the Iron Cross for exceptional courage in the field. After the war he joined the police force, and now he leads the unit. Thomas is good at everything he does. I believe he will climb the career ladder all the way to the top.”

Charlotte didn’t know much about Gereon’s service during the war. Only a bunch of scattered facts. He was called up at the age of eighteen and served as an infantry soldier. He was captured by the French and held in a prisoner of war camp until the war came to an end. Would he ever be able to open up about his other war experiences besides the episode with Anno that traumatised him so deeply.

“Tell me something about Gereon. I’m curious to know what he was like before moving to Berlin,” Charlotte took an airy, carefree tone again.

“Not that we talked to each other very often,” Judith answered. “A couple of times we all watched horse races together, but he didn’t speak much. On Saturday nights I saw Gereon in the clubs when we went out dancing. He is a great dancer but also a heavy drinker.”

“When I went out dancing with him for the first time he only drank lemonade,” Charlotte grinned. “But he was on duty, that’s why.”

“To be honest Gereon was not my favourite friend of Thomas’s. I thought him to be cold, unfeeling and emotionless. A typical snob,” Judith felt a little awkward saying these things to Charlotte.

“I’m not surprised that he made such an impression on you. He was probably buttoned up and rather reserved,” Charlotte made a funny sullen grimace mimicking Gereon’s typical facial expression.

“Exactly,” Judith burst out laughing. “But Thomas assured me that Gereon was a reliable man with a great sense of humour. You have surely seen that side of him too.”

“Oh yes, sometimes we laugh until we both get hiccups.”

“Now I realise that I was too quick to make judgements,” Judith admitted. “Gereon is not a snob, but a quiet observer, and the years spent in the police force have certainly left their mark as well. How did you two end up together anyway?”

Judith was expecting to hear thrilling stories of their workplace affair, but Charlotte preferred to follow her usual strategy, to avoid unnecessary lies and give out the facts in small portions.

“It wasn’t an easy process. We’ve been playing a game of stealing glances, catching and pining for months. Don’t forget that we work in the same unit, and I’m his assistant. We need to be very cautious not to reveal our personal connection to our colleagues.”

“You melt the ice around his heart. I was surprised to see that he is capable of showing so much affection. Gereon is a totally different man when you are around. His face softens and brightens up. Seems that acceptance and love can change even those most devoid of emotion.”

“If you say so.”

Judith was a nice woman, but not very clear-sighted, Charlotte thought. Her attractive and outgoing husband was surely hiding as many secrets as Gereon, and probably even darker ones.

“Unlike Rath, Herr Gräf makes a pleasant impression right away,” Judith continued. “Such a gallant gentleman. Do you know him well? Thomas has found common ground with him very quickly. They stayed up after I went to sleep, chatting and laughing, and stumbling around the garden for a few more hours.”

“Gräf is friends with many people, he enjoys social settings,” Charlotte answered quite vaguely, wondering about the common ground Gräf so eagerly shared with Judith’s husband.

***

At ten o’clock Judith left for work, and shortly thereafter Fürstenberg’s blue Ford appeared on the driveway. Gereon opened the car door for Charlotte, helping her to get in. After having examined the hunting cabin all three men seemed to be in a dismal mood. Blood stains, dried vomit and rotten food leftovers presented a sorry sight, even for people who were compelled by duty to see all sorts of terrible things.

Charlotte looked out the car window, staring at the quaint narrow streets of old Köln that were so different from the busy broad avenues of central Berlin. This city shaped Gereon’s identity, and Charlotte wanted to absorb its vibe. Where Berlin was edgy and free spirited, with an air of a natural, charismatic ease, Köln seemed to be dreamy and agreeable, its charms hiding beneath the surface. Modern buildings were dominated by well-preserved historical façades. Less congested traffic, less litter on the pavement, people walking slower, newsstands less crowded. When Gereon moved to Berlin, he was surely overwhelmed by its hustle and bustle, by its wild rhythm and turbulent, uncontrollable energy. Visiting Köln made Charlotte see her own home city with fresh eyes.

Thomas gave them a lift to the railway station. The first thing that drew Charlotte’s attention when she got out of the car was a giant gothic cathedral with two huge towers. Köln’s most distinctive and best-known landmark and one of the national symbols of Germany.

“Spectacular!” she exclaimed, staring in wonder and awe at the unbelievable feat of architecture.

Gereon realised that she hadn’t seen Köln Cathedral before, and thus her extreme reaction to this building was quite understandable.

“Could we go closer? Could we go inside it?” Charlotte was truly stunned.

“Why not? We still have about an hour,” Gereon had no desire to go into the church but if she wanted to, he could comply with her wish all the same.

“Hard pass,” Gräf screwed up his face in revulsion. “Herr Fürstenberg promised to show me a photographic equipment store. It’s somewhere nearby. I’ll see you at the end of the platform ten minutes before the train leaves.”

“Have a safe journey”, Fürstenberg tapped on Gereon’s shoulder and bowed to Charlotte. “Too bad I can’t give your handbag back to you, it’s a piece of evidence, you know. But here are your keys and library card.”

“I understand,” Charlotte nodded sticking her belongings in the pocket of her coat. “I can’t thank you and your wife enough. I hope to see you both again soon. Maybe in Berlin.”

Charlotte’s legs were failing her and she was still weak in the knees. Fortunately, the cathedral was located right on the train station's doorstep.

For the first time in his life Gereon didn’t cross himself at the entrance of the church. Charlotte was leaning on his right arm, and he didn’t have a free hand to do so. Painful memories of his past were waiting for him behind the cathedral door.

On a day like this some twelve years ago, Helga and Anno got married here. It was agonising to watch their wedding ceremony from aside, frustrated and heart-broken, and then to extend congratulations to the newlyweds, feeling unwanted, betrayed and miserable. Anno smirked at him in triumph and commanded him to embrace his new sister-in-law. Helga acted nonchalant, keeping up the pretence that she had not slept with Gereon only a few weeks before her wedding day. It was obvious why she had chosen his brother over him, and he couldn’t be mad at her for making such a choice. He was only a wretched boy who barely finished school and didn’t achieve anything in his life. Too green to establish a family back then. Or perhaps he was an evergreen, like a spruce, not husband material for any woman.

When Gereon lived in Köln, he attended Mass every Sunday accompanied by his father, Helga and Moritz. Full of sorrow for his mistakes and faults, burdened by remorse for all the sins he had committed. None of the religious rites brought him inner peace, quite the opposite, they had been feeding his worries and anxiety, devouring him from the inside and reminding him of what he did wrong. Ghosts of the past were waiting for him in the porch, between the rows of pews, behind the columns. Gereon huddled up closer to Charlotte, instinctively searching for the comfort and security only she was able to give him.

Ethereal golden light was streaming in from tall stained glass windows, creating an illusion of walking in Heaven. Charlotte blinked up at the immensely distant and ornate ceiling. She crept down the aisle, gazing around and admiring the mosaic tiles on the floor, the grandiose marble sculptures and the massive pipe organ.

“I wish I could hear how it sounds,” she said.

“The acoustics of this cathedral are terrible,” Gereon explained. “They moved the organ from one spot to another and extended it a couple of years ago, but it didn’t help to reduce echo. During Mass I hear shuffling, coughing and even snoring, but not the music.”

“Thank you for showing me around.”

Charlotte encouraged him forward towards the intricately carved altar. She stopped in front of it and watched it with a wide-eyed expression of reverence. Gereon had rarely seen her as captivated outside crime scenes. She was thinking about centuries past and the carpenters who spent hundreds of hours on all this woodwork. Nobody remembered their names or faces, they faded into oblivion together with the stonemasons, glassmakers, sculptors and mosaicists. This spectacular cathedral was the only evidence proving that those people existed and worked hard to earn their daily bread, to leave traces in history. Charlotte was deeply moved by the glory of the cathedral.

“I feel so small here,” she whispered. “So insignificant.”

“That was the idea when they built it.”

Gereon showed her the shrine of the Three Kings and the Gero Cross, the oldest known crucifix. Charlotte attentively observed the relics and asked a few more questions.

At the side of the alter she noticed a table with lit and unlit candles.

“May I light a candle?” she hesitated.

“Sure. Anyone can light these candles, Catholic or not,” Gereon assured.

“I’ll light one for our mothers,” she nodded.

It was very considerate of Charlotte to pay respect to his mother too, even though she didn’t know much of anything about her, not even her name. Gereon always sought affection and validation from his mother, but she remained distant and emotionally absent, ignoring the fact that her younger son was living in sadness, detached from the rest of the family, unloved and lonely. Anno was her golden child and Gereon was given the role of the scapegoat. That disposition never changed. But she was still his mother, the woman he owed his life to.

After a moment of reflection Gereon lit a candle too. In gratitude for Charlotte’s rescue. For a couple of minutes they had been watching burning candles and holding hands. Losses and troubles taught them to appreciate life and every new day spent together. They couldn’t take anything for granted anymore.

“Now we must catch the train,” Charlotte reminded.

For one last time they looked around. Gereon was leaving the place with a light heart. Surprisingly enough, Charlotte had managed to chase away its ghosts and negative energy. From now on he wouldn’t be thinking about the dramas of his past when entering Köln Cathedral. He would remember her warm palm against his and the soft glow of flickering candles reflecting in her misty hazel eyes.

On the way to the railway station Gereon took his cigarettes out of his pocket and offered one to Charlotte, “You must be craving a smoke.”

“Not really. It might be sensible for me to abstain from smoking to not upset my stomach more,” she answered.

****

Gräf was already waiting for them under the clock at the end of the train platform, wearing a green carnation in the lapel buttonhole of his suit jacket and a dreamy expression on his face.

“Thomas?” Charlotte asked him, only her lips moved, and her voice remained inaudible.

Instead of answering, Gräf lowered his eyes, appearing abashed and a little guilty. A pink flush crept up his neck, above his collar. The carnation was an eloquent farewell message from Fürstenberg, revealing what kind of common ground he actually shared with Gräf. Charlotte immediately felt sorry for Judith, who was unknowingly providing cover for her husband’s sexual orientation. Ambitious gay men who pursued a successful career and dreamed about high positions were forced to do the right thing, to marry women. Judith got a handsome husband “who was good at everything he did”, and Thomas got a faithful and adoring wife of Jewish descent. Nothing was what it seemed in their unhealthy hypocritical society.

When the train departed from Köln, motion sickness hit Charlotte. She became white and clammy, her stomach churned, and what little breakfast she had eaten earlier vigorously wanted out.

She lay down on the bench and rested her head on Gereon’s lap. He was carefully massaging her scalp and rubbing her shoulder, helping her to adjust to the rocking of the train car. Soon Charlotte fell asleep and didn’t wake up when the train stopped in Hannover. Gräf and Gereon exchanged glances. They remembered that Charlotte’s father and his family lived near Hannover and figured out that being so close to them and yet so far would surely upset her.

Gräf left the carriage to buy a newspaper and some snacks. When Charlotte finally got up, they had already passed Braunschweig. She nibbled a few salty crackers and sipped almond milk, asking questions about what was going on in the Burg and in the city generally during her absence.

*****

They reached Berlin late in the evening, and even though the long train journey turned out to be quite exhausting, Charlotte felt a sudden burst of energy, treading on familiar ground. A cab ride along dark streets and neighbourhoods didn’t take much time, and soon she was able to distinguish the outlines of the house that had been her home for a couple of months. She had broken out of the trap set for her by Anno. Together with Gereon they had achieved an important victory that surely undermined Dr Schmidt’s revenge agenda.

A familiar roomy hallway and a few flights of stairs to climb, and finally a white wooden door with a brass name plate attached to it. ‘Rath,’ it said.

“Welcome back home,” Gereon smiled opening the door and letting her in.

Charlotte expected the flat to be messy and cluttered, but to her surprise it looked rather tidy. She was relieved not to find empty alcohol bottles in the kitchen or broken drug vials in the bathroom. She wouldn’t have blamed him for resorting to substance abuse amid the distress of her abduction, but Gereon’s willpower turned out to be stronger than his addiction. It was heart-warming to see that their joint efforts weren’t in vain, and despite the withdrawal symptoms and severe stress he didn’t relapse.

“I bet that most of all you want to wash up and shave,” Charlotte said.

“You read my mind,” Gereon chuckled and headed to the bathroom. Of course, it would be nice to soak in warm water and get rid of sweat and nasty body odour. Besides, his prickly stubble was rubbing Charlotte’s soft cheeks and chin like a sandpaper when they kissed. It was high time to fix it.

In the meantime Charlotte changed her clothes. Judith’s baggy dress made her feel frumpy, awkward and extremely unattractive. She opened her wardrobe and picked a pair of trousers and a beige blouse. When Charlotte buttoned it up she noticed an annoying gap at the chest that definitely didn’t belong there. The blouse was too tight. She took it off and put on a stretchy knitted jumper instead. Not a big deal. She was not one to allow petty annoyances to spoil her mood.

The kitchen cupboard looked as empty as it did the night she was kidnapped. Only a bottle of beer, a piece of stale bread and three green apples inside it. It was too late to go food shopping, so they would have to munch apples and drink tea that night.

*

After a hot bath Gereon felt fresh and relaxed, as if along with the sweat and dirt, he had washed away bad luck, worries and frustration. He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, then rested his gaze for a moment and stared into his own eyes, startled by a strange discovery. He didn’t loathe his reflection, he wasn’t repulsed by it. The man in the mirror wasn’t a gross drug-addict or a trembling loser. Just an ordinary man, thirty-something years old, without signs of hair loss or a beer belly. Clean-shaven and neatly combed, ready to be kissed by a lovely young woman. The woman who looked at him as if he was the most handsome man in the world. He couldn’t help grinning at the thought.

Gereon found Charlotte in the kitchen, leaning on the windowsill and watching the deserted dark street. No passers-by except a lonely hunchbacked man with a giant schnauzer on a leash.

“It’s so warm outside but nobody wants to go for a walk. Only Herr Erler and Plato.”

Gereon had been living in this house since last June but didn’t know any neighbours by name. Charlotte was far more sociable and quickly got acquainted with an elderly couple from the flat opposite. Once, Frau Erler knocked at their door to borrow a cup of sugar and later invited them both for tea and plum pie she baked. Gereon didn’t go, aware of possible awkward questions the curious elderly people might ask, but Charlotte accepted their invitation and spent almost an hour drinking tea and chatting with the Erlers. When Gereon lost his patience and went to pick her up, she was sitting on their living-room carpet with a grey schnauzer on her lap, looking through the yellowed photographs the Erlers had arranged on the floor in front of her. Before retirement Herr Erler used to be an attaché at the German embassy in Madrid, and he had a lot of exciting stories to tell. Charlotte attracted people of all ages like a magnet, and Gereon was having a hard time learning to share her attention with colleagues, friends and even neighbours.

While he was taking a bath, Charlotte prepared a late-night snack, a plate of thin apple slices and a salt cellar were set on the kitchen table. She took a pinch of salt and sprinkled it over the plate.

“Are you putting salt on your apple?” Gereon was astonished.

“Yes, it tastes good like that. Just try.”

He obediently put an apple slice in his mouth and winced in disgust.

“Terrible. So bitter.”

The collar and the first button of his shirt were open, showing enough of his chest for a cross pendant on a gold chain to be seen. Charlotte ran her fingers over the chain.

“You found it.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry,” Gereon got confused. “I’ve damaged your doll. I’ll give the cross back to you.”

He wanted to unlock the chain, but Charlotte made a reassuring gesture, patting him on the shoulder, “Please, don’t. I’d like you to keep it.”

Her generosity and kind words were unbearably moving, and Gereon quickly averted his eyes so not to shed tears in response to the emotions she had awoken.

“I used to have a very similar cross pendant, but I lost it when I returned home after the war,” Gereon frowned.

“Really?” Charlotte was intrigued. “Do you remember how it happened?”

He scratched his head pondering her question, “Not quite. I was drinking for weeks and drank myself into a stupor. My memory blurred. Perhaps the lock broke, and I dropped it down the drain when washing up.”

“I see…” Charlotte narrowed her eyes, clearly doubting him.

Gereon reached for his neck with the tips of his fingers as if he wanted to make sure that the chain was still there, “And what about this one? Why did you hide a Catholic cross inside your rag doll? I was thinking about it but couldn’t deduce any believable answer.”

Suddenly Charlotte got anxious, her eyes widened in fear, and she shivered beside him like a little kitten driven into a corner by a pack of dogs. He had unintentionally touched a sore spot, brought up a sensitive subject.

Gereon pressed a soft kiss on her forehead and stepped aside, giving her space to breathe, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. You don’t have to tell me.”

Charlotte knew that sooner or later he would ask her these questions, and a few months ago she wouldn’t have told him the truth. But now she couldn’t lie by omission or answer ambiguously. Keeping things hidden and locked up would only cause them more trouble and eventually smother their fragile mutual trust. Charlotte gathered all her courage to take a brave step forward, in hope that Gereon would support her initiative and follow her example.

“It’s a secret I thought I’d never tell anyone. Related to the situation from my past I had no control over. We could talk about it, but not here. I don’t want to fill this flat with bad memories,” intense emotions caught up with Charlotte, making her speech choppy and slurred.

“Where do you want to go?”

Charlotte quickly assessed different options and came up with a strange question, “Have you ever been on the roof of this house?”

“On the roof?” he echoed in disbelief. Up to that moment he had mostly just crawled around attics. Was it a good time to go up to the next level?

“It’s a shame that most people never climb onto the roofs of the houses they live in. They miss a lot. Sitting on the roof at night feels like being on a ship. A great place to think and probably to speak. Not sure. Never been on a roof with somebody else before. Do you want to try it out?”

“Why not?”

Charlotte was inviting him to enter what she considered her private territory, and he couldn’t waste that opportunity, even if the idea of talking on the roof didn’t seem to be particularly sensible or appealing.

**

They put on their coats, quietly left the flat and ascended the back staircase of their house all the way up. It wasn’t forbidden to go in the attic, and in summer some tenants dried their laundry there. Gereon switched on his torch and took a quick look around. Nothing suspicious, only a thick layer of dust and spider webs.

“This one leads to the roof,” Charlotte pointed her finger at the narrow wooden ladder and in the blink of an eye started climbing up it.

“Be careful!” Gereon warned. She was still quite unsteady and could lose balance. Was it wise to follow her impulse and agree to do something this dangerous?

Besides, the door at the top of the ladder was locked.

“No worries,” Charlotte smiled and inserted her bobby pin into the lock. “I will pick it in no time”.

Charlotte’s resourcefulness appeared to be almost infinite. She poked her tool back and forth in the key hole, nudged the door open and stepped onto the rooftop which turned out to be rather flat. A very slight slope was just enough to drain water. Gereon joined her and silently peered around, stunned by the night panorama of Berlin that had unfolded before his eyes. They were a part of this cityscape, but were also watching it from the outside. Quite a unique sensation, Gereon had to admit.

“Let’s sit down behind the chimney,” Charlotte suggested. “So that our silhouettes won’t stand out.”

It was a reasonable idea, as they certainly didn’t want any watchful neighbours to see them on the roof.

The weather was warm and clear. The sky above them was lit up by hundreds of stars, and the crescent moon hovered right above their heads. Berlin was breathing, moving and pulsating around them like a living organism. Bright electric car lights were crawling along the streets, houses’ twinkling windows concealed mysteries and probably crimes, smoke was pouring out of chimneys. Heavy white and grey palls of smoke produced by burning stoves, fireplaces, bath houses, factories and crematoria. Berlin was not asleep.

A white moth slowly floated across their line of vision and gracefully landed on the sleeve of Charlotte’s coat.

“The first butterfly of the spring,” Charlotte said quietly. “I’ve read that some butterflies only live for a few hours. They don’t have mouths or stomachs. They don’t eat and don’t digest. Their only purpose is to mate, lay eggs and fade away. Obviously silently.”

“Hmm…” Gereon questioningly stared at Charlotte as he didn’t understand what she was hinting at. He had a fear of heights and wide open spaces. Even though the house where they lived wasn’t very high, he felt uncomfortable on the roof and agreed to Charlotte’s suggestion only because he didn’t want to upset her by refusing.

“Many people live like those butterflies, even though they have mouths. But I don’t want us to be like that,” she was speaking in barely more than a whisper. “There are some things I’ve never told anybody. I wanted to wipe them from my memory, but no matter how hard I try to forget them, they are still here,” Charlotte tapped her head with her index finger. “Escaping the past is useless.”

“That’s what I’ve figured out too,” Gereon wrapped his arm around her back, holding her firmly and letting her know she was secure with him, and he was ready to listen to her. She pulled her knees close to her chest and dropped her head on his shoulder.

“Talking to you now, I feel like my thoughts and my words fly away and dissolve in the darkness,” Charlotte kept her eyes on the horizon as if she was attempting to see scenes of her past unfolding somewhere beyond it.

“It has never been easy for you, right?” Gereon asked, encouraging her to speak up.

“I guess not,” she admitted. “But before the war life used to be easier. My parents worked in the slaughter house, and we kids went to school. A regular family from Berlin’s suburbs,” she started her story in a removed manner, giving him some background into it. “Everything collapsed when the cursed war began. Our father was sent to the Eastern front, and our mother had to provide for three kids alone. Berlin was suddenly full of exhausted, grey-faced women and hungry kids. Instead of playing in the school playground, pupils scattered around the city. Some were begging and some were stealing. I did both, and I hated both.”

No German could recollect those months without a shudder, Gereon thought.

“It was the same in Köln. Once a little rascal stole my wallet while I was waiting for a tram,” he chuckled.

“Tram stops, metro stations, market squares and newspaper stands were real hot spots,” Charlotte explained. “I was evacuated to the countryside, and spent the last year of the war there with other kids my age. It felt like a big adventure, and I was sure that things would get back to normal at some point.”

“I thought so too,” Gereon nodded. “But they never did.”

“Never,” Charlotte sighed. “In late 1918 I returned to Berlin to find my father back home. He had lost both of his legs and couldn’t work in the slaughter house anymore, or basically anywhere else either.”

“I’m sorry,” Gereon muttered, realising once again how incredibly lucky he was to have walked away from that mincing machine without any major injuries.

“My mother said that my schooling had ended, because she didn’t have money to buy school supplies or clothes, or even food for the whole family. Both Ilse and I began working in the spinning factory.”

“And you were just twelve or thirteen?”

“Almost thirteen, and it was not just but already. In our neighbourhood the kids my age were supposed to be earning. We worked long hours, but our daily salary was barely enough to buy a loaf of bread and maybe some lentils or cabbage. I brought the rest of the money to my mother who was struggling to pay the rent. I remember that I always felt cold and hungry back in those days. I wanted to eat all the bread by myself, but I couldn’t because I had to share it with Toni, father and grandpa."

Charlotte took a pause, gathered herself and resumed, “Once I was walking home after dark without Ilse because I did a couple of extra hours at the factory. It cost me a lot,” Charlotte’s body twitched and trembled in his arms as she approached the most dramatic part of her account. “Right behind the factory I was attacked by three men. I hoped that they would rob me and let me go, but…” her voice lowered into a whisper, barely audible in the silence of the night.

“Oh, no…” Gereon had anticipated some horrible twist since the very beginning of Charlotte’s story. At some point he had stopped breathing without realising, and was now gasping for air, suffocated by angst and anger.

“I was screaming and kicking them,” Charlotte continued, “crying for help and trying to break free, but no passer-by paid any attention to what was going on. They dragged me into a woodshed, and one of them punched me in the head, knocking me off my feet. I blacked out for a while and then woke up on the floor. My arms were trapped, and a huge weight was pushing down on me, into me. His foul-smelling breath in my face. Unused, in mint condition, he snorted and burst out laughing. They were taking turns on me. So humiliating and so disgusting. I didn’t shout or kick anymore. I shut my eyes and prepared to die. When they were done, one of them wrapped his hands around my neck and squeezed tight. He wanted to choke me. My airway was completely blocked for a couple of minutes. Done, he said, and they left. Did I survive? Or did I die that day? Yes, a part of me must have died in the woodshed behind the spinning factory.”

“My Charlotte,” Gereon froze up for several seconds, completely destroyed by her confession. Why would a loving and holy God allow any kid to suffer through such savage cruelty? Why Charlotte? Gereon’s heart shattered into pieces as he pictured three attackers beating and abusing a thin helpless girl, poor thing sobbing and squirming in their grip, torn apart in every sense. He wished he could have kept her safe when the rest of the world had failed her like that.

“My dress and stockings were ruined, besides, they stole my shoes. I was very sore down there, I felt dirty and ashamed,” an uncontrollable sob shook Charlotte’s body. “I didn’t want to go home because I knew that my mother would scold me for walking around alone after dark and blame me for losing all my money and only pair of shoes. So I spent the rest of the night in a boiler-house.”

“Where?” Gereon wasn’t sure if he had heard it right.

“In a boiler house,” Charlotte repeated. “I knew how to slip in through the basement window and sometimes crawled in there to warm up a little. There was a small round niche right behind the chimney where nobody could find me. It was my secret refuge where I hid in an emergency.”

Charlotte sniffed and rubbed her hand across her watery eyes. She cried silently, and Gereon held her as close as he could. After many years of denial, Charlotte allowed herself to embrace her sadness. When told aloud, the tragedy of her childhood took on its true shape and size, pounding through her veins and filling her with the hurt and grief she had been suppressing for too long. Her old pain felt as real as it did on the night she got hurt.

“Was your mother looking for you when you didn’t come home from work?”

“Oh, yes she was,” Charlotte wiped away her tears and forced herself to calm down. “She walked to the factory and back but didn’t find me. I guess she was more angry than worried. She decided that I had bought food and tobacco to enjoy all by myself, and that’s why I didn’t dare to show up at home. Or that I went to the cinema with the girls from the factory, or whatever."

“And you never told her what happened to you?” he took Charlotte’s hand and entwined his fingers with hers.

“No. I kept it to myself. Early in the morning I planned to sneak home and get changed while everybody was still asleep. On my way to the barrack I checked the pocket of my dress where I used to keep a match and a cigarette for a rainy day. But instead of a cigarette I found this cross pendant there. Though I had never touched precious metals before, I reckoned it had to be gold. It was so shiny and beautiful in my palm, a real treasure. However hungry I was, I couldn’t sell the cross, so I looked for a place to keep it. And I didn’t come up with any better idea than hiding it inside my rag doll.”

“So weird. Who put a gold necklace in your pocket? And why?” Gereon wondered.

“Do Catholics believe in miracles?” Charlotte asked, a smirk tugging at her trembling lips.

“We do. Miracles are works of God. For example, once Jesus changed water into wine.”

“Why?”

“To manifest his divinity.”

“If he was able to change water into wine, he could as easily replace a cigarette with a holy cross.”

Gereon wasn’t sure if Charlotte was speaking seriously or joking.

“Any miracle carries a message,” he frowned. “What was the message of yours?”

“Sometimes things are destined to happen to us. For everything we lose, we gain something else. Maybe it’s silly but whenever I was in trouble, I fidgeted with my doll and felt for the cross hidden inside it. It was my anchor, it reminded me that a blessing could come when least expected.”

“It was a life changing experience for you,” Gereon concluded.

Charlotte went through terrible things but didn’t lose the will to live. She was a survivor, not a victim.

“Yes, one of a few. I realised that I could be attacked at any time, and it might happen to me again. And it certainly would. So I decided to learn how to deal with such things and gain something from them. I went to our neighbour, and she taught me how to prevent pregnancy and diseases. I was always looking for other ways to earn money but at the end of the month we had to pay the rent, and I spent a few nights in the dark alleys selling myself to those who were willing to pay a mark.”

“It’s so dangerous for someone that young. When I worked in the Vice Squad I saw lots of girls and young women abused by their patrons and souteneurs. Even killed.”

“I carried a small sharp knife with me, and a couple of times I had to use it. When I grew older and smarter I started going out clubbing. I gradually explored all of Berlin’s nightlife spots. Moka Efti was the peak of my career,” she produced a sad chuckle. “Three marks for the regular set and up to ten marks for specialities.”

Gereon remembered that Gräf once told him that for someone as smart and sensitive as Charlotte, such an occupation was double the misery.

“How long did it take you to become desensitised to those things?”

“I won’t deny, the beginning was harsh, but later I discovered crack and learned to switch off my senses, to exist outside of my body. I had been working nights until I got the position of criminal assistant,” after a short pause she continued, “Once I made an exception though. I urgently needed a pile of money, so I went to Luxor. It’s a special club that doesn’t hire amateurs and newbies because the stakes are high, and their patrons are monstrously rich and demanding. I had no idea what my task would be. We only agreed about the payment in advance. One hundred marks.”

“Oh God!” Gereon’s sorrow had gone, replaced by cold fury. How sick and rotten their society was. The rich satisfied their perverted desires by exploiting the poor who were driven desperate by distress and misery.

“In Luxor I was unable to remain dissociated. My mind and my body were, finally, inseparable, and I got hurt.”

“And you did it for the sake of your sister.”

“Uh huh,” Charlotte didn’t feel comfortable talking about her self-sacrifice and quickly changed the topic. “I noticed Andersen’s book on the shelf. Did you visit Ilse?”

“I did.”

“Let me guess, she asked if the police force would cover my funeral costs and she wanted to inherit my savings if I happened to have any. And maybe my clothes.”

Charlotte’s capability of seeing through people scared him sometimes. She was under no illusion about Ilse’s motives and interests.

“Yes, your sister said she was your next of kin and she knew her rights. I didn’t like it at all,” Gereon knitted his brows and pursed his lips, expressing concern and disapproval.

“Ilse is my closest family member whether we like it or not,” there was a note of frustration in Charlotte’s voice, her countenance grim.

They fell silent and simultaneously lifted their heads to stare at the twinkling star-filled night sky. After a few moments Gereon broke the silence.

“If only I could change it,” he was thinking out loud.

“What do you mean?” Charlotte glanced at him sharply.

Gereon took a deep breath, gathering up the courage to explain himself. He felt his heart pounding in his throat and cold sweat dripping down his spine. They had not talked about what was going on between them, and all he knew was that he wanted more of Charlotte. All of her. His head was spinning in doubt and fear.

“If I say it, you might leave and never come back.”

“That means you’re not ready to say it, whatever it is,” her voice went even softer than it had been. “But I’m always ready to listen to you and I’m not the one who is easily scared off. You and I share the same bad habit. We hide everything away until we feel completely trapped with no way out.”

Gereon was always careful with his words. Helga used to elicit a response or reaction in him by grabbing his hands, looking into his eyes, setting conditions and demanding. Charlotte was also stubborn and curious by nature, but she respected his right to silence and didn’t pressure him beyond his limits.

“Anno says that we stick together because our traumas match.”

“Anno is smart. There might be a grain of truth in his words. But I believe we’re both more than our traumas.”

Charlotte told him that she read about repressed traumas in a book by the Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung, who wrote that most traumas were rooted in childhood and affected people throughout their lives. These wounds could only be healed by speaking the unspoken, and she felt much better now when she had told him about the things that had been poisoning her from the inside for a decade.

They sat on the roof and talked into the small hours of the night. Gereon told Charlotte how tangled up he became in his own deceptions, how he sought to avoid harm but created even more mess and uncertainty around himself. He was randomly recollecting episodes of his past life, including some of his war experiences. Charlotte lent him a compassionate ear, carefully listening to him and sometimes asking questions, encouraging him to go on and give her more details when his emotions ran too high, and he jumped from one subject to another with little explanation.

Once, he was gassed in a trench and temporarily blinded. Since then he hated the odour of freshly mown grass. One chilly autumn night his regiment came under enemy fire and an artillery shell exploded near his position, killing at least five soldiers on the spot and wounding dozens with shrapnel. Bloody flesh, the boom of guns, and the sharp crack of cannons still pursued him in his nightmares. The prisoner of war camp was another hellhole where the captured soldiers were frequently beaten and badly fed. He waited there for two months to be escorted back to Germany.

The war only deepened the fears and anxiety Gereon had developed during his unhappy childhood and adolescence. Even now it wasn’t easy for him to call things by their true names, to describe what he endured in his parental home. Bullying and loneliness, his father’s cruelty and his mother’s indifference, silent treatment and isolation.

Charlotte was particularly touched and shocked by one of his terrible childhood memories. When Gereon turned seven, his father took him to a nearby farm and let him choose a pet. He was allowed to watch piglets, calves, lambs, rabbits, chickens and goslings for more than an hour. “Go ahead, take your pick,” Engelbert urged. Gereon picked a little lamb with a white-wooled body and black face and legs. The lamb was given its own stall in the Raths’ horse stable, and Gereon never forgot to visit his playful and funny pet when he got home after school. On Easter Day he couldn’t find his lamb in the stable and thought that it had escaped. He ran to the housemaid who was responsible for feeding the lamb and asked her if she had seen it. Instead of answering, she silently pointed at the oven where his pet was being cooked for Easter dinner. The lamb’s head was thrown to Engelbert’s hunting dogs who were munching on it in the garden.

“Isn’t it silly to care for some lamb?” he managed a weak smile. “I have meat and poultry on my plate almost every day. So how did that lamb differ from any other animal slaughtered for my meals?”

“You can’t explain everything with logic and reasoning,” she rose her hand to his back and rubbed in gentle circles. “Don’t even try. Just accept your feelings.”

His pet lamb was cooked for dinner, his teddy bear was burnt in the fireplace, and a litter of six kittens was buried alive right under the window of his nursery. God was dead and didn’t hear any of his prayers. Innocent creatures suffered all around, and evil reigned over the Earth. Gereon had seriously considered suicide and attempted to take his own life twice, once when he came back home after the war and then ten years later, right before moving to Berlin.

“No matter how hard I tried to reach for the light, more darkness overcame me. I got fed up with trying and wanted to die.”

“You didn’t want to die, Gereon. Otherwise you would be dead. You wanted to quiet your pain just as much as I wanted to quiet mine.”

Charlotte was right again. She had been born with the gift of emotional intelligence, and he was born to be a dense fool, or was at least raised to become one. A lack of insight into himself led to that lingering emptiness and inner desolation he certainly sensed but couldn’t properly acknowledge.

“I wish I had met you earlier, much earlier,” Gereon said regretfully.

“Better late than never,” Charlotte embraced him and touched his lips with hers in a soft caress. “You were definitely worth the wait.”

***

Gereon didn’t get any sleep that night. He felt too exhilarated from both his and Charlotte’s reminiscences. For so many years he denied his feelings, keeping them bottled up, and suddenly he had dropped his guard entirely. And so did Charlotte. They unleashed their torrents of memories, flashbacks and random recollections, being extremely vulnerable with each other. They still had much more to talk about, but he was hopeful. Perhaps the monsters of their past could be defeated, and they could start their lives anew in a fresh place. Together.

What he felt for Charlotte that night was more than love and adoration. It was a revelation. He could finally be his true self and follow his own inner compass. He no longer had to remould his identity or modify his behaviour in order to deserve somebody’s appreciation. She chose to be with him simply because he was who he was, despite all his flaws and imperfections, and his insane relatives who had almost killed her. Together till the end, she once said, and she meant it. The bond between them was stronger than death.

Charlotte was at his side, figuratively and literally, and there was no need to shoulder burdens and pain alone anymore. The attention she gave him and the kindness she showed inspired him to move forward. To prove to others and most of all to himself that he was capable of getting better.

They curled up together in bed and the only thing left was the warmth and smell and closeness of each other. He cradled Charlotte against him. She was enjoying the secure comfort of his arms, her mind calmed and peaceful. He gently pulled a strand of hair off her face and placed a kiss upon her brow, upon her soft cheek, and finally upon her lips. She smiled in her sleep and kissed him back.

Gereon knew that Charlotte wouldn’t spend the whole day at home, and he frowned at the idea that Anno might set another trap for her. But Charlotte was aware of the potential danger and would of course be careful. Besides, he had no right to limit her freedom of movement and lock her inside the four walls.

At quarter to seven he switched off the alarm clock and carefully disengaged himself from her embrace. He didn’t want to wake Charlotte as she needed enough sleep to restore her health.

Before leaving for the Burg, Gereon sat down at the kitchen table to write a note for her. Paper is patient, paper doesn’t blush, he muttered under his breath, writing as legibly as he could,

“Good morning, my heart! Or is it already afternoon?

Please, take it easy today and get some more rest. Here’s the money you lent to your sister. I’ll sneak out from the Burg early if the opportunity arises. Crossing my fingers.

Yours, me”

Chapter Text

That morning Gereon needed to make enormous efforts to get himself out of the house. He would have preferred to take an extra day-off, unplug his telephone and stay with Charlotte, pretending that he wasn’t a police officer but a big bed pillow. Unfortunately he couldn’t afford such a luxury. It would be stupid and irresponsible to bury his head in the sand in the hope that the troubles at hand would simply go away.

The colleagues in the Burg seemed to have been informed that he had found Charlotte. They gave him a warm welcome by snapping their fingers and humming in unison. Gereon didn’t enjoy such massive attention from all sides, he briefly nodded to everybody and tried to sneak into his office, but Henning, Czerwinski and Lehmann surrounded him, blocking his way, to shake his hand and to ask how Charlotte was doing. However, they didn’t pose any questions about what happened to her, where she was kept or how she was freed, which meant that Gennat had already talked to them and forbidden any queries of the kind.

Gereon was grateful when Henning brought him a big cup of black coffee, because he felt rather sluggish, and a shot of caffeine was exactly what he needed to fight off fatigue and sleepiness. His desk was as messy as his head, heaped with files, random photographs, tapes and papers. Old unsolved murders, new murders, a bunch of cold cases for the archive, nationalists and communists, underworld gangsters and hired assassins. How would he ever sort all these things out?

Before getting to his work routines Gereon had to speak with Gennat, and the prospect of meeting the boss made him shaky and jittery. Nobody could do that on his behalf, so he had to pluck up the courage to walk upstairs.

Gennat was smoking his cigar and reading the morning newspapers. He greeted Gereon with a short smile and a firm handshake, inviting him to sit down in the chair opposite his writing desk.

“Congratulations on the successful rescue operation, Kommissar Rath!” he exclaimed, and then his tone hardened, “I’ve seen the snaps developed by Gräf. Your duty was to take Fräulein Ritter to hospital. She refused to get medical attention because she was shocked and thus unable to think clearly. Her wounds look pretty bad, and she might be developing serious complications,” Gennat made a pause in his angry rant and nervously puffed on his cigar, filling the air with a nasty stink of cheap tobacco and ammonia. “Inflammation can progress rapidly and cause blood poisoning which might be fatal for her. You both showed an unforgivable lack of judgement, acting on impulse, not reason. That’s not how these things should be addressed.”

Gennat’s critique was harsh but not demeaning. He was genuinely concerned about Charlotte and scolded Gereon like a parent would scold a naughty child.

“If you say so,” Gereon shrugged his shoulders.

“From now on you are banned from this investigation as your close relative is involved,” Gennat frowned and wrinkled his lips. “The case has been handed over to our colleagues in Köln. Fürstenberg from the Internal Affairs Unit will proceed with it. Even though the circumstances seem to be quite clear, and the scope of evidence doesn’t leave much space for speculation, no charges will be filed before the assailant is well enough to undergo formal interrogation.”

“He might never be well enough,” Gereon muttered.

“We will see,” Gennat’s abrupt intonation indicated that he wouldn’t talk about that issue any further. “How is Fräulein Ritter doing? Will she take a longer sick leave?”

“She said she would be returning to work on Monday.”

“Good. You two won’t work in a pair anymore as your interaction has stretched far beyond the professional scope. I’ll give the new guidelines to both of you on Monday morning right after the weekly briefing.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gennat clearly had something else on his mind, as his piercing, inquisitive gaze shone directly towards Gereon.

“Gräf says that Fräulein is temporarily staying under your roof,” that was more an accusation than a statement.

“I’m afraid that I’m not inclined to discuss our private arrangements at work,” Gereon answered rather arrogantly and rose up from his chair.

“I’ve checked Fräulein’s personnel record,” Gennat resumed impassively, “And noticed that only her shooting proficiency test is still undone. When all qualification exams are passed, she will become a permanent member of our staff, and her salary will be raised according to the existing pay scale. Fräulein Ritter will also be eligible to claim housing allowance that is granted to unmarried police officers who dwell without families. Application forms can be obtained from the personnel department. Will you deliver my message to her?”

“I will,” Gereon clenched his jaw and quickly left the boss’s office before he lost his temper again and said something even more disrespectful and inappropriate.

He was annoyed by Gennat’s comments and certainly didn’t want Charlotte to move out of his place. The thought of letting her go was killing him. On the other hand, he had to admit that it wouldn’t be wise for them to work on crime scenes together anymore. His urge to protect Charlotte would affect their performance, and vice versa. In fact it was she who saved their lives when they were attacked in the basement, and in the future she might be safer with some other officer who would act on reason even in the most challenging situations. Her security was priority number one. Gereon would prefer Charlotte not to do field work at all, not to put herself in danger, not to dodge bullets, but he couldn’t judge her choices or set any restrictions.

Gereon didn’t have the energy to catch up on any of his current investigations. They could all wait until Monday. He cleared enough desk space in his cluttered office to open up his notepad and get to writing. It was much easier for him to express his thoughts on paper than to confront people face to face and respond to their immediate requests and reactions. The letter he was writing consumed a lot of ink and brainpower. It was giving him grey hair and increasing his pulse rate. He had to be precise and convincing without getting overly emotional. Not an easy assignment, especially after a sleepless night.

The first draft of the letter was a total failure. Gereon shred it into pieces and burnt it in his ashtray. The second draft was better but needed some restructuring and considerable editing. He was chain smoking, drinking bitter black coffee and sweating, concentrated on delivering an acceptable result at any cost. When the letter was finished, he made a clean copy of it and destroyed all the drafts.

It was time to leave the Burg and deal with a few important issues elsewhere. He didn’t want to be a passenger on the ship of his life anymore. Although he wasn’t quite capable of taking the captain’s bridge yet, he could try to function as a member of the crew, making some adjustments to the ship’s course. Charlotte, like a little bright beacon, was helping to guide his vessel along its route towards the distant safe shore. But she couldn’t sail on his behalf, and it was his task to move forward without getting stuck between a rock and a hard place.

With a heavy heart and strained nerves, Gereon drove to Hellersdorf, the eastern outskirts of Berlin, a labyrinthine cluster of stand-alone industrial facilities, refineries and large warehouses. Somewhere among them he spotted a drab brown building with a foreboding red roof and wide steel door, the Institute of Experimental Psychiatry. Double cast-iron bars on the windows and a barbed wire fence prevented acutely ill patients from escaping.

It was weird to visit that place sober and see it clearly in daylight, in all its off-putting details. From the outside it looked more like a waste processing plant than a rehab clinic or a scientific unit. For its chief and founder, patients were nothing more than expendable material he could either recycle for his own purposes or discard, depending on the case.

Fortunately, Gereon didn’t have to go further than the reception desk, and it took him less than two minutes to accomplish what he had planned. But even though he didn’t stay long in that gloomy cold charnel, he experienced a strong turmoil of emotions, and particularly disturbing ones at that. Gereon’s strong lifelong hatred towards his elder brother was compounded with angst and frustration, but there was no background fear, as he had firmly decided not to succumb to the army of his old demons. He walked quickly back to his car, maintaining an upright posture, his hands weren’t trembling, and he didn’t detect any dragon-like monsters slithering under the nearest manhole.

Gereon heaved a sigh of relief and headed downtown to complete a couple of less stressful tasks. He remembered the conversation he had with Gräf when Charlotte was missing and the promise he had made; to brush up on his courting skills. He was a clumsy novice suitor who hadn’t had any romantic relationships before, which was made evident in his awkward attempts to enchant Helga when she was still an unmarried girl.

Many years ago when they both studied at the lyceum, Helga invited him to visit her home, and Gereon arrived with high expectations, a box of marzipan cookies and a wooden flower he had carved for her in an arts and crafts lesson. She accepted his gifts with a gracious smile and asked him to come in and help her younger brother with his Latin homework. Gereon spent the whole evening drilling verb conjugations with an annoying thick-headed kid, and when the grammar exercises were finally done, Helga had left. Frau Schwartzbach thanked him and gave him five marks as payment, explaining that there was no point in waiting for her daughter as she had gone to the theatre with Anno and would most likely come back late. When leaving their house, Gereon noticed his wooden flower abandoned on the shoe rack in the hallway. He took it with him and broke it to splinters on the way to the tram stop. Humiliating episodes like this had gradually destroyed his self-esteem and confidence.

Charlotte would never be so mean to any of her admirers, Gereon thought. Jänicke was one of them, he followed her with a sad affectionate gaze and discreetly drew her portraits in his red-covered notebook whenever he had a free minute. Charlotte didn’t tease the young man and always treated him nicely even though she had made it clear from the beginning that she could offer him only friendship. When Jänicke was shot, she grieved over his death, blaming herself for bringing him to the Homicide Unit. Charlotte had an endless stock of compassion and sympathy for people, especially for the suffering and distressed. She wouldn’t hurt anybody’s feelings, at least not intentionally.

Gereon wanted to treat Charlotte as well as she deserved to be treated. To pamper her, to make her feel cherished, to give in to her innermost whims and wishes. She was deprived of many basic things when she was growing up. Regular meals, season-appropriate clothes and shoes, books and schooling, but also private space, respect, care, and liberty to follow her dreams. He couldn’t change her or his own past, but he could try to make their present better and brighter. His relationship with Charlotte was a big journey of self-discovery, an insight into his inner world. She helped him to figure out what he had been missing before. Acceptance, companionship, security. He hated himself so much that he deliberately abused his body with alcohol and drugs and ruined his mind with harmful psychotherapy and destructive relationships. How sick it was to waste so many years revelling in suffering and neglect.

During the past decade he had been living one day after another, avoiding thinking about what was waiting for him round the next corner and hoping that God would suddenly wipe him out. He embraced the idea of death, and nothing really mattered. Now his situation was utterly different, he chose to stick around and push through. There were a few important reasons to stay afloat, and he was contemplating the big questions, carefully putting things into perspective. He had to ask Charlotte, as well as himself, about the future, and find out if they were pursuing similar goals and shared common plans.

Did she consider the possibility of a different life? In ten years he would turn forty and she would be over thirty. Would they still be together and serve in the police force? Were the Burg and the Homicide Unit the best possible places for them? Gereon realised that even though he had solved a few heinous crimes and got involved in risky political games, he and his bosses in the Burg didn’t have any significant influence on the overall situation in Berlin and in Germany. A stock market crash, deep-rooted corruption, mass poverty, and social unrest were the underlying factors contributing to violence and organised crime, and the government didn’t come up with any effective measures that could stop an oncoming hurricane. The question was when the disaster would hit and how to survive it.

**

Gereon parked his car on the Ku'damm Boulevard and walked down the longest shopping street of Berlin in search of a late birthday present for Charlotte. When she gave her cross pendant to him, she probably didn’t expect anything in return. Neither did she know that he kept in mind her special day that went uncelebrated, without a piece of cake or any well wishes.

He was examining every jewellery store that he passed by. Their glass display cases and mannequin stands exhibited a wide selection of earrings, rings and necklaces, but nothing grabbed his eye. Nothing was special enough to be given to Charlotte. A studded heart shaped pendant would be too tacky, a flower with a pearl in the middle would be too trivial. A classic cameo locket was too heavy and outmoded, a frameless gemstone couldn’t be worn on a daily basis, and he had planned to buy a versatile accessory that would go with any outfit. Shopping turned out to be an extremely exhausting activity. He had spent lots of energy repulsing attacks by brassy salesmen who asked too many questions, and navigating around people who were dawdling in the aisles and obstructing his view. Endless chatter around, a kaleidoscope of colours, and harsh lighting added to his physical fatigue and mental affliction.

Gereon got out of another stuffy and crowded store to take a short break and catch a breath of fresh air. He randomly strolled forward and turned into one of the side alleys that appeared to be a hub of artisanal workshops and ateliers. A small jewellery boutique was sandwiched between a cabinetmaker’s business and a tailor shop. The sign in the window was handwritten in gothic calligraphy, “Walther Hoffnung. The Truth Hidden in Gems and Metals”. It was empty inside, and the place looked pleasantly secluded.

Gereon opened the door and hesitantly stepped in. The seller behind the counter politely nodded at him, eagerly exposing a row of crooked, worn teeth. He was dressed in a brown velvet suit, matched with a frumpy frill-collared shirt and a green butterfly bow tie. A peculiar outfit, that would be more suitable for a magician or a circus ringmaster. The old man’s snowy white hair was slicked back, and his bushy walrus moustache was full of yellow tobacco stains and forgotten bread crumbs. A burnt piece of toast or a stale croissant? His skin was nearly translucent, thin as parchment paper, and Gereon couldn’t help wondering if this fossil participated in the Napoleonic Wars or if he was already too old to join the military in the early 1800s.

“Come in and look around,” the seller invited, “But I must warn you that my best pieces are hidden under the counter.”

“An interesting sales strategy,” Gereon grinned.

“I’ve been making and selling my own jewellery here since 1865. Each and every piece is unique because I never create two identical items. Customers, who don’t find anything decent in those fancy stores with large glossy windows, come to me and seldom walk out without a purchase. So you’re in the right place. Just give me a clue and I’ll help you.”

If said by someone else, his speech would sound like bragging. But this eccentric man was so ancient that he could hardly be interested in any earthly matters such as money or publicity. Only his blue eyes were bright and clear as if they belonged to a youngster. Not the slightest sign of cataracts. They made a striking contrast to his wrinkled pasty face.

“I’m looking for a gold necklace. Without stones. Something simple yet elegant.”

“And nothing you’ve seen in the multiple other stores meet these criteria?” the old man was waiting for more details.

“It has to be meaningful.”

“That’s it,” the jeweller’s eyes shone in triumph and his lips curled into a small smile. “That’s the answer I like the most. I believe that any idea or feeling can be expressed with a quality piece of jewellery. So tell me what you want to imply, and I will show you what I have.”

Gereon was struggling to pick the right word, “It should be something… uplifting.”

“A present for your lover, I assume,” the old man produced a cunning grimace of satisfaction.

“What makes you think that?” Gereon chuckled nervously. “Maybe it’s for my godmother.”

“I’ve been standing here for sixty-five years, observing people and making conclusions. You aren’t wearing a wedding ring and you have scanned my ring selection twice even though you’re talking about a necklace. This lady means a lot to you, and you don’t want to make a mistake. Otherwise you wouldn’t bother to leave your work place early and run along the Ku'damm looking for a perfect piece.”

“What a clever hypothesis,” Gereon felt his cheeks getting warm and his face turning red. He would rather let the ground swallow him up than continue this terribly embarrassing conversation.

“Moreover, I’ll be bold enough to make a guess that you actually want to give her a ring, but you aren’t quite sure yet. Do you fear that she might not accept?”

“You are a real telepath,” cold sweat broke out on Gereon’s forehead. What torture.

“Don’t worry, we can start with a necklace if you wish.”

The jeweller sank under the counter and spent a few minutes on his knees searching for something specific he had on his mind. Finally, he found that item and proudly showed it to Gereon. The small round pendant featured a silhouette of two swans flying side by side with their wings spread out. One swan was made from gold and the other was covered with shiny black enamel. The birds were identical in shape and size but their contrasting colours signified that they were two individuals. Just like him and Charlotte.

“I studied jewellery making in Limoges, the centre of enamel production. Old masters taught me the champlevé technique, which they’ve used and preserved since the 12th century. I don’t use it often, only for very special pieces like this one. Swans pair for life, you know. Uplifting enough?”

“I’ll take it,” Gereon hastily reached for his wallet.

“Listen. Take this plain gold band too. If the lady doesn’t accept, you may bring it back to me and I will give you a full refund. But if she does, then you are welcome to adjust the ring to her size and add an engraving.”

The smart old man was a good dealer after all. He was persuading him to purchase two items instead of one. And probably even three if someday he returned to buy a ring for himself too. Gereon wanted to decline the jeweller’s offer but then he remembered Charlotte’s words. She said that she was not easily scared off. It might be convenient to have a ring stashed in case he ever dared to propose to her. Running around jewellery stores was tiring and time-consuming.

“Guess what this ring is made of.”

“Gold,” Gereon felt rather stupid stating the obvious.

“Very unique gold,” the seller winked. “It was mined in Lapland, above the Arctic circle. In summer the sun doesn’t set at all in that area, and in winter it doesn’t rise. A few months of absolute light are followed by a few months of impenetrable darkness,” Herr Hoffnung seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice. “Imagine. Moor-covered rocky hills, fast flowing streams, reindeer herds and wild aboriginal tribes guided by shamans, who wear necklaces with birds' claws and bears' paws. And tiny grains of gold scattered all over the place. Look! Lappish gold has that unique lustre because it’s charged with the powerful energy of the spirit realms. It will dazzle your lover and she will definitely say yes.”

“Alright,” Gereon interrupted the endless lecture on mineralogy and anthropology before Herr Hoffnung started advertising the emeralds mined in the Colombian Andes or pink diamonds brought from South Africa. “Too bad I don’t know her ring size.”

“She must be a slim lady with delicate hands and petite fingers,” the seller said thoughtfully.

“How do you…?”

The jeweller stared at the empty space next to Gereon, “That’s the woman I see by your side. After so many decades of watching customers coming and going I have developed a third eye,” the seller burst out laughing, entertained by Gereon’s confusion. “My inner eye can perceive a missing part of the entity, so I picture your lady all too well. She is a head-turner,” he chuckled and concluded, “Fifteen millimetres might be her size. Here you are.”

“Thanks for your help. It was good to meet a seller who is so… proactive,” Gereon replied scathingly, watching Herr Hoffnung putting his purchases in two separate pouches.

“And here is the old man’s advice at no extra charge,” the jeweller winked. “Choose a moment and catch her off guard with a surprise proposal.”

Gereon paid with a cheque and walked out of the store with two pieces of jewellery in his pocket.

Before heading home he peeped in a florist shop located by the metro station. He didn’t want to spend too much time looking for a perfect bouquet, because the necklace was supposed to be the main part of his present and the flowers would only be a little supplement. He didn’t like the idea of cut flowers that would wilt in a few days, looking sad and droopy, so he decided to go for a potted plant. It was a new trend that had recently hit the market, and perhaps Charlotte would be excited to have something as extravagant in their home. A gardenia was too smelly, a camellia was labelled as “tough to grow," and a queen palm might get too tall and break through their ceiling. Something less exotic. Something easier to take care of.

Right behind a huge container with a bizarre star-shaped succulent he spotted a modest and neat rose bush with a lot of buds. It would soon burst into beautiful bloom and last for weeks or even months, simply great.

***

In the meantime, Dr Schmidt was having another busy afternoon in his office. Once a week he devoted himself to reporting and accounting, boring tasks that had to be done to support the day-to-day running of the clinic.

Early in the morning he had performed two surgical operations, and both of his patients died. One of them in the middle of the surgery, and the other an hour later, in a recovery ward. His innovative method of psychiatric treatment would never be granted a patent if the survival rate remained that low. Eight out of ten lobotomy patients died during the procedure or within twenty-four hours after it. Those who survived showed signs of improvement but that was not enough. Similar operations were carried out in a few healthcare institutions around Europe, and sometimes colleagues contacted him for collaboration. He always refused. It would be his solo achievement, a milestone in the history of medicine named after Dr Schmidt. No “et al.” needed.

On days like this, Anno faltered, and instead of his personal motto Non ducor, duco, another Latin phrase was going around in his head, Medice, cura te ipsum. He couldn’t allow his weaknesses to overpower his strengths, but no mental effort was enough to kill the pain he had been co-existing with for the last twelve years. His burn scars hadn’t fully healed as some damaged nerve endings in his face hadn’t properly regenerated. He couldn’t keep the pain under control no matter what medication he was on, and it made him feel incompetent and helpless. And what’s worse, his mind kept going back to the times when he still used to be Anno Rath.

Nobody knew, but after the war he visited Köln and went to his childhood home. By that time he had already been missing for eight months, and there was an invisible but solid barrier separating him from his past life. Thus, he didn’t rush in, but stood in the street behind the lonely elm, staring into the garden through the black metal fence. Everything looked horribly familiar; narrow flagstone paths, a shallow overgrown pond occupied by noisy ducks, an old cherry tree that bloomed every May but didn’t bear fruit. A wooden bench without a backrest and… his wife Helga dressed in total black, a navy blue pram by her side. His baby son was probably about to fall asleep, as Helga was steadily rocking the pram with her foot. Only some twenty metres separated them, he could call out her name and cover that short distance. But he was hesitating. Would she get scared at the sight of his large burn scars? Would she scream or faint? What would be the right way to react if she freaked out?

While he was trying to come up with a good action plan, someone unexpected stepped into the garden. Gereon! His younger brother, that disgusting rat who abandoned him to die on the battlefield, who turned his back and ran away in attempt to save his own ass. Who was undoubtedly asked at home, Where is Anno thy brother? and who answered casually, without averting his eyes, I know not: Am I my brother’s keeper?

Gereon was wearing a well-fitted three-piece suit and a silk patterned tie, his hair nicely cut, a coating of pomade applied. A lucky lad who escaped the war without a single scratch. Gereon nervously turned around and scanned the windows of the house to be sure that no one was peeping out of them. Then he waved to Helga, and she rushed up to him, smiling and saying a few words. They moved to a blind spot behind the lilac bush where they could enjoy their private moment without getting caught.

They had no idea that a silent witness was following them from very near, watching the ugly scene unfold. Those five brief seconds felt like an eternity. His jaw muscle flexed involuntarily, and he could feel the adrenaline coursing through every vein of his body. What next?

Gereon pulled Helga against his chest, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Slowly, he bent his head, covering her mouth with his and kissing her rather hungrily. She responded to his kiss with a great eagerness. Gereon’s hands shamelessly roamed down her back, moved over her waist and hips, and eventually gripped her bottom, moulding her even closer to him. These two were undoubtedly lovers. He had been missing for less than a year, and his younger brother was treating his wife as if she was a single woman and easy prey. They didn’t bother to wait for him to be pronounced dead, they didn’t care that he might suddenly come back. During the months when he was rotting in the prisoner of war camps, in field hospitals and lazarettos, tortured by wounds and eaten alive by lice, they were having fun together. They were probably lovers before his and Helga’s wedding, and also after it. The child in the pram was probably not his, but his brother’s.

Betrayers. Beasts. Buggers. No, he couldn’t reveal himself. What future would lie ahead for him? His relatives and acquaintances pitying him for his unhealed scars, his unfaithful wife pretending to be happy to have him back, but whenever he was not around, sleeping with his younger brother. His life and career dominated by his father's rigid agenda and senseless Catholic dogma that set stupid rules but didn’t offer any explanations. What would it feel like to watch the child growing up and looking for Gereon’s features in him? To have other children with Helga, always uncertain of their paternity.

No, such a life wouldn’t be worth living. He quickly walked away without a backward glance. He would never return to Köln, he would not settle down among betrayers. Anno Rath would remain dead to the world. He decided to bury his past and make a new start somewhere else under a false name. Meyer? Weber? Schmidt? Any generic one would do. He had nothing to lose. Not anymore.

Anno’s reminiscences were interrupted by a quiet knock on the door.

“Come in!” he shouted and pushed his glasses back onto his face.

It was his receptionist with a plain white envelope in her hand.

“Doctor Schmidt, one of your patients has brought this letter for you. I asked him to wait but he said that he was in a hurry and walked away.”

“His name?”

“Rath.”

What an unfortunate coincidence. Thoughts became things as if he was summoning them.

“Thanks, you may go.”

Anno impatiently ripped the creased envelope and recognised his brother’s sloppy handwriting. The little rat didn’t have the guts to face him in the cold light of day and say whatever he wanted to say. So lame of Gereon to act deceitfully, to sneak in through the back door, toss an envelope on the reception desk and flee like greased lightning. Great was the power of habit.

“Hello, Anno!

I’m afraid I’ll start this message with bad news (bad for you). Charlotte isn’t gone, she is back in the picture. Battered and bruised, but alive, nonetheless.

You planned to get rid of her and our father in one blow, but something went wrong. Lady Luck didn’t favour you this time. Our father is getting old and quickly losing his grip. What you tasked him with was beyond his capabilities. He didn’t manage to kill Charlotte and suffered a massive stroke. His other foot is already in hell. Or probably both feet. His doctor says he won’t hang on for much longer, so I’m waiting for a call from Köln any minute. (Do you plan to claim your inheritance by the way?)

To be honest I was surprised that you hate him as much as I do or maybe even more. What a paradox! You’ve always been his pet, and he has truly missed you for all these years. Why did you want to swat him like a fly? A rhetorical question of course.

I’ve obtained an anonymous letter you sent him. Very smart of you to mention the facts I disclosed under hypnosis, and to recommend that notorious pharmaceutist Hingst, your retailer in Köln.

I have no intention of blackmailing you but if something happens to me or Charlotte, Dr Schmidt’s true identity will be uncovered. Every piece of evidence and the detailed plot line of our family saga have been given to a reliable person who will immediately make them public when the necessity arises.

I doubt that your widow, former Frau Rath and current Frau Nyssen, will be pleased to discover that you survived the war but didn’t bother to make an appearance for almost twelve years. I guess your patient and her spouse Herr Alfred Nyssen will be quite upset too. Who would be happy at the prospect of a crime of bigamy? Nyssen’s psychotherapist turned out to be his wife’s lawful husband, a catchy newspaper headline, right?

I haven’t been using drugs for a few weeks and have no intention to resume. I remember what you said during our last therapy session. You have sound reasons to loathe me. You will never forgive me for what I did in France, and I will never forgive you for what you did to Charlotte. We're quits now, I reckon.

I don’t fear you, and you have no power over me.

Pax tecum, frater.

Gereon”

****

On the way back home Gereon found doubt creeping into his mind. Would he look stupid with a potted bush in his hands? Would it have been better to buy a bunch of tulips or peonies, something more conventional and less conspicuous? His courtship skills definitely needed further polishing.

Charlotte heard him entering the flat, dropped whatever she was doing and rushed to the front door. She was so anxious to see him that she simply couldn’t move slowly. Being greeted like this made him feel wanted and welcome. He had been missed.

“Booooah!” Charlotte exclaimed in surprise on seeing his purchase. “And what is that?”

“A rose for you,” Gereon smiled faintly. “Happy belated birthday!”

“Is that a rose bush? For me? Thank you!” Charlotte beamed. “It’s so big and beautiful, I didn’t expect this.”

“Which room would you like to put it in?” Gereon asked.

“In the bedroom we mainly sleep and…” she stammered and blushed a little. “I think we’ll see more of it in the living room.”

Gereon carried the pot into the living room and put it on the table by the window.

“Beware, it’s very prickly. I nicked myself a few times while carrying it around. It wasn’t pleasant.”

“Poor you,” Charlotte checked a scratch on the back of his hand making sure it wasn’t bleeding. “You went out of your way for me!” she seemed to be deeply touched by his present. “I’ve never owned a potted plant before. Do you know how to take care of it?”

“It needs water and light I guess,” Gereon sounded unsure. “Frankly, I forgot to ask the seller. Maybe it would have been wiser to buy a regular bouquet.”

“No-no,” Charlotte vigorously shook her head. “This one is far more exciting. It breathes and grows, it will be fun to follow its development. And it has so many buds! They will open soon, maybe next week,” she clapped her hands in anticipation of the magic that was going to happen in front of their eyes. “What colour are the flowers going to be? Will it grow taller?”

“Hmm…”

“Should it be pollinated by insects? Do we need to catch some bees and butterflies?”

Gereon didn’t know the answers to any of her questions. He opened and then closed his mouth without saying anything.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out,” Charlotte took him by the hand and pressed a soft kiss on his mouth. “If you’re hungry, we can have dinner. I’ve cooked bean and barley stew. Not a delicacy but certainly edible.”

Of course, he had skipped lunch again, running on black coffee and cigarettes. He only realised how hungry he was when Charlotte served him a plate of hot stew and a mug of cold beer. He scooped up a mouthful of food and produced a short groan of delight. “Delicious. You always season food so nicely.”

The truth was he would eat anything made by her hands. Maybe with the exception of salted apples.

His appreciative comment made her swoon, “Stews are easy to prepare. I just tossed everything into a pot, put it on the stove and spent the time reading. Perfect.”

“What have you been doing today apart from cooking and reading?”

“Spending money!” Charlotte gave him a mischievous wink. “I’ll get my March salary on Monday, so I thought I could do some shopping. I’ve bought something for myself and something for both of us. Do you want to know what?”

“Sure.”

“I was wandering around a book store for two hours. It was hard to make a choice. I was looking for something that could be interesting to you too. We both like nautical novels. The book I chose is that and beyond. Are you curious?” she held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“I am,” Gereon couldn’t help smiling at her excitement. It was so sweet of her to take his literary preferences into account when picking up a book to buy.

Charlotte reached towards the windowsill and grabbed an impressively thick book with both hands. “The Heart of the Antarctic” by Ernest Shackleton.

“Have you read it already?” she looked alarmed.

“Not yet but I would like to,” Gereon assured.

“New books smell so good,” she brought her face close to the pages and produced a wide grin of pleasure. “Sometimes I go through Reference Section in the library only to smell the pages of fresh editions,” she was shy about admitting her weird habit but also happy to have such a book at home, to smell it whenever she wanted, to read it without a deadline.

“This one must smell like adventures,” Gereon said. “I’ve read about Shackleton’s expeditions in newspapers. They were on the front pages during the war and after it as well.”

“I followed them too and waited for his book to be translated into German. He was such a clever and inventive man!” Charlotte admired. “I swallowed a hundred pages while cooking dinner. Imagine, he took freeze dried vegetables, ponies and a motor car all the way to Antarctica. Aw, sorry,” she covered her mouth with her palm, making big eyes, “I won’t disclose any more details not to spoil your joy of reading.”

They finished up their meal, deliberately avoiding talking about work and police investigations. The dinner table wasn’t the right place to raise those topics.

Gereon praised Charlotte again for her cooking skills and made a compliment about her new blouse.

“I haven’t seen you wearing this colour before,” he said. “It suits you. You look…” he paused, browsing his vocabulary for a suitable adjective, “…alluring.”

The gentle shade of cornflower carried the intensity of Charlotte’s deep hazel eyes, giving her beauty a new dimension.

“Thank you.”

She was clearly flattered by his attention, her face conveyed happiness and satisfaction. The stage was set for Herr Hoffnung’s quality piece of jewellery.

“I’ve got another present for you.”

“Oh, no,” she looked worried and felt somehow uneasy. “I thought the rose was your present.”

Gereon fished in his pocket and pulled out a small silk pouch. He handed it to Charlotte, his fingers ice cold and clammy with nerves, “Will you have a look?”

His heart leaped at the thought that he might have given her the wrong pouch. The one with a ring inside. No, it was impossible. He double checked them after leaving the store.

Charlotte undid the pouch, and a gold necklace fell out onto her palm. For a few moments she stared fixedly at it, speechless. Perhaps that was her reaction when, instead of a cigarette and a match, she had found a cross pendant in the pocket of her dress ten years ago.

“Do you like it?” Gereon asked.

“It’s stunning. I’ve never seen anything of the kind before. Thank you very much,” Charlotte was trying to hold her composure, fighting the urge to cry. Gereon wasn’t able to put his feelings into words yet, but he found another way to express himself.

“Me neither. The jeweller who sold it to me was at least a hundred and fifty years old and very persuasive. He got me round in no time. Would you like to wear it? I could help you with the lock.”

Charlotte nodded and held her hair up. He put the necklace around her neck and locked it, fitting the tiny clasp inside the hook, his hands remained steady.

“Now I need a mirror,” she said.

They went to the bedroom and approached the full-length mirror together. Charlotte carefully studied the reflection, the new shiny necklace that neatly sat below her collarbone inside her new blue blouse, and Gereon who placed his hands on her hips and buried his face into the crook of her neck, in the space under her left ear.

“Last summer I was walking near the Neuer See lake in the Tiergarten and saw a couple of swans,” she seemed to be thinking aloud. “They were swimming together with their necks entwined. Some people were whistling and throwing bread into water, but the swans didn’t care.” Charlotte reached for the pendant, fondled it with her index finger and continued, “They wanted each other more than anything else.”

She met his gaze in the mirror. Did he know that last summer she was constantly miserable and moody because of him? Shortly after they got acquainted, Gereon claimed that he wasn’t married but later, when Helga arrived in Berlin together with her kid, he spoke about her using the words “my wife”. “My son”, “my family”. Charlotte was confused and hurt, and back then couldn’t even imagine that quite soon she would take Helga’s place in Gereon’s bed. And maybe in his heart.

Charlotte turned around, put her hands on his shoulders, and pulled herself up, standing on her tiptoes to get closer to him. Gereon shut his eyes and bent down, capturing her lips in a tender and slow kiss, establishing a connection with her, physical and also on another level. His fingers were softly running through her curly hair, while their tongues were unhurriedly sliding against each other. A wave of warmth poured through him, and he began to get that stirring feeling in the pit of his stomach. Charlotte breathed out a quiet moan letting him know that she shared his excitement. The spark was there. Without breaking up the kiss she helped him out of his jacket and waistcoat. He longed for her touch, but was she well enough to go any further than kissing?

“Maybe we should wait with this,” Gereon mumbled, a familiar flush rose in his cheeks, that consuming rush of fire he hadn’t felt in a couple of weeks. Of course, he was burning for Charlotte. Always. His eyes widened, reflecting his intense desire for her but also uncertainty.

Charlotte didn’t hurry to answer. Instead she slid her hands up his chest, reached for his tie, loosened it and pulled it off. She decisively removed his suspenders, unbuttoned his cuffs and the row of buttons on the front of his shirt. Clumsily, Gereon helped her to peel his shirt off and tossed it on the floor.

“I want you, I want us back,” on saying so she gave him another slow-burn kiss on the mouth and got to the belt of his trousers, blindly unbuckling it. “But you are right, my body isn’t quite ready yet. Will you let me take care of you?”

“Whatever you want.”

If this was how she wanted it, why would he argue? He was waiting, spellbound and impatient, for Charlotte to take control of the action. She was firm and assertive with what she was doing, and he gladly followed her lead.

Her nimble fingers undid his trousers and pulled them down together with his underpants. She shook her head in wonder and produced a satisfied hum at the evidence of what her touch had wrought. Of course, he was aroused. It was her ability to turn him inside out, a high-frequency vibration was travelling across his body causing goosebumps all around.

Charlotte removed her blouse and trousers, staying in a camisole and undergarments. She didn’t want him to see her naked and get distracted by the sight of her injuries. It was frustrating enough to expose the ugly purple marks left on her wrists by the metal handcuffs and a few large yellowish bruises on her upper arms and thighs. No, she wouldn’t let anything spoil their moment. She gently pushed Gereon onto the bed, inviting him to submit to her. He was unsteady on his feet and awkwardly fell back with a short gasp, his cheeks flaming even brighter than they had a second before.

Charlotte crawled over his body, straddling him, kissing him and driving him crazy with softness of her lips and delicate tongue manoeuvres. She lightly stroked his arms, softly tracing his tautly muscled biceps.

“You have nice arms. Strong enough to carry me around the world.”

These words alluded to the song performed at Gräf’s birthday party. Charlotte was letting him know that she treasured the memory of the night when they dared to reveal their mutual attraction for the first time.

She was peppering lingering kisses down his neck and chest, feeling his heart accelerating, his blood stirring hotter and faster.

“You are so handsome, Gereon. I’m lucky to have you,” her voice came low and sultry, her eyes intent on his. “Every centimetre of you.”

Gereon flushed from head to toe when Charlotte praised him. He clenched his fists and dug them into the mattress, staring down in mute embarrassment. He was still shy about compliments because he wasn’t used to hearing them, and he had often been picked on in the past. It was hard to accept that a woman as beautiful as Charlotte could find his rather bland appearance attractive. But her willingness and selfless enthusiasm made it clear that she was genuinely into him, however strange it might seem.

“Still with me?” she grinned and gave his nipple a tweak as if asking him to embrace the moment and stop overthinking.

“I am.”

He was giving himself up entirely to the wonderful sensations as her lips were trailing down to his stomach. She teasingly dipped her tongue in his navel, her teeth briefly captured the skin above it, making him shiver. It was so much, almost too much.

A whimper escaped him when she seized his cock in her hand and gave him a few lazy strokes, her movements smooth and confident.

“I want you in my mouth,” this phrase alone almost threw Gereon over the edge.

Charlotte inhaled through her nose, leaned forward and took him in her mouth, sliding her lips over the head of his cock and continuing down until she could feel him against the back of her throat. She enjoyed the way his thighs tensed at the feeling and continued to go up and down his length, gradually picking up the speed.

He carded his fingers through her hair to keep it off her face. Unbearable. That was the word to describe it. Charlotte found a rhythm and settled into it, pulling almost all the way off and then plunging down again. He never wanted it to end but quite soon his completion began to burn at the base of his spine.

It didn’t take her long to finish him off. His orgasm shuddered blindingly through him, forcing an incoherent cry from his throat. Gereon uncontrollably arched up against the bed, twitching in her mouth, spilling against her tongue, spending himself until there was nothing left to give. She swallowed and sucked until she drained every drop out of him. Weird enough, it didn’t disturb Gereon. He interpreted it as a sign of acceptance.

Every time Charlotte brought him to a new level of self-awareness and satisfaction. After such a long break he was hungering for her, for the pleasure she was able to give him, the enjoyment, the floaty bliss. When his body got what it wanted, when finishing felt like an explosion, every touch of her mouth felt like fire. He found himself coming fast and hard exactly like a couple of months ago when she took care of him for the first time.

Gereon squeezed his eyes shut to recover his senses, inevitable tears escaping from under his closed eyelids. This was how it felt to be loved.

“Are you alright? Do you need anything? A moment to yourself?” Charlotte asked quietly, gently brushing the dampness from his cheeks with her thumbs.

“Only you,” Gereon was catching his breath, his voice tense with agitation. “I… You… Will you…” he clenched his jaw, unable to finish his question.

“What?” Charlotte watched the tormented emotions crossing his face, wondering what was going on in his head. It was typical of Gereon to experience sadness and anxiety after their encounters as if he had a guilty conscience for enjoying himself too much and was ashamed of fulfilling his physical desires. Talking with her usually helped to soothe his feelings.

Gereon glanced at her pleadingly, blinking away the moisture in his eyes.

“Will you stay with me?” he asked, and when she didn’t reply right away, added, “Despite everything.”

A palpable threat, that was still hanging over their heads, kept her from answering his question without thinking. But thinking didn’t change her answer.

“As long as you need me,” she whispered in his ear and pulled the blanket over both of them.

It would mean forever, Gereon exhaled, closing his eyes again and draping his arm across her, “I couldn’t bear to lose you, Charlotte.”

Sleepiness hit him hard, and he went limp, savouring the pressure of her body against his and the feel of her warm breath on his chest. He could stay like this for ages.

*****

Charlotte watched Gereon as he slept. The afterglow of the sunset shone through the window onto his face, blank and unreadable, reflecting no emotions as if his brain was wiped clean. He was zeroed out, both physically and mentally, and got disconnected. Tentatively, Charlotte caressed the contour of his finely chiselled jawline then cheekbone, and feathered a kiss on the mole on his forehead.

Could this day be any better? She had so many reasons to be happy. A good meal in her stomach, a beautiful gold neckless on her neck, given to her by the man she loved, having him by her side in the warm bed. But then a sudden mood swing made her feel down. She thought of her niece Klara who was digging trash bins in search for leftovers, and of her younger sister Toni who had been homeless for a few months now, and most likely became involved in a criminal street gang, selling her body or doing robberies. It was wrong to enjoy books and jewellery when her family was starving.

Charlotte was glad about the conversation she and Gereon had on the roof last night. The silence was broken, and they opened up to each other, sharing raw experiences of their past lives. Lots of things still remained unsaid, the things threatening their present and future, and what burdened her mind the most; her period still hadn’t started. It was at least seven weeks late. When getting dressed in the morning she had to admit that she had grown out of all her brassieres. Her breasts had gotten firm and increased in volume. Gereon would notice that change the next time he saw her naked. Besides, she continued to feel an overall queasiness and suffered from nausea that could strike her at any time of the day but especially teased her in the morning.

She had to figure out what to do, because denial and procrastination would make the whole thing worse. Charlotte never wanted to have children. Not that she didn’t like children in general. She did. But nursing Toni and Ilse’s kids wasn’t the same as having kids of her own. A responsibility she couldn’t undertake.

Charlotte was short of options. Either go for a backstreet abortion like Helga, or have a child and give it up for adoption like Greta. Whatever she chose would mean the end of her affair with Gereon. She simply couldn’t have it fixed during a lunch break and pretend that nothing ever happened. Back in the cabin the idea that she might be carrying Gereon’s child helped her to endure the hunger and torture, to not lose hope, not go insane. She was stubbornly clinging on to her life, and so did the child. They were supporting each other and survived together. It was not just a small piece of tissue or a knot of blood vessels but a tiny human being slowly growing inside her womb. And a resilient one.

If she decided to keep the child, everything could end any minute because the danger coming from Anno was still present. Gereon wanted to protect her from unnecessary worries and didn’t let her read the anonymous letter that provoked Engelbert’s assault.

Charlotte hated to invade Gereon’s privacy and intrude on his personal belongings, but she was determined to get hold of the letter all the same. She got out of bed, tiptoed to the front door and stopped by the coat rack. It was quite dark in the flat, but fortunately the kitchen window had a streetlamp outside, and it was throwing enough light for her to distinguish the outlines of the objects around. With trembling fingers she checked the pockets of Gereon’s coat. Cigarettes and matches, a handkerchief, a few coins and a pen. Nothing interesting.

The inner chest pocket was her last hope. She stuffed her hand in it but didn’t detect any papers or envelopes. Something else was hidden there instead. A little silk pouch, similar to the one he had given her after dinner. She knew it was wrong to do so, but her curiosity won over decency. She quickly undid the narrow ribbon and sneaked a look in the pouch, finding a plain gold ring inside it. Charlotte was mesmerised by its polished glossy look and lustrous yellow tone. She couldn’t help trying it on. The band fit snug around her ring finger, not too loose and not too tight. It didn’t feel foreign, as if it belonged there. She admired it for a moment, took it off and dropped it back in the pouch. The slippery ribbon wasn’t easy to fasten in the twilight, and she spent a couple of tormenting minutes desperately struggling with it. At last the pouch landed back in Gereon’s inner pocket, and Charlotte rushed to the bathroom.

She rinsed her face with cold water, brushed her teeth and changed into a comfy night gown. Her discovery made her heart pound and start to feel lightheaded. First of all, she was ashamed for getting carried away and snooping. So stupid of her to slip the ring on her finger. What if it were too small and got stuck? She might have been caught red-handed and died on spot from embarrassment.

Charlotte speculated about the meaning behind that piece of jewellery. She had a good imagination but still failed to picture Gereon proposing to her on bended knee and asking her to spend the rest of her life with him. Too cheesy and unrealistic. She struck her forehead with the palm of her hand, banishing such absurd fantasies. Most likely he was shocked after her being kidnapped and followed an impulse to protect her. He probably regretted the hasty purchase and decided to return the ring the next time he would be passing by the jewellery store. There were plenty of better ways to spend the money.

Before going back to the bedroom, Charlotte examined Gereon’s medicine cabinet and came across a bottle of sleeping pills. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to combat insomnia on her own this night and opted for an exceptional measure. She wasn’t sure about the dosage and strength of the medicine, and its label didn’t give her any clues, providing no prescription. Charlotte swallowed one pill and waited for some fifteen minutes, but it didn’t produce any effect on her. Apparently a very low dose. She took another one and soon felt really groggy. Too weak to make it to the bed, Charlotte thought and slowly slid down to the floor. A short nap would help to deal with this terrible drowsiness. Only five minutes. Or ten. Or…

*

In the darkest hour of the night Engelbert Rath was undergoing a painful transition in and out of consciousness. He had lost track of time and space and couldn’t clearly determine if he was asleep or awake.

He unglued his eyes to find himself in the secret room where he used to indulge in sadomasochistic acts. A vintage sofa upholstered with stripy silk, a Persian carpet on the floor and the painting of a horse on the wall. Hanoverian Stallion of the Year 1915. Yucatan. This supreme horse brilliantly complemented Anno, its valiant rider. Both had gone missing in the war. Only a bunch of pictures and memories left. And even memories were gradually fading away.

To his horror, Engelbert was completely naked, only a black leather harness wrapped around his pale and flaccid body. Narrow sharp straps connected with metal buckles and rings were ruthlessly digging into the folds of his skin. The crotch strap was the worst. It divided his testicles holding them apart, and he couldn’t get rid of it because his wrists and ankles were chained together, limiting his freedom of movement.

It was freezing cold in the room, and he was helplessly shivering, the hairs on his arms, legs and torso standing up straight. He was also so thirsty and hungry that he could eat a horse and drink a lake.

A sudden flash of light blinded him for a moment. He raised his eyes and saw a photographic camera pointing at him. An invisible photographer was hiding behind it, covered with a shapeless piece of thick black cloth, catching him at the most embarrassing angles. Click, click. Some evil force was pressing the shutter button to capture more and more snaps. His enemies were alert, taking full advantage of his pitiful situation and gathering compromising materials. And what was that gross concentrated stink coming from under the cloth? Sulphur and iodoform for sure, but what else? Rotten meat? A decaying corpse? He had to get out of this place.

Fortunately, there was an escape route as the door of the room was left ajar. Engelbert strained his ears and distinguished the sounds of a pipe organ echoing somewhere in the distance, so pure and solemn. The most recognisable melody of all time, Ave Maria by Franz Schubert. It always brought tears to his eyes and balm to his soul. He awkwardly dropped from the sofa and crawled towards the exit, towards salvation. Nobody chased him, only muffled sounds of a low vicious laugh tingled in his ears.

Engelbert broke free from the cursed room and hurriedly pushed the door closed with his rear. Instead of the narrow gloomy hallway of the brothel, he entered a huge barn with large windows and an incredibly high ceiling. It was lit with sunshine and filled with garlands of red and white roses, all giving off a bitter sweet fragrance. The place was stacked with bales of dry hay and piles of firewood, and he had to navigate between them, wriggling like a worm, because his chained limbs didn’t allow him to stand up and walk upright.

He slowly moved forward and at some point turned left, ending up in a spacious stable. Instead of a horse, it was occupied by two Weimaraners, his hunting dogs who died about twenty years ago. They were alive again and happily greeted their owner, jumping off their straw bedding and vigorously wagging their tails.

“Thunar, Magni, old friends!” Engelbert exclaimed. “Come here. Good to see you again.”

The Weimaraners leaned in and nuzzled his cheeks with their cool wet noses. Their silver-grey coats were smooth and shiny, their gorgeous amber eyes signalled devotion and trust. His only true friends, who never let him down. Engelbert was attached to them so much that he couldn’t replace them with other dogs when they passed away. Too bad the dogs didn’t want to stay with him any longer, they settled back into their bedding and hypnotised him with heartfelt gazes as if inviting him to join them there.

He wanted to pat his pets for the last time and stretched his chained hands trying to reach for their velvet soft muzzles. He got closer to the dogs and immediately drew back, his jaw dropped in amazement. Thunar was huddling together with a black-and-white lamb who was sticking close to the dog for safety and protection. Magni was nursing a litter of tiny striped kittens, gently licking their fluffy fur and grooming them one by one with ultimate care and affection. His bloodthirsty dogs who killed prey when hunting, who attacked trespassers and guarded his grounds, were unbelievably meek and humble. This place must be a paradise, where the lion would lie down with a lamb, Engelbert decided.

He resumed his journey along the barn and soon bumped into a dwarf cherry tree in full fruit. The thickest branch of the tree had a birds’ nest on it, a home for a couple of green parakeets. A male was bobbing his head in his ladylove’s direction, hopping back and forth, dancing for her and serenading her with his best songs. The female attentively followed his movements, encouraging him to go on, and when his courting ritual was over, she fed him, putting a piece of red cherry into his mouth. They preened each other, and she nibbled on his beak again as if giving him a kiss.

The sight of juicy red fruits made Engelbert even hungrier than before. He exhaled a sigh and leaned on the pile of firewood, and a miracle happened. A chopped log from the pile turned into a fresh baked baguette. Without hesitation, he sank his teeth into the warm bread, biting off a big piece. Delicious. He gained the energy to move forward, anticipating other miracles of the paradise.

The next stable was inhabited by Anno’s stallion Yucatan and Gereon’s dapple-grey pony Melville. The horse was taking a nap, resting his head over his mate’s neck. The pony was awake and cautiously stared at the visitor, his ears positioned towards the rear and sharply pinned back. Engelbert knew equine body language and understood that the pony wasn’t happy to see him. Quite the opposite, this sign of aggression could be followed by a lunge, bite or kick. Damn animal. He spared the rod and spoilt the pony.

Engelbert backed off and stumbled over a bucket of water. Very good, he could finally quench his thirst. When he bent his head to take a sip and touched the water with his dry chipped lips, it immediately turned into rich and soft red wine. An exquisite cabernet sauvignon that had been comfortably resting and beautifully ageing for at least eight or ten years. What a treat! Engelbert greedily gulped from the bucket, and it didn’t bother him that the wine was flowing along his chin and bare chest, leaking onto the floor and forming a small red puddle under his scabby knees. As soon as the alcohol entered his bloodstream, he felt tipsy and light-headed, entering a euphoric state, ready to take risks and meet his life's final challenge without fear.

He obediently followed the sounds of the music, as the invisible musician began to perform one of his favourite Marian hymns, “A Spotless Rose”. Engelbert was crawling between the bales of hay on all fours crooning along with the tune, “Isaiah 'twas foretold it, The Rose I have in mind, With Mary we behold it, The virgin mother kind.” The wine had hydrated and warmed his vocal cords, adding new colours to his pleasant baritone. Engelbert listened to himself and came to the conclusion that his timbre and manner were quite similar to Eugenio Giraldoni’s. Of course. A talented person was talented at everything. He could have been an outstanding operatic singer if only he had pursued such a path. Engelbert would gladly play the role of Baron Scarpia, a character who he identified himself with.

Full of high-spirited delight, Engelbert entered a small cubical chapel decorated with exuberant floral arrangements and Italian-style frescoes. Who were these people wearing old-fashioned clothes and dusty wigs? The Raths, his own parents, and the Wilkes, his in-laws. The most exemplary Catholics he had ever met. They gathered together to celebrate the liturgical feast, to fulfil their responsibility to worship, and he was silently watching them from aside. His mother was playing the pipe organ, which didn’t surprise him at all, as she used to be an organist in the Basilica of the Holy Apostles for almost a quarter of a century. His father was standing nearby, waiting for his wife’s nod and preparing to turn the sheet music pages. Herr Wilke was holding the thurible and incense boat, and Frau Wilke had a tall burning candle in her hands.

Engelbert sincerely admired Anton Wilke, one of the most powerful bankers of the city who financed railroads, owned a coal-fired power plant and two lumber mills. His father-in-law’s influence in Köln was nearly limitless, and he knew which strings to pull when he needed to manipulate high-rank officials for his own gain. Big money and political weight, that was what Engelbert was keeping in mind when he started courting Herr Wilke’s youngest daughter. In the present moment he was definitely not fit to be seen by these four. The prospect of coming before them naked in a leather harness evoked a strong feeling of shame in him. He had to hurry away before any of them caught a glimpse of his stout body covered in goosebumps and wetted with red wine.

Engelbert was befuddled but also curious as he wanted to know who could be waiting for him around the next corner of this weird labyrinth of secluded passages and secret chambers. He moved past another pile of firewood and ambled into a modestly furnished lady's sanctum. He saw a wooden dressing table with a built-in mirror and a fair young maiden who was critically observing her reflection and adjusting her elegant and complicated up-do. His bride, Gertraud, getting ready on their wedding morning. Such a gullible innocent creature. He had almost forgotten what a stunning dress she was wearing on their big day. It was sewn from ivory satin and faille, and embellished with an elaborate beading pattern. The bodice and the train were trimmed with Venetian lace and natural pearls combined with shiny silk ribbon. The soft golden glow promised prosperity and good fortune, bringing to his memory the high hopes he had once laid on their marriage.

How pristine and pretty his dear Gertraud used to be back in 1893. Well, thirty-seven years ago he was very different too. More hair, less fat and wrinkles. He had just graduated from university and got his first permanent position in the police presidium of Köln. It was the right moment to settle down and arrange a profitable marriage. He made a list of suitable candidates for his wife, with the banker’s daughter at the top. The girl’s great dowry and her father’s extensive connections guaranteed a bright future, and nothing bespoke any upcoming tragedies.

Engelbert was full of ambitions and had a definite plan for his life, willing to work towards it, sparing no efforts. He thought that Köln would only be his starting point, while the Ministry of Justice and a seat in the Bundestag were among his global goals. Too bad Herr Wilke died before Engelbert was able to fulfil all of his grandiose dreams. The chaos of war and economic collapse dashed his hopes to make a successful political career in Berlin. That was why he got stuck in Köln, while his former fellow student Paul Moldenhauer made it all the way up to taking over the finance portfolio. Engelbert breathed fire and brimstone at the thought, and the pleasant aftertaste of cabernet sauvignon was immediately replaced in his mouth by bitter bile. He had nothing to say to his wife-to-be, and he passed her sanctum without uttering a word, in the most discrete manner.

The farther he moved forward along the network of twisted passages, the more impatient he got. His pets, his parents, his wife, they were all dead, yet he saw them as closely and distinctly as if they were alive. Engelbert prayed that his beloved Anno would be the last person who he would meet before the moment of Final Judgment. He would pay any cost, give everything he had ever possessed to be able to lock his son in a tight embrace and tell him how much he had missed him over the years, how he mourned for him and asked Lord to bring him back home.

Suddenly the corridor formed by stacks of logs and bales of hay ended, and Engelbert crawled into a spacious room full of clear chilly air and semi-transparent clouds of smoke. To his huge disappointment his elder son Anno was not there. Instead he noticed a slender figure of a young woman who was wearing a loose blue robe cinched at the waist with a coarse rope. In contrast to his wife, this maiden was dressed simply and modestly. Her wavy dark hair was covered with a white veil. Engelbert rubbed his eyes in disbelief as they distinguished a glowing halo floating over her head. A scattered white light was radiating around her body. The Blessed Virgin Mary. She knew no man, she only became a mother by the overshadowing of the Holy Ghost. And here he was, in front of her on his knees.

Engelbert managed to get even closer and collapsed at her feet, drained of all strength. He saw the infant Jesus enfolded in her arms. She cuddled and kissed her sleeping child, and Engelbert watched her silhouette with chaste thoughts, admiring her lustrous appearance, divine beauty and the tenderness of motherhood. The infant she had given birth to was God in the flesh but also her baby son.

He was given an awesome privilege, to meet the Virgin Mary and Jesus before leaving Earth.

“Hail, Mary, full of grace, rose without thorns, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb,” Engelbert pattered in the most respectful manner.

After having pronounced his humble greeting, he finally dared to gaze upon the woman’s face. He was astonished to recognise the girl he had captured in Berlin and brought into his hunting cabin two weeks ago. There could be no mistake, this pair of honey brown eyes with a hint of gold within them was absolutely unforgettable. Now she just looked so much younger, only thirteen or fourteen years of age at most.

God was testing him with hurdles and temptations, and he had failed the test. He was stupid enough to believe the anonymous calumnies invented by his enemies and offended the holy Madonna herself. He was the Judas of today. He lacked the courage to do the right thing at the right time, and thus was doomed to eternal suffering in hell.

His soul was stained and forever dirty because he had broken so many of Christ’s commandments. He would beg for forgiveness and reconciliation, and maybe the Pure Virgin would grant him absolution.

“Forgive me, Mary, I have sinned and shed innocent blood.”

She turned to gaze down at him, unwillingly meeting his eyes. There was no anger or contempt in her expression, only quiet sadness and concern.

“Hush! You'll wake my child,” she hissed at him and stepped backwards.

“O Mary, o most pure dove, show me a glimpse of Our Lord, God and Saviour Jesus Christ,” Engelbert whispered, his voice shook with terror, hot tears spilling over his flushed wrinkled cheeks. “Only a glimpse! I beg you!”

The holy baby was the only one who could wash away his sins and put his soul at peace.

The infant was wrapped in strips of white cloth and swaddled snugly. A golden halo was floating over his little head that was covered with fuzzy fair hair. The boy’s face looked very familiar. He remembered his features well but not from icons, sculptures or paintings. The infant Jesus looked exactly like his younger son Gereon back in 1899. Engelbert couldn’t suppress a loud howl of horror, awakening the baby.

The boy opened his eyes, stared at him with equal horror and burst out crying.

“See what you’ve done,” the girl sighed and turned her back on Engelbert. Then she started soothing her baby, rocking him and gently cooing in his ear, “I love you, sweetheart. I’m here for you. You are safe.”

This petite young woman was a pillar of empathy and strength for her son. She wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. Engelbert needed a warm snuggle or a big hug no less than a puling child. He wept bitterly and writhed in agony, but nobody offered him comfort or consolation. Only more torture and punishment was waiting ahead. God would render to him according to the evil of his deeds. It was useless to beg for forgiveness as there would be no absolution for his grave sins.

He threw himself to the mercy of Jesus, shutting his swollen eyelids and letting the black abyss consume him.

*

When Engelbert Rath opened his eyes again, the whole room was spinning in circles. His head was pounding, the right side of his body was aching, and his ears were ringing. Frazzled, he looked around and figured out that he was lying in a hospital ward. White walls, ugly furniture, an overall austerity and harsh electric light. He was not alone here. A man and a woman in white robes were standing by the side of his bed and talking to each other. Presumably a doctor and a nurse. The sounds of their voices were distant and barely coherent.

“Very good, he is gradually coming round, but he is not quite conscious yet. I see the traces of agitation on his face, though the left side of his body is paralysed. Do you hear me, Herr Rath?” the doctor bent over his bed and addressed him in a louder voice, but Engelbert couldn’t open his mouth to produce any sound or to move his head in a nod. He was helplessly blinking at the man who was talking to him, failing to see him through the cloudy film of spots that were partially blocking his view.

“No response,” the woman said.

“No, I don’t think he can hear us yet. His awareness is still limited, and he needs his rest. I will give him a sedative drug intravenously. Would you, please, prepare a needle and a syringe, Sister Agatha?”

“Yes, Doctor Brendler. Shall I call his son and tell him that Herr Rath has come out of the coma?”

“It can wait until morning. You could call him before the end of your shift.”

Engelbert strained his mind, but his brain wasn’t able to function normally yet. These people had mentioned his son. But which of the two were they referring to? An innocent baby boy sleeping in the Virgin Mary’s loving arms or a chronically exhausted adult man with huge eye bags and poor posture?

Engelbert felt a thick sharp needle going into his arm and a burning sensation as the drug entered his vein. He immediately grew woozy, watching the doctor’s blurry face until the substance they injected pulled him into a heavy daze. An uninhabited darkness this time. No sounds of a pipe organ, no shadows of deceased relatives, no smell of roses. Only black nothingness and a quiet whisper inside his head, “You are safe now.”

Chapter Text

Sunday wasn’t the pleasant relaxing day Gereon had hoped it would be. He was woken up at 7 a.m. by a telephone call from Köln. It was a nurse from St. Antonius Hospital. She informed him that his father had come out of the coma last night and was gradually regaining consciousness. He wasn’t able to move or speak yet, but he had opened his eyes and was reacting to external stimuli. The nurse advised Gereon to contact Doctor Brendler on Monday before lunchtime to get more information on his father’s condition.

Gereon knew that terminally ill patients sometimes regained consciousness in the last moments of life. At war, he had seen wounded soldiers in critical condition who had been unconscious for days but then suddenly became active hours or minutes before they died. Even experienced doctors and nurses understood very little about this strange phenomenon. Could this be the case with his father? Gereon chain-smoked three cigarettes whilst waiting for another call from Köln, but the telephone remained silent.

Charlotte was still asleep, and Gereon was surprised that she hadn’t woken up when he was taking the call. She stayed in bed, curled up on her side, as pale as white bed linen. She just needed her rest.

Gereon got dressed quietly and headed to the Swimming Club. He knew that on Sunday mornings the journalist Kattelbach used to have breakfast and meet his informants there. Gereon hadn’t seen him in a while and decided to catch up with him and exchange news. Not that he had anything in particular for Kattelbach, as lately he had been occupied with very different challenges. But the journalist always had news about his own private investigations, and Gereon wanted to get updated on them so as not to lose sight of his powerful enemies, mainly Wendt and his people.

To his disappointment, Kattelbach was not at the club, and a receptionist shook his head when he asked him if the journalist had shown up there in the past few weeks. Most likely, he was hiding somewhere underground, avoiding his typical routes and locations. Gereon could call Frau Behnke and ask her, but his interactions with his former landlady had been rather specific (sleeping with her was one of many mistakes he made during his first days in Berlin). And he only contacted her in cases of emergency, when Kattelbach was in immediate danger, or when he needed quick access to the journalist’s sources.

On the way back home, Gereon bought fresh bread and sausages for lunch. He didn’t want Charlotte to cook for them every day or clean the whole place alone. Of course, domestic chores had to be done but he didn’t expect her do them all on her own.

When he was living with Helga, it was rather natural that maintaining the household was solely her responsibility. The division of tasks was clear. He earned money, and she kept the house. Neither of them were particularly successful in their roles. Gereon’s salary wasn’t enough to rent a big flat in a central location and provide for three people, so they used Helga’s widow’s pension to cover some of their expenses. And Helga wasn’t exactly the immaculate Hausfrau she considered herself to be. Actually, it was quite irritating when she would complain that they had run out of coal or that he had forgotten to change the electric bulb in the corridor three days in a row.

Helga’s pricey purchases from mail order catalogues didn’t help them save money. She preferred to pay for home delivery instead of collecting the items from the nearest post-office or avoiding buying them altogether. In the four months of their cohabitation, she had accumulated a whole heap of useless clutter. Ugly blue curtains, a set of five dusters, a steam mop, an egg separator and a pastry crimper. She presented these items to him with a look of pride on her face as if she had invented, designed and manufactured them by herself. Her scariest purchase resembled a torture device and could easily be used as a murder weapon. Ultra-sharp meat shredding claws. For pulled beef and pork, she explained. It became clear that all these purchases were overly expensive, more trouble than they were worth.

During the last weeks of their cohabitation, Helga didn’t do much of anything besides scolding him and Moritz. For coming home late, for silence and indifference, for neglecting her in a city where she had no other family or acquaintances. After she had packed her suitcase and moved out, he found a bowl of dry bread dough abandoned under the greasy linen on the kitchen table. It was at that moment that he realised their conflict was not a regular quarrel, that she was not coming back. It was her farewell message.

Well, she didn’t go to live under a bridge, she left him for another man, who she believed to be a much better catch. Gereon remembered Anno’s words about Helga always looking for a wealthier life, luxurious homes, and overall prosperity. He hoped that the massive material benefits compensated her new husband being a psychopath and junkie. Gereon didn’t want to think about the Nyssens. He was more than satisfied with his current relationship and ready to let go of the past.

Unlike Helga, Charlotte worked full time, so he decided it was fair to split the household chores between them. Gereon didn’t know how to do things properly and which tools to use, but fortunately it was easy to learn the basics simply by observing Charlotte. If she prepared the meal, he washed the dishes afterwards. When she was mopping the floor, he was cleaning the bathroom. He took out the rubbish, carried the sacks of clothes and bed linen to and from the laundry and replenished coal supplies without needing to be reminded. Charlotte dusted and arranged the closets, and in most cases did the grocery shopping. He valued her time just as much as his own, and didn’t consider his contributions in their home routines unmanly or burdensome. Besides, it was nice to tidy everything together and then relax together too.

*

Gereon got home by midday to find Charlotte still in the bed with her eyes shut exactly like a couple of hours ago. She didn’t react when he opened the curtains, letting the daylight into the bedroom. It couldn’t be simple tiredness, something was wrong with her. Gereon noticed a distinct bluish tinge to her lips, and when he touched her arm, her skin was cold even though she had been wrapped up in a blanket.

Somehow, he managed to shake Charlotte awake, and she told him that last night she had insomnia and took a couple of sleeping pills from the small opaque bottle she found in his medicine cabinet. They were prescribed to him by Anno to strengthen the effect of barbiturate injections, and it was strictly forbidden to take more than one pill at a time. The dosage was calculated for Gereon’s body mass, which was at least some twenty-five or thirty kilos higher than Charlotte’s.

Gereon became terrified, a drug overdose could result in severe poisoning or even death. Not much could be done to reduce the harm caused by the medicine now. She swallowed the pills almost twelve hours ago, so gastric suction wouldn’t work anymore. He did his best to keep her warm and hydrated, hoping that tea and water would gradually flush the drug from her system. He didn’t scold Charlotte for acting without common sense and taking the pills when she didn’t know exactly what they were. Gennat was right, she needed to see the doctor because she was still unwell even though she claimed the opposite.

Gereon was not sure how to be with Charlotte. He was concerned about her health and wanted to support her, but at the same time, he was afraid of violating her personal boundaries. He didn’t dare to ask her to show him her wounds to check for signs of inflammation. He didn’t dare to talk about taking sick leave. His requests and opinions might upset or irritate her, which wouldn’t do any good.

Charlotte had no appetite and refused to join him when he suggested that they could have bratwurst buns for lunch. She was drinking tea and nibbling on crackers to keep the nausea away, though unsuccessfully. Every time she locked herself in the bathroom, Gereon tiptoed to the door and pressed his ear against it, listening to what was going on inside. She turned on the tap so that the noise of running water would muffle the sound of her throwing up. It was painful to see Charlotte feeble and despondent, and even more painful to realise she concealed her health issues from him, didn’t trust him enough to confess how sick she was.

They didn’t discuss her captivity, and Gereon didn’t mention that his father had recently come out of the coma. At some point Charlotte would have to answer questions about her abduction and later travel to Köln for a court hearing. Fortunately, he could rely on his friend Fürstenberg who would do everything in his power to make the whole thing easier for her. But it would be rough anyway, to recollect the circumstances of assault and face his father, who would hardly feel the smallest twinge of remorse for his deeds.

This case would gain a lot of publicity, Engelbert Rath would be drummed out of the Police Presidium and the City Council. He would be found guilty, sentenced for abduction and torture, for inflicting moderately severe injuries, and most likely for abuse of office too. He would be jailed for at least fifteen years. Perhaps his prison term would be reduced by four or five years due to his elderly age and poor health.

Anyway, a grand scandal would break out, and every newspaper would write about it, savouring all the juicy details. Their colleagues in the Burg would despise him (surely for a reason!), develop theories about his father’s motives and make his and Charlotte’s existence in the Homicide Unit unbearable. Was their relationship strong enough to survive this blow? Would Charlotte be safer and happier without him and his mess? There would be nothing harder than letting go of her, but her wellbeing was more important than his selfish desires.

He loved Charlotte not because he was getting what he wanted from her. He would have loved her all the same, even if she had been indifferent towards him, even if she had been attracted to another man or happily married with a bunch of kids. Gereon came to this conclusion a while ago but didn’t say it out loud, afraid of sounding pathetic and laughable. He didn’t want to put her under pressure or create awkwardness between them.

Maybe one day, when they were completely done with his father and Anno, there would be a suitably intimate moment to start such a conversation. He dreamt about their upcoming summer holiday and a possible trip to the seaside. Would it be a small resort in Mecklenburg or on the picturesque coast of northern Friesland? Charlotte could choose. Somewhere far from both Köln and Berlin, where he would gather the courage to open up about his feelings. He would speak in a roundabout way and carefully check out Charlotte’s reaction. If all went well, and she also felt in her heart that they were right for each other, he would take a gold ring out of his pocket and catch her off guard with a surprise proposal. Exactly like the old jeweller advised. Meanwhile, he would be living for that day, dreaming of her accepting his proposal. Charlotte most likely wouldn’t want to hurry with engagement announcements and wedding plans. They could talk about their expectations for the future later. Marriage as such was not his priority. A lifelong commitment to be with Charlotte for better or for worse was all he wished for.

**

On Monday morning, Charlotte woke up before the alarm clock. It was completely dark and quiet outside. Usually the noise of traffic was clearly audible after 6 o’clock, so it couldn’t be later than 5, she decided. Gereon was asleep, snuggled in beside her, and she didn’t want to wake him up too early. Charlotte slowly moved out from under his arm and sneaked out of bed. To her relief, she felt much better already, almost back to normal. How could she be such an idiot to take a double dose of some random pills without prescription? It could have been anything. And it was something, because no regular sleeping pill would have such a strong and long-lasting effect.

Charlotte had plenty of time to get dressed, style her hair and apply make-up. A layer of mascara, powder and a touch of blush to make her face less pale. She chose to wear a butterscotch cotton dress with a straight silhouette and paired it with a brown knitted cardigan. The bright zesty hue of the dress made her think about summer. She and Gereon had asked for a week-long overlapping holiday in July, and if the request was granted, they could get away from Berlin together and enjoy a short trip. Gereon hinted that he had a few options of places they could go, but he refused to unveil them just yet when they still didn’t know if their plan would work out or not. Charlotte hadn’t travelled much, so any new place would be exciting and refreshing. Maybe a modest guest house in the countryside, similar to the one she visited with her mother as a toddler, when they came to meet her real father who was curious to see his little Lottchen.

Charlotte shook her head to get rid of those unwanted memories and studied her reflection in the mirror. The cardigan’s long sleeves covered her bruised arms and wrists, and the V-neck dress showed off her new piece of jewellery, Gereon’s present. Her hair had grown to shoulder length, but she couldn’t have it cut before the deep scratch on the back of her neck fully healed. So she neatly fixed it with a few bobby pins and found the result quite satisfactory. It was nice to return to work after two weeks of absence, to distract her attention from the exhausting self-examination she had been doing constantly without even realising it.

At half six Charlotte started to cook breakfast, a new ritual she wanted to introduce into their daily routine. Neither of them were hungry in the morning, and quite often Gereon skipped his lunch too. Low blood sugar made him unfocused and irritable, affecting his mood and work performance. Gradual improvements in his eating habits would help to change that. She planned to make scrambled eggs on toast with salty cottage cheese and, of course, a big pot of coffee. Her hands were busy with the simple motions of cooking and her head was active with the problems she had no solutions to.

Charlotte was grateful to Gereon for being patient and kind with her yesterday. He was clearly scared when she told him about raiding his medicine cabinet at night, but he didn’t lose his temper, didn’t call her stupid or irresponsible although she had totally deserved a few harsh words. He only blamed himself for not getting rid of all the drugs Anno had ever supplied him with. Gereon didn’t force her to eat, but prepared delicious ginger tea, making sure she drank sufficiently and helping her body to fight intoxication. Simply having him close and feeling his gentle touch was more than enough.

Usually when Charlotte had been sick, no one cared for her. At least not when she reached adulthood. Some years before the war, when Charlotte was still a kid, she and Ilse caught scarlet fever. Their mother stayed at home to nurse them for the whole week, even though their father yelled at her, threatening to drag her to the slaughter house by the hair. It was one of the rare occasions when their mother disobeyed him and insisted on having things done her way. She knew that scarlet fever was not a harmless seasonal flu. One in four or five kids died from this disease. Like their cousin Martin, who had been sick at around the same time, and didn’t make it.

After the war, when Charlotte gradually became the breadwinner in their household, she simply couldn’t afford to be ill. It was her responsibility to gather money for the rent, to pay electricity bills, to bring food and coal, to buy schoolbooks for Toni, and at least some basic clothes for everyone. When she was on her period and thus couldn’t meet her patrons in the back rooms of fancy night clubs, she worked as a waitress or hostess, or cleaned and washed dishes in kneipes. On the nights when she couldn’t find any work at all, she wandered through the parks and dark alleys of Wedding, and got involved in dehumanising sex trade. The men who approached her there were almost as poor as she, but desperate enough to spend their last bit of money on fulfilling their primitive physical urges. They typically only asked one question, how much. Then they gave her a coin or two, and for a few minutes, she became available for their use in any way they chose.

In winter, it could be freezing cold outside, and she would walk for hours and hours in little clothing, shivering in the wind. The streets of Berlin were full of girls and women who were earning money that way, which kept the prices unreasonably low. She knew some of them by name, but they rarely chatted with each other and never became friends. They were all competitors. Most of these women vanished at some point. A few of them quit and a few ended up in jail. A lot of them were killed. Some died from drug overdoses and diseases.

Gereon was right, it was a dangerous occupation, especially for young inexperienced girls who worked solo without the protection of souteneurs. Charlotte wasn’t registered as a prostitute and didn’t hold a licence, which made her position even more vulnerable. Coppers took advantage of her quite a few times, Wolter was certainly not the only one who did so. And not the worst one. At least he paid her well. Other uniformed men didn’t give her a pfennig and sometimes seized her cash, saying that it wasn’t clean.

Until recently, Charlotte didn’t value her life and didn’t mind living on a razor’s edge. When she spent her nights out on the streets of Berlin, she never knew with whom she would end up. When she was sixteen or seventeen years old, two especially violent clients kidnapped her. One of them held a knife to her throat and the other tied her hands and legs with ropes. They pushed her into the car and drove her into the woods on the outskirts of Potsdam. Horror on a woman’s face was a major turn-on for those monsters. They called her dirty whore, pushed her to the ground and grabbed her extremely hard, demanding to satisfy their sadistic fantasies. She was sure they would stab her to death after they were done. Strangely enough, they didn’t. They drove away, abandoning her some thirty-five kilometres from home in ruined bloodstained clothes, without any money. She found her way out of the forest and walked along the road until she saw a group of timber-framed houses with thatched roofs. She knocked at every door asking for help, saying that she was assaulted and mugged, but no one listened to her. Some old grumpy man unchained a guard dog, and the dog bit at her ankle before the owner called it back.

Episodes like this consumed her mind and body. Charlotte gained a habit of examining herself in the mirror for bruises and the signs of harm on her face. Every morning she had a tired, drawn and defeated look. Prostitution messed up her life and her interaction with men. For many years, she didn’t want any man to touch or caress her. When a guy made an attempt to court her, she suspected that his goal was to capture her and use her for free. It was the same with Gereon. After they danced in Holländer, he insisted on walking her home, and she decided that he wanted to have sex with her. Later, when she got to know him better, she understood that his intentions were different. He cared about her safety and valued the opportunity to be with her and talk with her longer. Simply because he liked her.

Charlotte was taking care of her body mainly because it was her instrument to earn money and provide for her family. And her family eagerly accepted her being in charge. When Ilse needed urgent eye surgery, she paid for it and accompanied her to the procedure, but when Charlotte was admitted to the hospital after surviving near-drowning, none of her relatives were there for her. Only Gräf came to visit her once or twice. It was the same after Ullrich’s attack, when she had a huge dose of insulin injected into her system. No one came to see her. Back then, lying in the hard and uncomfortable hospital bed, with a cannula inserted into her vein, she realised how immensely lonely she was in this world. She wished Gereon would show up to check on her even briefly, but he didn’t. Moreover, after that incident he continued using the formal “Sie” addressing her, even when no one from the Burg was around. Rather reluctantly, she accepted that they would always remain a little more than colleagues and a lot less than true friends.

The turning point of their relationship was the evening when she fell asleep in the archive, utterly exhausted, and he found her and drove her home. She allowed herself a weakness, and he dropped his usual mask of aloofness, giving her a rare glimpse into his soft side. After all, she meant something to him. When she became certain of that, it was easy for her to take the initiative and say aloud what had been rolling around in her head for so long. Despite some initial hesitation and confusion, they quickly got together, although neither of them ever determined the nature of their relationship. Gereon respected her independence and right to make her own choices, but in some situations it was tempting to let him hold the reins or at least to hear his opinion.

Charlotte had a strange feeling that she was currently living some other woman’s life. This comfortable flat with modern conveniences couldn’t be her permanent home. She constantly reminded herself that she was a temporary guest here. This luxurious opportunity to indulge in her own desires felt great but still foreign. She was given the freedom to choose what she liked to eat, wear and read. Whether to have sex or not. She didn’t have to perform for Gereon. He encouraged her to pursue what she wanted and didn’t try to push her in the direction that was more beneficial for him. Day by day, they became more connected and loving towards each other. Common enemies knitted them closer together. But would they stay like that till the very end, till death did they part? Charlotte forbade herself from thinking about the ring she had accidentally found in his pocket, and from speculating what was going on in his head when he bought it. He would surely return it. Maybe sooner rather than later, maybe even today.

Charlotte snapped out of her gloomy thoughts when the alarm clock rang at half past six, and a few seconds later, she heard the shuffle of Gereon’s feet coming down the corridor.

“Morning!” his voice a little husky, he stifled a yawn and rubbed his eyes. “Have you been up for long? Insomnia again?”

“Well, I spent most of Sunday in bed, so…” Charlotte smiled and gave him a quick kiss. “Would you like scrambled eggs on toast?”

Gereon opened his mouth to say that a cup of black coffee would be enough, but Charlotte made a warning gesture, and he gave in.

“All right, but I need my cigarette first.”

“Oh,” Charlotte made a quick move towards him as if trying to prevent him from smoking. “Could it wait until later… sweetheart?”

First, his cigarette dropped out of his hand, and then his jaw dropped too. Gereon froze on the spot, stunned. No one had ever called him that, and he wasn’t quite sure if Charlotte really said sweetheart, or if it was just another word that sounded similar.

“Sorry,” she gulped and tapped her head. “My brain is running a million kilometres per hour, and weird words come out of my mouth.”

Of course, it was merely a weird word, without any profound meaning behind it. Gereon flopped down at the kitchen table and sipped on his coffee, burning his mouth.

“Should I hurry up?” he noticed that she was dressed for work, while he was still in his pyjamas.

“No rush at all,” Charlotte assured. “Take your time to wash up and shave. I plan to leave earlier and catch a tram.”

“Aha…” he didn’t manage to produce any intelligible answer and scanned her face with suspicion, as if weighing up the risk of her catching a train and leaving Berlin and him for good.

They finished their breakfast in silence, and Charlotte left for work alone. Gereon understood why she wanted to make her re-appearance at the Burg without him, and he agreed that it was a sensible decision, but still couldn’t help feeling a little abandoned.

***

When Gereon walked into Inspektion A at five to eight, it reminded him of a market square at the busiest time of day. Böhm and Lehmann were sitting at the long table, ready for the weekly briefing, while all the other members of staff were hovering around Charlotte’s desk. He also spotted a few people from other divisions of the Burg, as well as typists and uniformed constables. They surrounded Charlotte and bombarded her with questions, and although she was wearing a polite smile on her face, Gereon noticed how rigid her shoulders grew. She couldn’t say anything about her abduction and sate their curiosity, so she kept repeating that she was fine, and that they had nothing to worry about.

At 8 a.m. sharp Gennat entered the room. “Good morning, gentlemen!” he roared. “Do we need a bugle call to signal the beginning of the working day? What can I do to tame your chronic tardiness? Start firing people? Incompetent workers who sabotage our efficiency must be detected and weeded out.”

The boss was nervously twirling his pen waiting for his subordinates to take their seats. After everyone had finally settled down, he continued, “I see Fräulein Ritter is with us again. Welcome back to the unit. I need to admit that we’ve been quite short-handed without you here.”

Charlotte nodded and gave him a charming dimpled grin.

“Fräulein skipped two weeks of work in the middle of her probationary period,” Böhm pointed out. “Any disciplinary sanctions for that? Or could any of us take a spontaneous runaway holiday and then come back with a poker face?”

“I am still a superior here, may I remind you,” Gennat grumbled. “I was given legitimate power to manage human resources in this unit, and I don’t need your or anyone else’s expertise on how to do it. As for the discipline, I will not condone backchat!” Gennat banged his fist on the table for emphasis.

“My apologies,” Böhm mumbled, but the boss ignored him and went on with the briefing.

“Let's get down to business, colleagues,” Gennat had brought a pile of morning newspapers and was holding one of them up. “Have you read Morgenblatt? Half of the front page is given to the exclusive coverage of the violent murders that happened last night in Mitte. In less than three kilometres from the police headquarters. Awful reporters showed up at the crime scene five minutes after patrol officers and sniffed around. They took pictures of the premises and caught a glimpse of the victims when they were carried out of the house. When hunting for sensational stories, reporters don’t follow any ethical principles at all. Why wasn’t the area roped off properly? Böhm!”

“The constables asked them to back off and refrain from photographing, but they ignored them. The area around the house was roped off right away. Or should we have called for a dozen more constables to cordon off the whole neighbourhood?” Böhm retorted sarcastically.

“I told you many times, use all necessary resources to keep reporters away. What do we have now? The photograph of Rabbi Katz in a straitjacket and a huge headline about the slaughter in Mitte. The whole city is buzzing about these murders. The League of Free Citizens plans to submit a public petition to the Bundestag.”

“That’s true,” Czerwinski confirmed. “They put up a big tent in the Alexanderplatz and asked me to sign when I was passing by. A petition for police accountability, I think.” He noticed the furious expression on Gennat’s face and quickly added, “I didn’t sign.”

“Oberkommissar Böhm was on the rota last night. He will probably give us more details than Morgenblatt,” Gennat frowned.

Everyone turned to Böhm, who was calmly checking his notes and clearing his throat while the whole room was waiting for his reply.

“At 10:40 p.m. our dispatcher received a call from Herr Sigbert Willstätter who lives at Neue Grünstraße 26. He said that his neighbour rabbi Katz knocked at his door, looking extremely distressed and shouting something intelligible, his clothes and hands covered in blood. We immediately drove there to check what happened,” Böhm grew silent and scratched his head.

“Get to the point, Böhm!” Gennat was drumming his fingers on the table, demonstrating his growing impatience.

“To check what happened, I said,” Böhm enunciated his words distinctly and made long pauses between sentences, as if testing how slowly he could speak before the boss would go nuts and start yelling at the top of his lungs. “It was a triple murder. The victims are Rabbi Nathaniel Katz’s wife and their two young sons, aged four and seven. The murders took place last night in their private home at Neue Grünstraße 28, between 7 and 10 p.m. The family’s housemaid Fräulein Hirschler was sent home at 7 p.m. I talked to her briefly, and she told me that Frau Katz and the boys were spending a peaceful evening together and nothing suspicious or alarming happened during the day. Herr Katz himself didn’t get home until half past ten. Last Monday he travelled to Budapest to participate in the European Jewish Congress, and he was coming back to Berlin by train on Sunday night. He was the one who found the bodies.”

“Have you questioned him already?” Gennat turned red, a network of thick purple veins popping up all over his bald head.

“No. When I arrived at the crime scene, he was in an awful way. He produced a terrible noise and started carrying the children’s corpses from one room to another. He couldn’t say a single word in proper German, screaming and whining something in Yiddish. We called for ambulance, they put him in a straitjacket and drove him away. Now he is in the Charité, locked in a psych ward. They will let us know when he is well enough to answer our questions.” Böhm took a short pause and added, “Too bad there is still potential for things to get uglier…”

“Even uglier?” Gennat pressed a jug of cold water to his forehead, desperately trying to cool down.

“The murdered Frau Katz, née von Mendelssohn, is a niece of Frank von Mendelssohn, the banker,” Böhm smirked, enjoying the exasperation his words provoked in everyone around the table. “They called from Jägerstraße fifteen minutes before this briefing began, and asked if the investigation had been launched and which officers were carrying it out.”

“Couldn’t get any worse!” Gennat slammed the jug on the table so that water splashed out all over his papers. He cursed and vigorously rubbed his temples. “Now the Mendelssohn family is after us. They will jump down my throat like bulldogs and not leave me in peace until the murderer is captured.”

“Instead of harassing the police, Herr Banker could fund a financial reward to the officer who arrests the criminal,” Böhm said.

“You get your salary for arresting criminals,” Gennat didn’t like Oberkommissar’s remark.

“Maybe they could promise a reward for information leading to an arrest?” Charlotte asked. The others looked at her in horror, anticipating the boss’s vicious reply to another irrelevant suggestion.

However, Gennat didn’t get angry, quite the opposite, “That’s a bright idea,” he praised. “I could mention it to von Mendelssohn when he calls us again. Cash will motivate people to come forward with tips. Some 500 marks would help them overcome any fear or apathy and help us solve this crime. If I get this arranged, Fräulein Ritter will be responsible for processing the tips.”

“Yes, sir,” Charlotte nodded and made a note in her notepad.

“Now I want to have a look at the murder weapon,” Gennat demanded indignantly. “Do you have it with you?”

“Here,” Böhm opened a wooden case that was used for collecting and transporting pieces of evidence and showed an axe. “We found it near the corpse of Frau Katz. An axe with a very sharp blade and a flat butt. You can see the dried blood and hair on it. I couldn’t examine the victims’ wounds properly, the whole house was a big bloody mess. But there is no doubt they were killed with this axe, either side of it. We are just waiting for the post-mortem. It will be ready before lunch.”

“Gräf, have you developed the photographs taken in the house?”

“Yes, sir. Here they are.”

Gennat flicked through the photos and passed them around the table.

“Damn!” Henning exclaimed. “No wonder poor rabbi went psycho.”

“Eek!” Czerwinski joined in. “He butchered little kids with an axe. The murderer must be crazy.”

“Not at all,” Gennat objected. “It doesn’t look like emotional behaviour to me. I’d be inclined to say that it was a well-planned crime with some grim motivation behind it. Have you heard about blood libel, gentlemen? Jews are accused of murdering Christian children and using their blood for religious rituals. Here we have two Jewish kids brutally killed. And they are a rabbi’s kids. Revenge? Religious hatred? Böhm, you must focus on working out the motive of this crime.”

Finally, the photographs were passed to Charlotte. A glance at the first photo in the pile was enough to make her stomach turn over. The sounds around her became muffled, and her vision quickly went black with sudden dizziness. She dropped the photographs on the table, covered her mouth with her palm and ran out of the room. Everyone turned their heads and stared at her until she closed the door behind her.

“You see?” Böhm snorted. “I’ve always said that the Homicide Unit is not a place for women. She is freaking out because of some blurry photographs, and I am supposed to take her with me for the crime scene examination. Nonsense! She would be totally useless there, and instead of doing my job I would be following our fair lady around with smelling salts and handkerchiefs.”

“I assure you Fräulein Ritter is not intimidated by photographs of corpses,” Gräf stood up in Charlotte’s defence. “Last year she catalogued thousands of them for the archive, it’s nothing new to her.”

“Cut the chatter, colleagues,” Gennat demanded. “Those who can’t control their verbal diarrhoea can take a bathroom break too. We are not wasting our weekly briefing on gossip and witticisms.”

The boss was in a foul mood, and everyone went quiet. They had spent two-thirds of the briefing discussing the triple murder, so there was not much time left to talk about other less urgent issues. Every member of staff briefly reported on the cases they were investigating, only Gereon had nothing new to share with the others. When Gennat addressed him and asked what cases he had been working on last Saturday, he kept silent and indifferently shrugged his shoulders because he had left them all until Monday, Tuesday or any other day. He didn’t bother making up excuses or inventing a satisfactory answer. Gereon was worrying about Charlotte, her strange behaviour indicated that she was still unwell, but too stubborn to admit it.

When the briefing was finally over, Gennat caught Gereon in the doorway, “Find Fräulein Ritter and bring her to my office. I need to talk to both of you. Now!”

****

Gereon checked the toilets on their floor but didn’t find Charlotte there. The interrogation room was another place to look for her. It was always empty on Monday mornings, and sometimes she hid there when she needed solitude to think or calm down. This time Gereon’s intuition didn’t fail him. On seeing him, Charlotte pressed her finger to her lips, prohibiting him from asking about her sudden exit from the room earlier.

“Gennat is waiting for us in his office,” Gereon said.

“Let’s get going then,” Charlotte tried to sound careless and brisk. She walked down the Burg’s long corridor so quickly that Gereon could hardly keep pace with her. “Gennat spoke about firing incompetent workers for tardiness. We are in danger of becoming his first targets.”

Charlotte didn’t stop by the elevator but decisively climbed the stairs. They reached Gennat’s office in less than a minute. She drew a deep breath, adjusted her hair and knocked on his door.

“Come in!”

The boss didn’t seem to be angry anymore. Or at least he wasn’t mad at his only female subordinate.

“I want to apologise for leaving the briefing before it ended,” Charlotte said. “I’m very sorry.”

That soft guilty glance from under her trembling eyelashes could melt the glaciers of Antarctica, let alone the old man’s heart.

“No need to apologise,” Gennat assured. “I’m glad that you are back in the unit!” He stretched out his red wrinkled hand for a handshake and held her cold fingers in his big sweaty palm for a few seconds.

“Thank you. And I’m glad to be back.”

“I’ve received the report written by Fürstenberg, our colleague from Köln. And I’ve seen the photographs developed by Gräf,” his observant eyes scanned Charlotte from head to toe without missing any tiny detail. “They were a tough twelve days, and I would advise you to take sick leave until at least Thursday. Your sick pay would be sixty per cent of your normal day rate.”

“Thanks for the generous offer, but I feel perfectly fine,” Charlotte said. “Ready to get to work.”

Gennat fished his burning cigar from the ashtray and thoughtfully puffed at it. For a while, he kept the smoke in his mouth, tasting it and rolling it over his tongue, entering a blissful meditative state of mind and giving them a glimpse of his inherent Buddha. Gereon didn’t know exactly how their boss earned this nickname, but he had to agree that it was descriptive and well-deserved. Shortly after a major outburst of rage, he was able to guide himself into a safe haven of nirvana, attaining perfect peace. Gennat squeezed his eyes shut as if he had forgotten that he had two visitors in front of him. Perhaps he was dreaming about the glass of bourbon he was going to have after work, right here, in this room that served both as his office and bedroom. Or about the happy days of his future retirement, when he could detach himself from murders and criminals, and only read the sports section in the morning newspaper.

After a brief moment of distraction, Gennat regained his focus and blew a cloud of thick grey smoke from his nose. He smoked so much that he didn’t notice the strong cigar odour that filled his office, sharp and musty as acid. Charlotte tried to tolerate it, but the stink quickly penetrated each cell of her body, causing a queasy feeling in her stomach. Something had to be done about it. Without explaining anything or asking permission, Charlotte went up to the window, unlocked the latch and opened it wide.

“What are you doing?!” Gennat and Gereon exclaimed in unison, and exchanged astonished glances as if they suspected she might jump out of the window.

“Isn’t it a little stuffy in here?” Charlotte asked casually and leaned over the windowsill, greedily inhaling fresh air.

Instead of answering, Gennat dipped the lit end of his cigar in a glass of water to extinguish it.

“I insist that you book a full health check-up at the police clinic and obtain medical clearance for field work,” he commanded. “Until that you will be doing paperwork here in the office. Fortunately, we’ve got plenty of it heaped all over the place. And don’t forget to practise for your shooting proficiency test. The sooner you pass it the better. According to your instructor you did very well during the training, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Shooting is a skill that needs constant polishing and improvement. Once you have passed your test, it would be smart to schedule individual shooting sessions for you, on a weekly basis. I will talk to Herr Haas. I’m sure he or his colleagues could help you with that.”

“Thank you.”

“If you don’t have any further questions or comments, you may go. I will continue with Kommissar Rath for another five minutes.”

Charlotte nodded and quietly left the room.

Gereon knew that before Charlotte’s abduction, Gennat didn’t approve of her carrying a weapon. The shooting proficiency test was a pure formality, an obligatory exam for getting the permanent position in the Homicide Unit. Had he changed his mind, or would it be another disappointment for Charlotte, to hold a licence but not a gun?

“Will you really allow her to carry a weapon?” Gereon asked.

Gennat cut off the tip of his cigar, but his guillotine cutter was blunt, and the cigar wrapper started to unravel.

“Too short to relight,” he seemed to be thinking aloud. “Sometimes, you just have to let it go!” Gennat stressed, shooting Gereon a hostile look and throwing the cigar stub in the small ash bucket under his desk. “Yes, I will allow that,” he finally got back to Gereon’s question. “A loaded gun might be useful if she bumps into your relatives again.”

Gereon pursed his mouth but didn’t avert his gaze. Mentioning that his relatives posed a threat to Charlotte was certainly a nasty hit below the belt.

“I’ve been the head of this unit for twenty-eight years,” Gennat raised his index finger, claiming Gereon’s attention, “And such cases of professional misconduct have never occurred here before. I hate wasting my valuable time on dishing out punishments and disciplining grown adults.”

“I have no idea what you are hinting at,” Gereon maintained a polite aloofness that infuriated his boss even more.

“No? Not at all? What kind of a man are you, Rath?” Gennat growled, without a trace of his usual official tone. “Do you think you can take advantage of your subordinate, a woman who comes from a vulnerable social group, and when you get her into trouble, just wash your hands of her?”

“Did I wash my hands of her?” Gereon hissed. “Yes, she was in trouble because of me, but I was looking for her. I found her and brought her back. She will be fine.”

“Stop! Don’t try to bullshit me!” Gennat gritted his teeth, directing his righteous anger at Gereon. “Fräulein doesn’t have a father or a brother to stand up for her, so I will advocate her interests. If you force her to undergo an illegal procedure, you will be guilty of criminal coercion, and I will definitely not let it be. You will both be charged accordingly and fired from the police force, of course!”

“Wait. What makes you think I’m planning something illegal?” Gereon was stunned by such an accusation.

“Good,” Gennat’s displeased expression softened a little. “At least something good. But I still don’t consider you a decent man. Our society is cruel to children born out of wedlock and to women who bring them into the world. Your legitimate son who bears your name will enjoy safety and every privilege, while the other child will be doomed to become an outcast and underdog. Do you plan to support them from birth until adulthood? To carry responsibilities? To participate in their upbringing? Or will it only be a monthly check?” Gennat’s voice became a little louder with every new question, and by the end of his monologue he was almost yelling.

Gereon mentally cursed himself for bringing Moritz to the Burg and introducing the boy as his son. Even worse, Helga had been here too, and most of their colleagues thought that she was his wife. He wanted them to think so back then because he was sure that she would become that soon. Now he was trapped in a net of his own lies again. But who was this other child Gennat was talking about?

Suddenly a bold theory flashed through Gereon’s mind. Their boss always encouraged them to focus on the motives for criminal behaviour, and so Gennat had mistakenly assumed that his father assaulted Charlotte because she was pregnant, and he wanted to get rid of her and the child. Gennat didn’t know anything about Anno, but he knew what kind of an arrogant snob Engelbert Rath was. When Charlotte got an attack of nausea at the recent weekly briefing and later again here in his office, Gennat put two and two together and made five. Sometimes even the best detectives made mistakes in deductive reasoning.

“I will find a way to approach those problems if they arise,” Gereon answered calmly. “I can assure you that your speculations and accusations are completely beside the point.”

Gereon’s evasive answer didn’t seem to satisfy Gennat, who had already lost his temper. “What a lame attempt to throw dust in my eyes! The fact that your father’s ancestors fought at the battle of Worringen and your mother’s family owned half of the Rhineland doesn’t give you the right to belittle others and toss women aside like rag dolls.”

“I appreciate your concern and value your opinions,” Gereon struggled to remain formal and impassive, “But I really prefer to handle my personal issues on my own.”

A polite but clear directive for Gennat to stay out of it.

“As your father’s son you had the inside track for the position in Berlin, and a very smooth transition from the Vice Squad to the Homicide Unit. But now the circumstances have changed, so you’d better mute your arrogance and improve your attitude. Get to the cases you are responsible for and assist Oberkommissar Böhm if necessary. As for Fräulein Ritter, I hope that we understood each other.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And one more thing,” Gennat tilted his head to the side and spoke with a slightly friendlier tone. “I do remember that you saved my life. That’s why I’m giving you another chance and letting you stay in the unit. At least for the time being. Convince me that you deserve this chance.”

*****

After being humiliated by Gennat, Gereon went downstairs and locked himself in his office. He closed the blinds and lit a cigarette. Trouble came in threes, and Böhm was right saying that things could always get uglier.

Gereon was ready to take the next blow and was actually willing to hurt himself more. When his stress levels got really high, he started to derive pleasure from pain and suffering. He picked up the telephone and dialled the operator. What could hurt him more than reaching out for Köln and his father? Impatience made his heart beat faster when he was listening to the high-pitched humming noise on the telephone line. Finally, he was connected.

“Doctor Brendler’s office in Saint Antonius Hospital. I’m listening.”

“Hello. It’s Rath from Berlin.”

“Hello. Did you forget to ask me something during our conversation earlier?”

“What do you mean?” Gereon was startled by that question. “This is the first time I’ve contacted you.”

“The first time?” Doctor Brendler was as confused as Gereon. “Didn’t we talk on the telephone half an hour ago?”

“No, I have no idea who you talked to.”

“It was a call from Berlin. The man introduced himself as Herr Rath and asked about your father’s… I mean his father’s health. Does Herr Engelbert Rath have two sons in Berlin?”

Gereon exhaled sharply and answered, “No, it’s just me, Gereon Rath.”

“How strange and unfortunate! Sister Agatha told me that Herr Rath’s son would be calling on Monday before lunch, and I didn’t suspect the caller to be someone else. But who could it be? I disclosed sensitive personal and medical information to that person. God! It could leak to the newspapers! And how can I be sure you are the real Herr Gereon Rath?”

“I am!” Gereon barked. “Call me back at the Police Presidium of Berlin, the Homicide Unit.”

“Yes, I will do so,” the doctor agreed and hung up the receiver.

Gereon took a minute to breathe and finish his cigarette. It was Anno who contacted the hospital. Anno read his letter and used his contacts to find out where their father was being treated. Anno was always at least one step ahead, and now he knew their father’s diagnosis and prognosis. Knowledge which would empower Anno to proceed with his agenda of revenge.

The telephone on Gereon’s desk rang, and the switchboard operator announced an incoming call from Köln.

“Kommissar Rath.”

“It’s Doctor Brendler. I want to apologise for…”

“No need,” Gereon interrupted him, “You couldn’t have known who that person was.”

“Whoever he was, I hope he won’t use the information I gave him for nefarious purposes.”

No, of course not. It was a harmless secret friend who was calling under a fake name to wish Engelbert a speedy recovery. Gereon clenched his jaw but managed to refrain from making a rude remark.

“We’ll see. So how is my father?”

“His condition remains critical, but we have managed to stabilise it. I can cautiously say that he is starting to show the signs of improvement. His case is quite rare and difficult as he suffered from a heart attack and a cerebral stroke almost simultaneously. His brain was deprived of oxygen for a while, and unfortunately, some of his brain cells died. It’s difficult to assess how big the damage is but I’m afraid your father will need a long rehabilitation. I can’t promise that he will ever be able to return to his pre-stroke life.”

“Has he tried to speak?”

“Not yet. But he opens his eyes, and this morning we gave him a little water with a teaspoon. Herr Rath is able to swallow which is promising. But the left side of his body is paralysed. So I’d say his condition is serious but not life-threatening anymore. It would be helpful if you or some other close relatives could visit him in the hospital. If he recognises familiar faces and voices, we will be able to evaluate his cognitive abilities even better.”

“Thanks for the information,” Gereon said this phrase with a distinct falling intonation. He couldn’t even consider travelling to Köln and seeing his father.

“Now I’ve got your home and work numbers. I will contact you if there are any changes in your father’s condition. And you can call me any weekday between eleven and one o’clock.”

*

It was a frustrating morning, and more than anything Gereon would have liked to leave the Burg, get behind the wheel of his car and drive forward without any destination in mind, until he ran out of fuel and got stuck on some small dusty road in the middle of nowhere. Unfortunately, today he couldn’t escape his office and postpone his work for tomorrow. He couldn’t afford to wallow in a vicious cycle of failures and self-hate instead of dealing with a bunch of small and bigger tasks he had at hand. It was clear enough that Gennat wouldn’t bear his idleness any longer.

Gereon made a detailed to-do list and underlined the most urgent issues he had to tackle. He got going with something simple by sorting his papers into separate files, and when his desk was tidy, he found the enthusiasm to re-open one of the cold cases. He lost track of time quite quickly, and only raised his head from a half-written case report when someone knocked at the door of his office.

It was Charlotte. Gereon let her in and quickly assessed her figure, trying to see it with Gennat’s eyes. The dress Charlotte was wearing today didn’t emphasise her waistline, their boss must have decided that she was masking her growing stomach. But there was nothing to mask, it was as taut as ever. Gennat, the old bat, needed new glasses with stronger lenses.

“Was your door locked? What’s wrong?” Charlotte worried. “You’ve spent hours behind closed blinds, and you looked troubled after talking to Gennat. What happened?”

“Nothing important,” Gereon assured. “Got lots of work piled up. I have simply been trying to be productive.”

“All right,” Charlotte seemed to believe him. “I won’t distract you for much longer. Just wanted to tell you something. I had lunch with Doris and Barbara, the typists. They invited me for a drink after work, with a group of colleagues.”

“Sure.”

“They’re arranging some sort of happy-birthday-and-welcome-back celebration,” Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Not that I’m very excited about it, but it’s better to chat with all of them at once, somewhere outside the Burg. They’ve been distracting me a lot this morning.”

“Yes, I noticed that.”

“Are you coming too?” she looked at him pleadingly.

“No one invited me,” Gereon knitted his brow into a tense frown.

“I am.”

“I don’t know those folks. Maybe you’ll do better without me.”

“You know some of them. Gräf and Fred are coming. And Herr Haas from the firearms unit,” Charlotte gave him an innocent smile and moved towards the door. “But if you don’t want to come, it’s totally fine by me. See you at home then.”

“Wait,” Gereon said right before she touched the door handle. “I think I will come. I don’t want you to walk home alone in the dark.” Even worse, one of their colleagues could offer her a lift. Most likely that annoying firearms instructor.

“Great!” Charlotte beamed. “Thanks.”

Having a few drinks after work might make a nice ending to this day. An occasion to go out with Charlotte and unwind together. To show her friends that he wasn’t a boring prude in a grey three-piece suit who didn’t like whoopee. And if Charlotte allowed him, he would make some kind of nonverbal statement to let them know that he was more than one of her co-workers among others. He would make lemonade out of these lemons, or at least he would try to.

Chapter Text

After the end of the workday, Gereon helped Charlotte to carry boxes of files and evidence into the archive, and then they headed to bistro Krone on Choriner Straße. The street was quite busy, and they spent a while searching for a parking spot, driving around in circles until they found a free one on Schönhauser Allee. Gereon still had difficulties with the topography of Berlin and sometimes forgot where he had parked his car, getting frustrated when he was unable to locate it. Generally, he lacked a sense of direction and was bad at reading maps. Although he was sure that Charlotte would not lose track of the car, he liked to train his own memory too, building a mental image of the neighbourhood in his head and trying to figure out their route to the destination.

Charlotte connected Gereon’s procrastination with his reluctancy to meet her friends and decided to cheer him up a little.

“It’ll be fine,” she squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile, “And we won’t stay long.”

She steered him along Schönhauser Allee, and he obediently followed her, remaining exactly one step behind. The weather was unseasonably chilly for late April, and Gereon lifted up his coat collar to protect his neck from the cold wind. After a week of warmth and sunshine, this sudden drop in temperature felt especially bitter. Before turning right onto Choriner Straße, he stopped Charlotte, clutching the sleeve of her coat.

“Wait a moment,” he asked.

“What?” Charlotte knew that they were already late for the party but didn’t show any signs of impatience or reproach. “Tell me.”

“Could you say that word again?” his head was pointing down, a classic sullen expression on his face.

“Which word?” Charlotte wrinkled her forehead. Sometimes Gereon talked in riddles, as if assuming that she always knew exactly what was going on in his mind.

“The one you said when your brain was running…”

“…a million kilometres per hour?” she chuckled. “By the evening it slows down to a thousand kilometres, so I need to find another word. Can you give me a hint?” She leaned towards him, cupped his face in her hands and pulled him into a kiss.

They had never shown affection in public before. And now they were kissing at a busy crossroad in the centre of Berlin, with lots of people and vehicles passing by, and it wasn’t even dark yet. Moreover, a bunch of their workmates were only a few steps away, and some of them could be arriving late too and witness their rather inappropriate interaction. Charlotte acknowledged and allowed that. She wanted to have him at her party, to let everyone know that he wasn’t merely her senior colleague or a castaway from Köln that had to be avoided like the plague. That was exactly the encouragement he needed to endure the next couple of hours.

Charlotte gently sucked on his lower lip and broke the kiss. She wiped the traces of her lipstick off his face and gave him the most cunning grin, “Are you all good, snookums?”

Gereon burst out laughing when he heard that ridiculous word. He loved when Charlotte was playful and cracked a joke to cut the tension.

“Let’s go,” he nodded and followed her to the bistro with a big Krone sign above the entrance.

The place turned out to be quite big and well furnished, with one of its far corners decorated with a colourful garland and tissue paper pom-poms, indicating where the party was. A few counter-height tables had been put together so that it would be easy for people to mingle around and chat with each other. Gereon raised his eyebrows as instead of a small group of workmates, he saw a small crowd of their colleagues and some random fellows. Three young constables who guarded the entrances of the Burg (most likely Charlotte’s peers but for Gereon they were only pups, he didn’t even know she was on especially friendly terms with them), two typists, a nerdy-looking girl with a long braid, Herr Haas, Rudi and another guy from the morgue, Gräf and Fred, and a few more people he bumped into in the Police Presidium but wasn’t acquainted with.

Doris was the first to notice that Charlotte had made an appearance, “Lotte!” she screamed and waved her hand. “Here you are! We have all been waiting for you.”

“Hallöchen!” Charlotte greeted everyone and hurriedly looked around for a coat rack.

“Let me help you with your coat,” Herr Haas stepped forward and bowed to Charlotte. “Happy belated birthday!”

“Thank you.”

“Please, order whatever you like,” he nodded in the direction of the bar counter. “Tonight you don’t need to pay for anything as we are treating you.”

This chap was acting as if he owned the place and was hosting the party, and Gereon didn’t like it at all.

“Thanks! So nice of you, really!” Charlotte smiled and walked to the bar.

Haas turned to Gereon, blocking his way when he made a move to follow Charlotte.

“Kommissar Rath,” he spoke in an ice cold voice tinged with malice, “When we were gathering money to treat Fräulein Ritter, you weren’t in, so please pay for your own drinks.”

Haas was almost a head taller than Gereon, and Gereon hated that he had to look up when talking to him.

“No problem.” The muscle in Gereon’s jaw tightened but nothing else revealed his tension.

Haas’s comment was truly absurd, as Gereon didn’t have the slightest intention of asking for a free drink for himself. Why would he? The firearms instructor wanted to declare that no one wanted Gereon at this party, that he wasn’t a part of the circle. The message was clear enough.

Gereon ordered a whiskey sour and Charlotte chose sparkling pear punch.

“Sorry, I didn’t know that there would be so many of them here,” she frowned.

“It’s fine, no need to apologise,” Gereon tried to sound casual and conceal his negative emotions. It would be wrong to spoil her evening because he didn’t enjoy social interactions as much as she did.

“I’m glad that you are here with me,” she said.

“Sure. Go chat with your friends, I’ll join you when I get my order.”

The atmosphere in the bistro was relaxed and jovial. While waiting for Charlotte, these folks had warmed themselves up with alcohol (and perhaps something stronger), and now they were chattering rapidly and loudly as if competing with the background noise coming from other tables. Rudi was the loudest of all. He craved attention and acted deliberately goofily, playing the fool as if he had arrived from the circus and not from the morgue. The others seemed to be making fun of this cheap comedian rather than laughing at his primitive jokes.

Gereon’s drink was ready, but he was in no hurry to join the party. He hastily drained the glass and reordered. Sweet syrup and sour lemon covered the strong taste of whiskey, making the cocktail smooth and easy to drink. Two or three of these would boost his stress tolerance.

Gereon had never gotten along with multiple strangers and found small talk excruciating. He agreed to be here for the sake of Charlotte and now, on seeing this crowd, he gave up on his brave resolution to mingle with others and stay visible. He wanted to pretend that he was nothing more than a bleak shadow, lost and forgotten behind others’ backs. Over the years, Gereon had grown a thick skin and didn’t fear judgement. It didn’t matter to him that these folks considered him dull and weird, but he was concerned that Charlotte might see him through their eyes and maybe like him less. He felt an urge to hide or escape. He wasn’t sure if he was expected to greet the people gathered around the tables, or introduce himself to those he hadn’t met before, or if it was acceptable to remain silent and discreet and take a secure spot near the coat rack where no one would see him.

Charlotte turned around and met his eyes, asking him to join her. There was some free space left between her and Gräf, and following the direction of her gaze, Gereon realised that he was supposed to fit in there. Right at the centre of the action. He reminded himself that he was a war veteran and a police officer, and after all the crap he had been through, he should not be so easily intimidated by a bunch of clowns. If necessary, he would get these monkeys off his back.

He made sure that his facial expression wasn’t sheepish or too grim, and confidently walked up to the table, wearing what he hoped was a condescending smirk. Charlotte smiled at him, and Gräf patted him on the shoulder. The others didn’t seem to care that one more person had just stepped in.

The tables were filled with glasses of different shapes and sizes, as well as a dessert plate and fork for each guest. Charlotte was about to give her plate to Gereon, but Gräf was quicker in doing so.

“I’ll grab another one for myself,” he said.

When Gräf came back with a plate and fork in hand, Herr Haas clapped his hands, giving a signal to the waitress who brought the birthday cake to the table. She put it in front of Charlotte, and everyone welcomed it with a polite hum of adoration. Gereon had to admit that the cake looked impressive. It was white, tall and perfectly round, neat swirls of frosting sat prettily along its bottom and its top was decorated with colourful marzipan fruits. Green apples, orange peaches and yellow lemons were neatly arranged all over the cake and covered in powdered sugar.

“Thank you very much! This cake is fabulous!” Charlotte exclaimed.

“As sweet as our birthday girl,” Rudi smacked his lips and burst into a loud laugh.

Doris tapped her glass with a dessert fork to get everyone’s attention.

“Now it’s time to raise a toast and sing a birthday song for our dear Charlotte!”

That was an easy ritual, and Gereon joined in, eagerly opening his mouth and pretending that he was singing along with the others. Charlotte chuckled at his trick when she noticed that he was miming.

“I hope that’s the only thing you are faking for me,” she whispered to him when the singing had ended. They shared a furtive glance and discreetly brushed against each other under the table. For a moment it felt like no one else was around.

Herr Haas declared that he would gladly undertake the honourable duty of dividing the cake between the guests. He gave the first piece of cake to Charlotte and continued clockwise, so that the last piece landed on Gräf’s plate. The cake was cut into sixteen pieces, and Gereon turned out to be the seventeenth guest.

“We have run out of cake!” Rudi pretended to be horrified and pointed at Gereon’s empty plate with his fork. “Charlotte, your boss might get mad and assume the role of the wicked fairy godmother, who came to the feast uninvited and cursed the little new born princess.”

A crude blush of anger and annoyance rose into Gereon’s face, and he felt like he was seven years old again, ruthlessly mocked in front of the class. Everyone watched him, waiting for his reaction, and he was unable to invent a sarcastic answer or witty joke to put Rudi in his proper place. Gereon had endured humiliation his entire life, at home, at school, in the army, in his boss’s office. Charlotte perceived his uneasiness and didn’t hesitate to stand up for him.

“In fact my boss is guest number one here,” she put her hand on Gereon’s sleeve and looked at him with a wide genuine smile. “He has saved my life more than once. If not for him, I wouldn’t be among you tonight.”

“A toast to Kommissar Gereon Rath!” Gräf suggested.

“He saved our princess from being devoured by a dragon,” Fred added.

“To Rath!” everybody joined in, raising their glasses.

Charlotte sipped on her drink, took the cake slice and cut her piece in half.

“In our unit we share things fairly and equally,” on saying so, she put the other half on Gereon’s plate and crowned it with a marzipan apple. “Here you are. No salt on this apple, I promise.”

With all these tiny hints and comments, Charlotte reminded him who they were to each other and made him feel more comfortable, or at least less awkward.

After raising a toast, the guests broke off into small groups of two or three, and Charlotte ended up chatting with Herr Haas who was standing to her left. He chewed on his cake and drank his fourth or fifth gimlet cocktail, leaving greasy lip marks on his glass. Herr Haas had an unfortunate habit of speaking with his mouth full, occasionally spitting chunks of food onto others.

“My uncle Leo runs this place together with his son-in-law,” he boasted. “They serve breakfast and lunch every day and open the bar at 6 o’clock. I often bring my co-workers from the firearms unit to grab a beer here. Or a happy hour cocktail.”

When he talked, Charlotte could see the cake rolling in his mouth. It turned into a sticky gooey paste and the sight of it almost made her gag. Generally, she wasn’t finicky about others’ table manners, but in her current condition this disgusting view immediately tightened her abdomen. She decided that it would be safer to stare into her own glass or at the dusty brass lamp hanging from the ceiling behind Haas’s head.

“The Marksmanship Manual says that even a little amount of alcohol impacts shooting performance,” Charlotte pointed out. “Blurred vision, slowed reaction time, poor coordination, a feeling of vertigo.” She was teasing Herr Haas but he didn’t seem to get it.

“And now you are taking things too literally,” Herr Haas vigorously defended himself, leaking some cake paste onto his chin and hurriedly wiping it away with the cuff of his shirt. “A mug of Berliner Weiße or a tiny drop of liquor brings only joy and tranquillity. Drinks after work is our professional ritual, great for team building by the way. First we lubricate our guns and then we come here to lubricate our throats,” he giggled, amused by his own pun. “As for vertigo I get that feeling for very different reasons.”

“Hmm…” Charlotte hummed.

“When you have passed your shooting test, maybe you could join us here one evening. You are going to be the first and only woman in the Burg to obtain a gun licence,” he looked at Charlotte’s face with admiration. “It’s an honour to be your instructor and help you to achieve it. Another great reason to drink a toast.”

Gereon hated that Haas invited Charlotte to participate in his unit’s post-work booze sessions. He didn’t want her to drink with those men and take part in their trash talk.

“Isn't it jumping the gun to be talking about drinking a toast now, when I haven’t even taken my test yet?” Charlotte asked.

“I’m sure you will pass it later this week. And after that… we could… I could teach you how to drive a car,” Herr Haas suggested. “Yes, I also give driving lessons and I could try to persuade Gennat that you need a driving licence too.”

“That would be convenient indeed,” Charlotte got enthusiastic over the idea. “I would be able to borrow an operational vehicle and drive to crime scenes by myself. Thanks for the offer, Herr Haas.”

“You are welcome. I am entirely at your service. And maybe you could call me Albert when we aren’t at work?” he gave her an affable wink. “At the Burg we need to follow formalities of course but otherwise it’s not necessary I guess.”

“Sure, you can call me Charlotte.”

“Great! Would you excuse me for a minute? I’ll attend a call of nature and be right back.”

After Herr Haas had left, the typists saw a good opportunity to talk to Charlotte. She had known these girls since the times when she was doing typist’s assignments too. The typists lined up in the hallway of the Burg every morning, hunting for a job. Luckily, nowadays she didn’t have to stand among them there.

“What a beautiful necklace!” Barbara was admiring Charlotte’s swan pendant. “Is it new?”

“Yes, it is,” Charlotte grinned in a most mysterious way.

“Let me guess,” Doris chuckled. “It was given to you by the film producer who begged you to leave the police for cinematography. A clear bribe attempt!”

“And my guess is that it was the casino owner,” Barbara came up with her own theory about the necklace. “Lotte interrogated him about the double murder, and I was taking notes. The guy invited her to inspect his casino. He was openly flirtatious, and I knew that he would pursue her.”

Charlotte was about to say that both of the typists’ guesses were absolutely insane when Rudi joined them and wedged himself into their conversation.

“I heard someone saying the word casino. Are you gambling, ladies?” There was a distinct hint of sarcasm in his tone.

“Sure. The typists’ hourly wage in the Burg is so high that we need to get rid of our spare cash in the casino,” Doris rolled her eyes.

“I would like to tempt fortune too, maybe I will hit the jackpot.”

Gereon was jammed between two groups of people: Charlotte, Rudi and the typists on his left side, and Gräf, Fred and Haas on the right. He didn’t take part in either conversation but sipped on his drink and listened to both of them. Rudi was full of himself, boasting that in a few weeks he would graduate from medical school with an honours degree and set up his own private practice. That clown claimed that he would become a brilliant physician and successful entrepreneur, and next year he would be gambling on the French Riviera in the glamorous casinos of Nice and Monte Carlo with his lucky future girlfriend.

Gereon furrowed his brow with contempt and switched to the conversation between the photographer and the firearms instructor. Herr Haas was speaking in a low voice, apparently questioning Gräf about Charlotte. That guy was seriously getting on Gereon's nerves.

“She lit up my interest before we even started our shooting sessions,” he confessed. “We all have eyes, and she is a beauty.”

Gereon wanted to grab him by the lapels of his ugly rumpled jacket and toss him out of the window, yelling that this beauty had her own beast, and idiots like him better stay away.

“An undeniable fact,” Gräf agreed rather melancholically.

“When she became my trainee, she intrigued me with her vivid mind and lively temper. There are many pretty and smart girls in Berlin, but Charlotte is special.”

He called her Charlotte!

“True,” Gräf nodded.

“I haven’t allowed myself any forwardness towards her since I’m her instructor and it would be unethical. But it’s probably time to throw some feelers out, sometimes it’s all about seizing an opportunity at the right moment. Do you know by any chance if she is already taken or not?”

Taken! Gereon felt a blood vessel burst in his head, he was at his wit’s end. That moron spoke about Charlotte as if she was an object to be taken by someone, as if she was inferior to some man who could treat her as his asset or possession. He didn’t hear Gräf’s reply, as his brain was about to explode from rage, and he knew that the intensity of his anger would very soon outmatch his ability to manage it. Gereon was just about to start a fight in front of his colleagues, attacking a rival who was almost twice as big and heavy as he was.

Gräf noticed that Gereon was listening to the conversation glaring at Haas with blood-shot eyes, ablaze with barely contained fury. The air was filled with tension, and Gräf figured out that Gereon needed to slip away from the action and catch his breath.

“My glass is empty,” he said hurriedly. “Rath, I see that yours is empty too. How about another round of drinks?”

He dragged Gereon to the bar and pushed him onto a barstool. “Keep yourself in check,” he commanded. “No need to kick up a fuss at Charlotte’s party.”

Gereon’s most devoted ally was against him. He ordered a shot of schnapps and drank it in one gulp. It made him feel a little better.

“I’ll kill that jerk if he approaches Charlotte again,” he promised.

“Know what? You are at risk of becoming a serial killer. Charlotte turns heads whenever she walks in the room. Men check her out all the time,” Gräf said. “But she is with you and not with them.”

“Right,” Gereon exhaled. Gräf’s words somehow revived his composure.

“You must learn to live with it. Otherwise, mistrust will tear you two apart. Remember when you thought that she cheated on you with that boxer, the consequences were terrible. Don’t make the same mistake again.”

Gereon had a lingering feeling in the back of his mind that Charlotte couldn’t love him because he didn’t deserve her love, and that sooner or later she would realise it and abandon him for someone better. Yesterday he had the noble idea of letting her go to seek happiness with another man, but now, warmed up with alcohol and the pushy advances of his rivals, he was ready to fight for her. He was hurt and betrayed in his previous relationship, when he trusted the woman while she was looking for a better man behind his back. That messy breakup with Helga had bruised his shaky ego. Especially the final episode when he embarrassed himself chasing her through the hotel and attacking Alfred Nyssen. He lost that fight and was thrown out onto the street like a sack of rubbish. It would be horrible to experience something like that again. No, he wouldn’t get provoked and sink down to Haas’s level. Charlotte promised that they wouldn’t stay long, and it meant that very soon he would take her home, and everything would be fine again. A little patience, a little self-control.

A moment later Gereon retook his spot at the table. Rudi’s friend was entertaining the typists, and Rudi was having a private conversation with Charlotte, ignoring Gereon who was now standing right behind her. Rudi moved forward, getting even closer to Charlotte, his desire for her written all over his face. She held her hand up in a stop gesture and shrank back, almost leaning against Gereon’s chest.

“What was that?” Rudi cooed. “Please, don’t say that I stink of formaldehyde. I washed up after work and got ready for the night.”

“Good for you,” Charlotte said, failing to mask her distaste despite her cheerful tone.

“I’ve got some pixie dust in my pocket,” Rudi’s mouth crinkled into a dopey smile. “We can powder our wings and fly into the night together. Let’s go to the Resi, just you and me. We will burn up the dance floor and after that… Maybe you’ll give me a chance to demonstrate my unbeatable qualities you once praised me for.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Charlotte kept smiling but there was a distinct hint of steel in her voice. “That ship has sailed.”

“But why, Charlotte? Are you still angry about that other girl in my bed?” He was wondering how something as unimportant and insignificant could have upset Charlotte so deeply. “I don’t even remember her name anymore.” Rudi had a repulsive habit of smoothing things over instead of accepting blame for what he did wrong.

“It’s not always about you, Rudi. I’m not the same as a year ago. I left that life behind.”

“Beware, you are becoming terribly boring,” Rudi warned. “The one that lives with a cripple learns to limp, they say.”

Charlotte ignored that comment and turned away from Rudi. She was sober and it wasn’t difficult for her to maintain her facade of unflappable calm.

“I think we've had enough fun up here,” she said to Gereon. “Could we just drive home now?”

“Oh, yes,” Gereon nodded. He was proud of himself for staying composed and not lashing out. Excellent. With a bit of support from Gräf and Charlotte, he walked out of this evening without getting engaged in a fight or drama. Soon he would enjoy the security of his bedroom, burrow under the blanket and cuddle with his sweetheart, making a perfect ending to this aggravating day.

*

Charlotte thanked everybody for the nice party and said goodbye. Her friends saw her off with waves and smiles. Gräf, Fred and the constables from the Burg were also leaving early, as they had to be on duty from 7 a.m. the next morning.

Herr Haas accompanied Charlotte out of the bistro, but he didn’t want to wish her good night yet.

“Could you, please, cross the street and wait there for a few minutes? I promise you will see something exciting in a moment.”

Before Charlotte could open her mouth to ask him if it was absolutely necessary, Herr Haas rushed back into the bistro.

“I guess it would be impolite to simply walk away now,” she looked at Gereon and shrugged her shoulders. “He said that it wouldn’t take longer than a few minutes.”

“Something exciting,” Gereon mimicked Haas by repeating his weird promise. “Is he arranging a circus parade or a carnival procession?”

They didn’t have to wait long. They heard a loud whistle somewhere high above their heads. It was followed by a thundering crackle and a loud boom. An orange comet with a silver twinkling tail soared into the night sky. After a few seconds, a fountain of red sparks and a trail of green stars showed up beside it. Fireworks!

Gereon cringed at the sight of the bright flashing lights and sounds of explosions. He could swear he smelt gunpowder in the air. All this came completely out of the blue, without warning, and although he knew that there was no real danger, he felt a tingling sensation in his whole body. Panic, his typical reaction to stressful or scary situations, acquired at war. Over ten years had passed since he returned from that hell, but he still vividly remembered the roar of cannons and the shrill of shells passing dangerously close over the trenches. Every shell left a parabolic line in its course, exactly like these firework rockets. Combined with the alcohol he had drunk during the evening, this sudden rush of adrenaline increased his heart rate and blurred his vision.

“Gereon, Gereon! Can you hear me?” Charlotte pulled at his sleeve and gave his arm a firm squeeze, distracting his attention from what was going on up in the sky. “Should we walk to the car now?”

Charlotte’s voice seemed to echo from the bottom of a deep well. No, he wouldn’t collapse here in front of her. He wouldn’t reveal his shell shock to his rival and a group of curious passers-by who flocked around to stare at the fireworks, whooping and expressing their delight. Anger suppressed his fear and energised him, but he knew that this outburst of energy wouldn’t last long, and he had to find his car before it ended.

“I’d better go,” he finally managed to say. “And you… stay here and thank that moron for making this evening truly exciting.”

“Yes, I’ll do that,” Charlotte answered gloomily. “I’ll catch up with you in ten minutes.”

He didn’t bother to listen to her and started walking away before she finished talking. Gereon didn’t treat her fairly, pouring his frustration on her as if it was her fault that he had to go through another unpleasant experience instead of watching a circus procession. But it was no one’s fault. In this particular situation Herr Haas didn’t mean to be a moron and do harm to Gereon. It was his attempt to make an impression on her and he hardly had a hidden agenda behind his surprise.

When Gereon was in such a state of mind, he could insult her, intentionally or not. He used this self-defence mechanism when coping with threats or stress and afterwards felt bad for being mean to her.

Charlotte’s reflections were interrupted by Herr Haas, who jumped out of the bistro. He had the triumphant face of a person who had accomplished something great and anticipated admiration for his efforts.

“How did you like my surprise?” he asked.

“It was very creative,” Charlotte’s lips quirked into a light smile. “Did you arrange it all by yourself?”

“Yes. I installed the fireworks on the roof of the house before we gathered in the bistro. And I made those rockets by myself too,” Herr Haas loved talking about his hobby and had a hard time stopping once he was on a roll. “I took up pyrotechnics some three years ago and since then I’ve spent most of my free time playing around with fireworks. Certain elements create certain colours, one just needs the correct chemistry and accurate proportions of strontium, barium, copper and sodium. Orange, red and green are easy to produce, but blue is challenging. I’m not quite happy with how it turned out. Rather dim, could have been brighter.”

Herr Haas was seeking recognition from her, expecting to be showered in praise or given a reward for his accomplishment. Sometimes grown men behaved like little boys, making puppy eyes and trying to trigger a nurturing response in women. Usually Charlotte ignored such behaviour, but now a strong maternal instinct made her feel protective towards this stout clumsy man. She pictured him as a child, bullied for his excess weight and protruding front teeth, and probably neglected by his parents. He was curious about fire and played with matches, lighters, and different toy weapons, dreaming about growing big and gaining power over nature and people.

“Your fireworks are simply outstanding!” Charlotte came up with a sincere and heartfelt compliment. “Those fountains of stars and sparkles were gorgeous. For a couple of minutes the sky was as light as in the daytime. Maybe you could start a side business? People would gladly order fireworks for their parties.”

“You are very kind dear Charlotte, but it’s your dazzling smile that is lighting up the night around us,” his whole being emitted hope and desire. “I crave to know you better. Would you like me to drive you home now? Or somewhere else?”

“Aw…” she hated to upset him but also realised that it would be even more cruel to give him false hope. “Thanks, but I already have a lift. Someone is waiting for me around the corner,” she waved her hand in the direction of Schönhauser Allee.

“I see,” Herr Haas looked dispirited and wretched. “So there is someone else,” he muttered.

She nodded to confirm his assumption. Another sad little boy needed her more than Haas.

“I appreciate your honesty,” he said bowing his head. “Good night and see you at the Burg.”

“Good night and drive safely!”

It was not the first time Charlotte rejected a romantic advance from a man. In fact, she was glad that she got a chance to put the message across in a crystal clear manner. Herr Haas was certainly devastated as his efforts hadn’t borne fruit, but Charlotte knew that he would recover from his disappointment. There were plenty more fish in the sea, and one day he would meet someone with whom he’d have perfect chemistry. Just like she did.

Charlotte hurried her pace, almost running towards Gereon’s car. She was worrying about him. Alcohol, strong negative emotions and bloody fireworks could trigger a major panic attack in him. She prayed that it hadn’t hit him somewhere en route and he hadn’t dropped to the pavement or even worse in the middle of a crossroad.

To her huge relief she found him in the car fully conscious. He seemed to have recovered from the stressful situation.

“Are you all right?” Charlotte asked, sinking into the passenger seat. “I swear I had no idea about that pyrotechnic display. I’m really sorry.”

“Never mind. I’m sorry that I snapped at you. It wasn’t your fault. That guy is a total disaster.”

“A bull in a china shop,” Charlotte agreed.

Gereon rotated the key in the ignition, moved the gearstick into first gear and slid the car into drive. “And he has a crush on you.”

“He does. But fortunately he accepted my rejection gracefully. I don’t think we’ll meet outside the shooting range anymore.”

“Very good,” Gereon didn’t hide his satisfaction. “I can teach you how to drive a car. We don’t need him for that.”

Charlotte was about to say that on nights like this a teetotaller would make a safer driver, but she didn’t want to accuse or distract Gereon who was swerving and weaving down the road, unsuccessfully trying to keep in his own lane. Drunk driving was unacceptable, especially for a police officer, and she hoped that they would reach their destination without getting in a traffic accident. Enough adventures for the day.

**

They rode the rest of the way home in silence, although Gereon didn’t hear total silence. The crack of exploding fireworks was still humming in his ears. Mondays always sucked, but this one was particularly nerve-wracking, progressing from bad to worse and culminating in nightmarish entertainment they were exposed to without proper warning.

Gereon was the first to step over the threshold of his flat. It was a professional habit of his to check if a place was safe and only after that let Charlotte in. He switched on the light and noticed a white envelope on the floor that had been dropped through the letter box. His name and address were typewritten on the front and the sender’s name wasn’t marked anywhere at all. The postmark was smudged, but Berlin was still legible. The borough was harder to decipher, but it ended with -berg. Either Lichtenberg or Schöneberg. Gereon excused himself and went to the living room. He wanted to be alone when he read this letter because it might be from Anno.

The sheet of paper inside the envelope was plain, without any emblems or watermarks. The text was printed and rather short.

“Hello!

I know that you’ve been looking for me today. Don’t even bother. I’m keeping a very low profile.

My reliable source is about to supply me with information of vital importance. When published, it will stir up a wasps' nest.

For urgent matters, please contact me via Fr. B.

P. S. Burn this letter… now!”

Kattelbach and his persistent attempts to unveil the nasty secrets of Germany’s highest military ranks and corrupted politicians. One crazy journalist conspiring against the huge machine that would soon grind him down into dust. Well, he had his reliable sources, he had Frau Behnke and a few reckless editors who participated in this risky venture, but it was clear that they had picked a losing fight. Wendt, Seegers, Nyssen and their allies had money, power and immense resources. The results of Kattelbach’s investigations published in newspapers surely annoyed them but didn’t cut the ground from under their feet. It would be wiser to stay away from that mess, before his name was added to the list of people who would eventually be hauled out of the Spree with bullets in their heads.

Gereon found Charlotte in the bedroom, standing by the window, either watching the street or studying her own reflection in the dark windowpane.

“It wasn’t from Anno,” he said, but she didn’t respond.

She was absorbed in her thoughts as if something disturbing was bothering her. Judging by the lack of reaction it wasn’t the letter that had been delivered while they were away. Most likely she was in low spirits because of his dumb, inept behaviour. Did he embarrass her in front of her friends? That must be it. She was ashamed of him and regretted inviting him to the party. He could have done better at the bistro. He could have been less grim and more talkative. Most of the time he was standing beside Charlotte stony-faced, listening to what others were saying and planning revenge attacks on the men who flirted with her. And why did he drink so much when he knew he had to drive home afterwards? Whiskey sour, schnapps, absinthe, or whatever that green liquor diluted with sugary water was. And more whiskey…

It’s not always about you, he heard her saying tonight. It probably wasn’t about him and his wounded ego after all, but about Charlotte. Would he dare to ask what was weighing on her mind? Gereon approached her from behind and softly nuzzled her neck.

“You must be tired. It’s been a long day,” he whispered in her ear and smelt the stench of alcohol on his own breath.

“Yes. For me it started at 5 a.m.”

He wrapped his arms around her and slowly ran his hands over her stomach, carefully rubbing it all over.

“What are you doing?” Charlotte removed his hands, jerked away and gave him a concerned look.

“I’m sorry. It just came to my mind what nonsense Gennat was saying to me today in his office after you had left.”

“Gennat? What did he say?” her cheeks grew red from agitation and her eyes widened with alarm, as if she sensed that some kind of trouble was coming.

“He suspects that you are… expecting.”

Charlotte’s heart sank at the sound of this word.

“Oh,” she drew a deep, shuddering breath. “And you suspect that I’m not. But you decided to feel my stomach to make sure.”

He stood motionless for a few moments, examining Charlotte with a sharp stare.

“Are you?” an incredulous look flashed across his face.

“Well…” the words seemed to get stuck in her throat, “I don’t know. But my period is late.”

“How many days?”

She lowered her head to avoid his piercing gaze.

“About seven or eight…” her voice broke, and she was unable to finish the phrase.

“That’s nothing, your body’s response to stress,” he reached out for her with a soothing touch, but she pulled her arm away from him.

“Seven or eight weeks, not days,” Charlotte blurted out. And maybe even nine, she thought to herself but didn’t say it aloud.

Struck by her words, Gereon stared at her in total disbelief as if his brain had all of a sudden gotten rid of the haze of booze, and he saw that instead of a pettable domestic cat he had a wounded lioness in his bedroom. The green flecks in her hazel eyes were more pronounced than ever, and her breast heaved as she struggled to control a fierce emotion he had never seen on her face before.

“What?” he asked hoarsely, absolutely mortified. “And you’ve stayed silent!” A sudden sharp pain ripped through his heart and a new spasm of anxiety gnawed at his insides.

“In the cabin I realised that I skipped my period in March. And I thought that I might be… That it might be… But then he kicked me here,” she pointed at the area under her ribcage, “I had cramps in my lower stomach, and I was bleeding,” she made a helpless gesture. “I decided that it was gone.”

“Bleeding you say. But not a period?” His own blood ran cold when he heard Charlotte’s explanation. The word he referred to his father, who caused her incredible suffering she hadn’t told him about before.

“No. Just some blood. Not much.”

“Charlotte, you need to see a doctor. For real!” an exasperated exhale left his chest. “It’s probably… something serious. Let me book an appointment for you,” and as if foreseeing her objection, he added, “We are not taking any chances with your health.”

“All right,” she said shakily. “I will see the doctor.”

“Have you ever been… before?” They both deliberately avoided the terms pregnant, pregnancy and miscarriage.

“Believe it or not but never. Not even once. And I thought it couldn’t happen to me because my method is absolutely reliable.”

“It could be anything,” Gereon made an awkward attempt to reassure her. “I mean some other condition. The doctor will examine you, run some tests, and maybe prescribe a treatment.” Gereon realised that he was saying something really stupid and scolded himself for it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Charlotte expected him to say something else. For example, that they had been in a few extremely dangerous situations and survived. That they would survive this one too. Restrained and detached, Gereon didn’t show much emotion. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pensively studied the floral pattern of the wallpaper and horizontal creases on the blackout curtains. Even more withdrawn than usual. This might be the beginning of the end of their relationship.

Charlotte couldn’t feign calmness when she was almost fainting from anxiety. She was on the verge of tears again but didn’t want him to see her crying and think that she was looking for his sympathy or trying to manipulate him. She quietly went to the bathroom and washed her face with cold water, smudging her make-up all over her face. Smeared lipstick and running mascara made her look as miserable as she felt.

Perhaps she was overreacting, but Gereon’s words hurt her a lot. First, he stubbornly denied the possibility of her being pregnant, even though she told him honestly that she had missed two periods in a row. And when he finally admitted it was feasible, he insisted on fixing a medical appointment for her and getting treatment for her condition. Was it a covert way to speak about abortion? But abortions were still illegal, and no decent doctor would put his reputation and freedom at risk by getting involved in such procedures.

Charlotte opened the medicine cabinet to find it absolutely empty. No bottle with sleeping pills, no vials with morphine, even the cough syrup and bandage rolls had disappeared. Did he hide the medicine because he thought that she might be deliberately self-harming? Did he really believe that she poisoned herself intentionally? She knew she had been too sensitive lately, and he surely noticed her weird impulses and rapid mood swings, but she had never been suicidal.

Charlotte assumed that they had reached a high level of understanding and developed a special connection with each other, but she was wrong. Most likely, he doubted that the baby was his, suspecting that she slept with someone else when living with him or immediately before they got together. That idea made her feel sick inside. Gereon knew about her disreputable past, about the hundreds of patrons she had over the last ten years. A stain that couldn’t be removed, filth that could never be washed away.

He wanted them to just be friends who slept together, and a baby was the last thing he needed. A lonely tear made its way down Charlotte’s cheek. So unfair and so untimely. Every new obstacle was bigger than the previous one, and their frequency increased, as if the universe was screaming at them that they didn’t deserve to live happily or didn’t deserve to live at all.

***

For a while, Gereon sat motionless in the bedroom, staring into space. After almost getting a panic attack because of Haas’s pyrotechnic surprise, he was sure that this endless day couldn’t escalate any more. But it did. A bunch of questions swarmed in his head. How come Gennat, an elderly man who didn’t have a wife or kids of his own, spotted these changes in Charlotte, and he didn’t? What did Charlotte plan to do next? She said that she only realised she might be expecting after being abducted. But why didn’t she tell him anything after he rescued her from the cabin? Did she take his sleeping pills in an attempt to induce a miscarriage, risking the life of the fetus and her own life as well? Obviously, she didn’t even consider keeping the child and was seeking a solution to this problem on her own. Any attempt to make Charlotte change her mind might frighten her away, and he didn’t want to lose her.

He remembered her saying that she wasn’t looking for a steady relationship and had no intentions to have a child in the future. Her goal was to obtain a permanent position in the Police Presidium and become independent in every sense. But a lot of things had happened since then, and he hoped that she had at least changed her mind about the relationship part. She was so sweet and kind to him, making him feel cherished and appreciated, but on the other hand, she hid many important things from him too. Not only this huge issue that had risen to the surface by pure accident, but for example the secret about her real father and multiple half-siblings, including the famous boxer who lived somewhere near Hannover. She barely answered any questions he asked her about being captured by his father.

His mind was clogged with all these things that were between them. Charlotte didn’t trust him, and he couldn’t blame her for that. She was a smart person, too smart to trust the master of lies and deception. Of course she realised that he wasn’t completely sincere with her. He didn’t update her on Anno and his psychotherapy sessions, he didn’t let her read the anonymous letter that provoked the assault, he didn’t have the guts to mention that his father had regained consciousness, and soon she might be involved in a big scandalous trial in Köln. He had also concealed a few more awkward episodes of his past, the choices he wasn’t proud of. Gräf said that mistrust could tear them apart, and he seemed to have a point there. Certain things were often more evident to those who were watching them from the sidelines.

Gereon went to the kitchen, closed the door and opened the window, letting the cool night air in. He needed a cigarette but didn’t want to fill the flat with smoke. Recently Charlotte had been sensitive to strong smells, including tobacco. She had opened the window in Gennat’s office because she couldn’t stand the stink of his cigar. A few weeks ago, Charlotte was smoking about half a pack a day, but after the abduction, she abruptly quit smoking, apparently because of her upset stomach. She also avoided alcohol and ate very little. No breakfast and a few spoonfuls of soup or stew for lunch and dinner. She had looked anaemic since last autumn but these days she wasn’t only unnaturally pale but also terribly thin. When he embraced Charlotte, she was more fragile than ever, as if she was slowly melting away in his arms.

His father was totally depraved to assault a woman so brutally, and one who was possibly carrying his grandchild. Nothing could justify those cruel acts of abuse, not even insanity. When Charlotte told him that she was kicked in the area under her ribcage, a horrible image flashed in front of his eyes. His father’s heavy hunting boots with steel toe caps. Such a blow might have caused a rib fracture or internal injuries, which could be the reason for her sickness and absence of appetite. Charlotte had spent almost two weeks starving, scared to death, chained and in lots of pain, anticipating that his father would torture her even more and eventually kill her.

After going through such a traumatic experience, no one could resume normal life in the blink of an eye. It was difficult to measure the true extent of the violence Charlotte had faced until she and his father revealed the circumstances of what happened here in Berlin, in the car and inside the solitary hunting cabin in Königsdorfer Forst. At the moment, Gereon could only speculate about it, but the lacerations, scratches, burn wounds and bruises all over Charlotte’s body spoke volumes. Instead of going easy on herself, she returned to work in the Homicide Unit to investigate murders and other serious crimes. No wonder she got overwhelmed at the weekly briefing. That would be too much for anyone. That was too much for Charlotte.

Gereon heard her returning to the bedroom and switching off the light. His first impulse was to go up to her and give her a hug, to pat her on the head and say a few words of support, but then he thought that she was hardly in the mood to talk to him and would most likely push him away again.

Gereon ground his cigarette in the ashtray and forced himself to go to the bathroom and wash up. He didn’t care if he was clean or filthy that night, but it would be disgusting for Charlotte to have him next to her stinking of booze, cigarettes and sweat. He needed to get some sleep and stop tormenting himself with intrusive anxious thoughts. He couldn’t consider anything before Charlotte saw the doctor and found out for sure what was going on with her. They definitely couldn’t go to the police clinic with a health issue this sensitive. He would find the best private doctor in Berlin and book an urgent appointment for her, hoping that she would let him accompany her and hear the doctor’s verdict, whatever it was going to be.

It was quarter past midnight when Gereon crawled into bed beside Charlotte. It felt weird to go to sleep without a usual kiss and a cuddle. He was about to embrace her but then changed his mind. His deep-rooted fear of rejection prevented him from doing so. The emotional stress of the past few weeks had been draining for him, he could only imagine how it was for her. He expected her to find him and reach for him under the blanket at some point, but Charlotte remained on her side of the bed, lying on her stomach as if protecting it from his touch. She barely moved or stirred during the rest of the night, and Gereon thought that he had probably lost her already.

Chapter Text

The morning after Charlotte’s birthday party Gereon woke up with a terrible hangover, remorseful for drinking too much and acting stupidly. Ugly, negative memories popped up in his head one after the next. He snapped at Charlotte in the street and walked away, he scared her with his erratic drink-driving, and finally he touched her stomach and made insensitive comments about her medical condition. He threw hurtful questions right in her face, the worst of which was about her previous pregnancies. So what if her patrons had got her pregnant in the past and she had gone through painful and bloody abortions? It was none of his business, and it didn’t make her current circumstances any different. He wanted to apologise and tell her that he didn’t mean to downplay her situation, but he couldn’t make himself raise the topic. Engaging in a confrontation he wasn’t able to handle would do more harm than good.

Over the next couple of days they talked very little, and Charlotte was quieter than ever in his presence. Since childhood Gereon had dreaded the silent treatment, the most severe and humiliating form of punishment; after doing something wrong, he became absolutely invisible to his family. They ignored him for days or even weeks, and when he came with apologies, his parents turned away from him, pretending that they couldn’t hear him. Gereon wasn’t allowed to have meals with the others in the dining room, and he was supposed to stay in his room every evening, listening to the sounds downstairs, the clinking of cutlery and the echo of conversations, waiting for the housemaid to bring him some cold leftovers when everybody else was done with their own dinner. He was a helpless victim, and nothing he did softened the perpetrators’ hearts or mitigated their punishment. They kept Gereon suffering from exclusion and rejection until the housemaid reported that the child was refusing to eat or get out of bed. Then his father would burst into his room, spank him with the leather belt and yell that the Lord disapproved of his malice and stubbornness. That awful ritual marked the end of the silent treatment.

Of course, it wasn’t the same with Charlotte because she wasn’t shunning him or displaying any signs of hostility. Their communication just didn’t go beyond a handful of short common phrases. In the morning she woke up early, fixed breakfast and left for work on the tram. At the Burg, they hardly saw one another, as they no longer worked in a pair. Each of them was busy with different tasks and cases. In the evening Charlotte came home late, cooked a light dinner and spent a few hours in her reading corner, preparing for the theoretical part of her upcoming gun licence test and drilling “The Marksmanship Manual”, “The Guide to Gun Safety” and “The Book of Firearms Assembly/Disassembly”.

They didn’t exchange their news or discuss what had happened to them during the day. They avoided touching and looking one another in the eye. Charlotte became very self-conscious around him. She locked herself in the bathroom to change her clothes, which she never did before. She didn’t want him to catch even a glimpse of her naked body. But what upset him most was that she didn’t wear the swan pendant. His gift lay abandoned on her nightstand, and he feared that she would eventually return it to him as a definitive sign of their break-up. They still lived under the same roof and slept in the same bed, but it felt as if they were no longer together, and the abyss between them grew bigger day by day.

Gereon kept speculating whether there was still a chance of getting back to the place they used to be and re-establishing their intimacy. He hoped that the issue might resolve itself, that Charlotte would come out of the bathroom saying that her period had started. They would both breathe a sigh of relief, and life would gradually return to normal. Days flew by, but nothing changed, and he knew that they couldn’t swim against the tide for much longer.

Gereon had completely shut down, as he couldn’t bring himself to put into words the emotions that flooded his psyche. He was becoming increasingly confused and trapped inside his own head. The sinking feeling of doom and his racing thoughts made him spaced-out and absent-minded. Most of the time he managed to suppress and hide his emotions fairly well, but sometimes they spun out of control suddenly, causing him anxiety attacks. Any small thing could be the trigger. An incoming letter without a sender’s address or a ringing telephone when he didn’t know who was calling.

He couldn’t bear to see children and pram-pushing mothers. Gereon hadn’t paid them much attention before, unless the children were being especially noisy, but now he noticed them everywhere. On the street, in cafés, on public transport and in grocery shops. Chubby toddlers in fancy strollers on Unter den Linden avenue and grubby little urchins begging near the Alexanderplatz metro station. Neatly braided girls queueing up before an ice-cream vendor, and a loud flock of boys kicking a ball in the back garden of a house. If he looked at children for longer than two seconds, anxiety took over and he felt disoriented, as if he were losing his grip on the present, completely detached from what was going around him.

*

Gereon remembered his promise to find Charlotte the very best doctor and was determined to keep it. His first idea was Charité, the largest hospital in the country and one of the best in Europe. However, on second thoughts he decided against it, as the police clinic belonged to Charité, and they shared a patient record register. In a situation as delicate as this, he preferred to act discreetly. It had to be a private doctor who would treat Charlotte with absolute confidentiality, maybe anonymously.

Gereon looked through the advertisements printed in the newspapers and made a few calls. The first doctor he contacted positioned himself as a follower of classical medicine and took pride in his time-honoured leech treatments. Gereon pictured thick wriggling worms biting Charlotte and sucking her blood, and he hurried to end the conversation. Another doctor introduced himself as a progressive eugenicist, and Gereon thought that he might be the competent physician he was searching for. Before booking an appointment, he asked whether the doctor could assess the impact of substance abuse on a patient’s health. On hearing this question, the doctor dropped his friendly tone and declared that his ethics forbade him to enable drug addicts to procreate. He propagated forced sterilisation of mentally deficient people, particularly promiscuous women. Gereon hung up quickly without saying goodbye.

He hadn’t expected it to be so difficult to find a good obstetrics clinic in a city the size of Berlin. Gereon found out that Friedrich Wilhelm University kept a list of all their graduates who were practising doctors, and he decided that it might be a more reliable source of information than paid newspaper announcements and word-of-mouth advertising. Gereon was intending to visit the medical campus, but when he contacted the university’s enquiry desk, he was advised to go to the office for administrative and academic affairs on Opernplatz.

Having been disciplined by Gennat, Gereon dealt with his private issues strictly during off-duty hours. Fortunately, the lunch break at the Burg didn’t overlap with the one at the university offices. A fifteen-minute walk at a brisk pace was enough to reach the square. Gereon hated wide-open spaces, but this particular one didn’t intimidate him.

For a brief moment he stared at the green dome of St. Hedwig's Cathedral and felt a twinge of guilt, as he hadn’t attended Sunday Mass for a few months. Would Charlotte ever consider accompanying him to church? Not for religious reasons, but out of curiosity. Unlike Köln Cathedral, St. Hedwig’s had superb acoustics, ideal for a pipe organ and choir. She would probably like its grand baroque interior and enjoy the musical performances. Would she nudge him with her elbow when she noticed that he didn’t join in the hymns along with the other parishioners but just opened his mouth and mimed?

As a child Gereon sang in the Köln Boys’ Choir, but when he entered puberty and his voice broke, he stopped singing. The choir director had begged him not to leave: “You are a promising young singer, Gereon. Stick with us through your voice change and see where it takes you. We’ll help you strengthen your vocal cords and grow into your adult voice.” Gereon didn’t want to stay. He was embarrassed of the crack, croak and squeak that escaped from his throat when he started to sing. At home he was told to choose a more masculine hobby such as archery, fencing or horse-riding. Shame and the lack of support affected all areas of his life, all the decisions he made.

Another stunning piece of architecture opposite him was the Berlin State Opera. A huge programme poster on its façade advertised an upcoming premiere, Darius Milhaud's “Christophe Colomb”. The opera would be performed in German, so it would be easy to follow. Berlin was abuzz with different cultural events, but Gereon hadn’t explored any of them yet. Over the past year he had been too busy, too messed up and too lazy to engage with arts and culture. Well, Helga insisted once that the three of them visit the Museum of Natural History because Moritz wanted to see the dinosaur skeletons and a stuffed mammoth. And that was it. Whenever Helga asked Gereon to buy tickets to the theatre or the philharmonic hall, he always came up with an excuse and refused to go. Soon she stopped asking.

Going to the theatre with Charlotte could be a pretty wonderful experience. She would dress up for the night and apply evening make-up: a bit of shimmer, bright eyes and bold lips. He would need every last bit of willpower to keep his hands off her and not to pull her into bed instead of taking her out. In the opera house, men would stare at Charlotte with adoration and women with envy. He would have a hard time following the performance, as his gaze, all his thoughts and all his desires would be fixed on her. He missed going out with Charlotte.

Gereon shook his head in an effort to get rid of those silly, irrelevant dreams and walked decisively towards the main university building. He stopped at the front door and studied the detailed map of the premises, on which the different departments and entrances were marked with letters and numbers. The administrative office was located behind the Faculty of Law.

The only elevator in that part of the building was crowded, and Gereon had to climb the stairs. The students seemed to be having a break between lectures. They were scattered through the corridors and occupied wide windowsills, eating sandwiches, smoking and chattering. Although they were only five to ten years younger than Gereon, it felt like there was a big generational gap between them. He was an alien in their environment. None of these young people had been in the trenches, that was it.

The majority of the students were men, but he spotted a few women too. Strangely enough, Gereon saw one familiar face among them. A studious-looking girl with a thick braid whom he had met recently at Charlotte’s party. A rare type of woman who didn’t want to look attractive. Her thick-rimmed glasses, unflattering brown dress and ugly beige stockings that wrinkled behind her knees shouted that she had chosen to present herself as smart and not as pretty. Gereon remembered that this girl had a compound first name. Marie Anne, or Marie Louise, or was it Louise-Marie…

Now she was gesticulating vigorously and loudly explaining something important to a group of fellow students who surrounded her on all sides. As he passed by, Gereon could hear their spirited verbal exchanges. The girl was apparently a convinced communist, she propagated the principles of economic equality and spoke about the reduction of class distinctions, referring to the theories of American scientists and deliberately mixing German with English. That category of communists annoyed Gereon the most. It was easy to play a friend of the working-class while belonging to the upper crust. Only wealthy parents with a high social position could give their daughter a university education.

Gereon thought he would rather see Charlotte in place of this young woman. He remembered Gräf’s words that a girl as brainy as Charlotte deserved to be at a university rather than a brothel. If given the chance, she would become an excellent student and develop into a savvy professional. It was so unfair that instead of going to school, she had had to spend her young years earning money day and night and providing for her whole family.

The secretary at the academic office was busy talking on the telephone, and Gereon had to wait for her to finish her call and direct her attention to him. He found a brass standing ashtray in front of the open window and lit a cigarette to fill the time. He was asking himself whether he had the right to judge the braided girl for coming from the upper class but lobbying for the interests of the poor.

Gereon never appreciated his past life, the privileges he had been given from birth. The opportunity to study at a private boys’ school and later at the lyceum. He could have enrolled at university if he had wished. His father persuaded him to apply to the Faculty of Law in Bonn and promised to pay for his tuition and accommodation, but Gereon refused to leave Köln. He had been bullied at school and in the army, and he was afraid that the same might happen again at university. And he wanted to stay close to Helga, another sound reason for not moving to Bonn.

The Police Presidium of Köln was a completely safe space for him, as no one dared to tease the chief’s son. Quite the opposite: the members of staff there welcomed him with fawning smiles and fussed over him as if he were a sacred cow in a Hindu temple. He passed all his qualification exams on the first attempt, and not because he was particularly clever or well prepared. Gennat’s words about him having the inside track for the positions in the police force were quite truthful.

In Köln they didn’t burden him with any dirty or dangerous tasks, and he served in the least challenging division, the Vice Squad. Compared with the Homicide Unit, it was a really cushy job. He didn’t have to wake up early in the morning and hurry to the Presidium. He usually arrived a couple of hours before lunch and did some reporting on the cases he had tackled the previous night. Then he had a leisurely meal in a nearby cafeteria and ambled back to his office to chat with Arthur Besseler, another person who had a special advantage (Arthur’s father was a judge in the Court of Justice). They worked in a pair and made plans for the upcoming evening, whether to investigate a casino for shady gambling or a restaurant for unlawful sales of alcohol.

Quite often they handed out a handful of fines and then spent the rest of the night out, drinking and dancing. Sometimes Gereon lost sight of his friend and carried on partying alone, ending up on the “wrong” side of the Rhine, in places like the Odeon, an infamous nightclub with explicit cabaret, rich clientele and kinky playrooms. It was his duty to check out such venues and try to deal with illegal prostitution. The women who worked there knew he was in the police, and those who sold sex without a licence were afraid of being arrested. They offered their services for free, and on the nights when he was drugged, hammered and desperate, he accepted their proposals. In most cases, he couldn’t get hard despite their efforts. No matter what tricks they performed, his cock remained defiantly limp. These situations fed his insecurities, his deepest doubts about himself, unresolved since childhood. He accepted the idea that he was a sore loser who couldn’t trust his own body, incapable of having a casual hook-up. Any man could do it, just not him.

Gereon never discussed those episodes with anyone. He hid his fiascos even from Thomas, his closest friend, ashamed to admit that he was hopelessly defective. When other men bragged about their sexual conquests, he kept silent or changed the subject, and many suspected him of being gay and spread ridiculous gossip behind his back. He had been poisoned by rumour and negativity for so many years. Beneath the thick layer of self-loathing, a huge amount of hatred was festering inside him. Hatred towards his cruel, denigrating father who called him a sissy and a pansy and didn’t miss an opportunity to make a disparaging comment about his lack of intelligence or masculinity.

When Gereon came back from the war, he was incapable of taking responsibility for his own actions and choices. It was so easy to pin all the blame on his father and Anno, on the nasty bullies around him and on a perfidious woman whom he had fallen in love with. But it was not his father who acquired morphine from a shady drug dealer and poured it into his mouth. It was not his father who made him go to the Odeon and exploit prostitutes. And it was certainly not his father who had killed a civilian and concealed the traces of the murder, stealing a piece of evidence from the Forensics Unit and replacing it with a false one. He had done all those terrible things himself. He wasn’t any better than the girl with the braid; he was much worse, much more hypocritical. Would Charlotte despise him for what he had done in the past if he opened up to her?

Gereon finished his cigarette and approached the secretary, who was finally free and ready to talk to him. He flashed his police badge and introduced himself, mentioning the Police Presidium of Berlin and omitting the Homicide Unit. The secretary listened to his request without blinking, checked the medical faculty records and advised him to get in touch with Professor Heinz Hastreiter, who specialised in obstetrics and women’s reproductive conditions. His intensive research career and broad scientific interests encompassed many disciplines, including pharmacology and neurology. In his doctoral thesis, Hastreiter had described the effects of parental drug use on fetus development, which perfectly corresponded to Gereon’s query. Alongside his academic activities, the professor ran his own private practice on Bauhofstraße, where a team of qualified doctors consulted patients from Monday to Thursday, and the most difficult cases were addressed by Hastreiter himself on Fridays.

Gereon knew that his lunch break was already over, but he didn’t care. At last, he knew where Charlotte could receive proper treatment, and he didn’t want to procrastinate. If Gennat attacked him in the Burg, he would eagerly explain what had kept him out of the office.

Hastreiter’s clinic was located immediately behind the university library, so Gereon didn’t have to waste time catching a taxi or travelling there. The nurse behind the reception desk told him that the professor’s appointments were booked out for the next month, but Gereon was persuasive, assuring her that his case was not only urgent, but also interesting from a scientific point of view. He said that he would gladly pay an express fee, which was fifty percent more than their usual rate. After a brief hesitation, the nurse scribbled something in her notepad and handed it to him. Twenty marks in cash and half the bill upfront. The nurse was demanding a bribe from the police officer, and he was about to give it to her. This country was rotten to the core, and he couldn’t do anything about it. With gritted teeth and a sigh of resignation, Gereon reached for his wallet and cheque book.

**

When Gereon got back to work, constable Napp, who guarded the main entrance to the Burg, told him that a young man had come to ask after him about an hour ago and was now waiting for him in the interrogation room upstairs. Gereon frowned and clenched his jaw, as he hated that kind of surprise. The only young man he knew outside his workplace was Moritz, but it seemed unlikely that his nephew would come to the Burg unless something really bad had happened to him or his mother. Gereon hadn’t spoken to Moritz since late December. On Christmas Eve Helga had arrived at his place with her husband and two constables, demanding that Moritz move in with her immediately, whether he liked it or not.

Before entering the interrogation room Gereon breathed in for four and then exhaled sharply. Was there more terrible news behind that ugly black door? To his relief, the boy he found inside the room was not his nephew, but another dark-haired youth close to Moritz in age. The boy rose from his chair and stepped forward to greet Gereon. He was tall and skinny, and looked rather dapper in a navy-blue cashmere jumper over a white shirt with a starched collar. A neat haircut and clean fingernails were silent markers that he belonged to the middle class. What kind of business could a boy like that have in the Police Presidium?

The boy was nervous to the point of speechlessness. He stared at Gereon with his big grey eyes, as if trying to figure out whether the man standing in front of him was a good or a bad cop.

“Hello. I’m Kommissar Rath,” Gereon didn’t smile or extend his hand for a shake. “The constable downstairs said you were asking after me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who are you and to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Ah,” the youngster was clearly embarrassed that he had forgotten to introduce himself. “My name is Dieter Flecks. I’ve got something for you. It’s about the missing girl, Ulrike Krumbiegel.”

The boy pronounced the name as if it must be common knowledge, but it didn’t ring any bells with Gereon. In a huge city like Berlin, dozens of people went missing every week. Young people of his age were particularly prone to running away in search of adventure. Sometimes they were hauled half-way across the country and brought back home. Other times they vanished into thin air.

“That’s good. But I’m not the person you need. Go to the second floor and talk to someone in the Missing Persons Unit. I work in the Homicide Unit, and I’m very busy.”

Gereon was about to leave, but the boy did not want him to go.

“No! Wait!” Dieter raised his voice and made a desperate gesture of protest. “Ulrike is dead, and I know where her body is.”

“Oh, really?” Gereon frowned and took a seat on the opposite side of the desk. He bored into the youngster’s eyes, remaining deadly serious, “I hope you aren’t playing a prank and wasting my time. Tell me everything you know right away.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong!” the boy wrung his hands in despair. “Please promise you won’t throw me in jail.”

“If you haven’t done anything wrong, you have nothing to worry about. Go ahead.”

“Last autumn two of my friends from the parish and I joined the Hitler Youth,” Dieter started his story back in the past. “It’s a group for young people who want to grow strong and rekindle German power.”

“Yes, I know some of their agenda,” Gereon sneered.

“Older members introduce the ideology of National Socialism to new ones, and I got a mentor too. His name is Riki. We went hiking in the forest and learnt to survive in the wild, and…”

“Does this have anything to do with the murder? I don’t have time for your campfire stories,” Gereon tapped the face of his wristwatch, growing impatient.

“It does!” The boy was offended by Gereon’s unfriendly remark. “I want to tell you how I know these folks, right? So… In February we arranged an evening of entertainment together with the Band of German Maidens. That’s where we met Ulrike and her girlfriends. She was mad keen on Riki, and he liked her too, so they started going out. People were making fun of their almost identical nicknames, Riki and Rike, but they didn’t care.”

“What’s your mentor’s full name? If Riki is his nickname…”

“I know him as Riki and he knows me as Dide. We don’t reveal our real names to keep a sense of conspiracy.”

“How clever. So what about this girl, Ulrike?”

“She lives… lived…” the boy awkwardly switched from the present to the past tense, “with her grandparents in Köpenick. Her grandfather runs a watch repair shop on Birkenstraße. Their flat is right above it. Last week Rike was home alone and invited a few friends for a little house party. Me, Riki, Bebe and Ruru. We were playing cards, drinking cider and listening to music. They have a wind-up gramophone and a stack of records. At some point Bebe and Ruru borrowed Ulrike’s bedroom…”

“Gosh, kids these days!” Gereon harrumphed. “How old are you anyway?”

Gereon, who had grown up in the conservative Catholic circles of Köln, couldn’t understand the modern young people of Berlin. Their mentality was so different from his. They were bold and free-spirited, even shameless. Berlin was a city of permissive parents who didn’t supervise their children and allowed incredibly lax behaviour. These youths had been boozing, smoking and getting physical since their early years, and they didn’t see any of these activities as inappropriate. They were constantly looking for fun and excitement, joining underground groups and parties, calling each other strange things that sounded like dogs’ names and getting into all sorts of mischief and trouble. When Gereon talked to Moritz and now to this kid in front of him, he felt old, far behind the times. Like a dinosaur from the museum.

The boy pursed his lips, suppressing irritation, and shot Gereon a brief, hostile glance, “I turned fifteen two weeks ago.”

“Go on.”

“So when Bebe and Ruru locked themselves in Ulrike’s bedroom, Riki said we’d better let them be and asked Ulrike to show us her old man’s workshop. Three of us went downstairs. I was a little tipsy and I’m not interested in watches…” the boy sounded defensive, “…at all. I spent about five minutes down there and then set off home.”

“And your buddy Riki nicked something valuable,” Gereon made a shrewd guess based on his experience of sneaky men who insisted on keeping their real names secret.

“He did. The next morning he bragged about his haul, three Swiss watches and eighty-five marks in cash. By the evening Ulrike’s grandfather noticed he’d been robbed and went to the police station. Rike worked out that Riki had done it and got really mad at him. She demanded that he return everything he’d stolen and threatened to turn him in if he didn’t. But Riki had sold the watches already and had spent most of the money.”

“Oh yes. I bet he bought a nice fat bag of crack to resell at double the price.”

“How do you know all that?” Dieter stared at Gereon in horror.

Of course he knew. Gereon used to buy crack on the street near bars and nightclubs, and quite often young kids with innocent baby faces sold it to him from brown-paper sandwich bags.

“Didn’t your buddy come up with any better solution than killing the girl?” Gereon answered the boy’s question with a question.

“Yes. Riki said that she’d become a nuisance and that he had to get rid of her. He lied to her, said he’d give the watches back and asked her to meet him near the Dahme yacht club on Saturday night after dark. He attacked her from behind,” the boy caught his breath and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. “And he smashed her head in with a big sharp rock.”

Gereon winced instinctively as he pictured a girl with a broken skull abandoned somewhere outdoors. “Why did he confess what he’d done to you?”

“He was demanding that I help him hide the body. He’s blackmailing me! I was in the shop the night it was robbed, and he says he’ll tell the police that I’m the thief. I got so scared! I haven’t seen dead human bodies before and I’m afraid of them. Besides, hiding a corpse is a crime, and I don’t want to end up in prison.”

Gereon lit his cigarette, drew on it heavily and puffed a cloud of smoke right into the boy’s face.

“Dead bodies can’t do you any harm,” Gereon’s voice came out low and gloomy. “People like Riki are the real threat you must be wary of.” He smoked in silence for a while and then continued speaking. “Yesterday I testified in a murder trial. The defendant was sentenced to death and his accomplice to ten years in prison for being an accessory to the crime. You’ve reached the age of criminal responsibility, Herr Flecks, so it would be the same for you if you were to assist Riki.”

Poor Dieter was listening to Gereon, flashing red and white alternately. “I promised Riki I’d help him, but then I came here.”

“That was a wise decision. By the way, why did you ask after me specifically?”

“I panicked, I didn’t know what to do. I opened up to my friend Moritz, the one from the parish. He’s a smart guy, much smarter than me. Last autumn he witnessed a murder when some bloody communist shot our adult instructor. I knew he’d give me good advice, and he did. Moritz told me to go to the Police Presidium and ask after his uncle, Kommissar Rath. He was sure you’d help me.”

In his mind, Gereon thanked his nephew. Moritz trusted him and believed that he could catch the murderer and bring him to justice without putting his friend Dieter in danger.

“When and where will you meet Riki?” Gereon asked.

“Tonight. At the end of the pier at 11 o’clock. I don’t know exactly where the body is. Riki hid it in the shrubs near the water. He wants to put it in a boat, tie a millstone around the girl’s neck and row along the shore to the Oder-Spree-Kanal. We’ll drop the body somewhere before the lock. It will sink, and nobody will ever find it. That’s his plan.”

“I hope you’re telling the truth. You’ll be locked up here for the rest of the day. At half past ten we’ll go to the yacht club together and catch up with your mate.”

“If he sees or hears anything suspicious, he’ll run away,” Dieter warned. “He’s a fast runner.”

“You’ll approach him alone and let him show you where the body is. I’ll give you a torch and you’ll switch it on when you see the corpse. That will be our signal. I’ll detain and handcuff both of you. Keep silent and act surprised.” Gereon rose to his feet, ending the conversation.

“Alright, but what will I do until then?” the boy exclaimed. “I need to tell my mother… And I’m hungry.”

“Look, this place isn’t a restaurant,” Gereon answered mockingly. “And I’m not taking orders. All I can give you is paper, ink and a pen. You’ll have enough time to write down everything you’ve just told me. And if you happen to remember any other details, mention those too. But no campfire stories… The better your statement is, the quicker you’ll be released.”

With those words, Gereon crossed the room to the door.

“And my mother? She’s only got me, I need to let her know…” The boy’s lower lip was quivering, and he was on the verge of crying.

“That you’ve got involved in a homicide case? She’ll pick you up tomorrow from the detention centre. Or perhaps she’ll want you to stay there for a while and consider safer pastimes for the future. Like volunteering in the parish, for example. If you need to use the bathroom, just knock at the door.”

“Detention centre? Will you put me behind bars?” Dieter made a pitiful face. “You promised not to if I cooperated.”

“Did you really think you’d waltz away from this mess completely unscathed?” Gereon huffed and left the room.

He asked a junior constable to guard the boy and to bring him a cup of coffee later in the afternoon. He wasn’t a bad cop after all.

***

In the days after her birthday party Charlotte had little cause for optimism. She was trying to convince herself that even the toughest events in life had a silver lining, but she couldn’t find any bright side to her current desperate situation.

On the other hand, a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, as she no longer had to conceal her morning sickness from Gereon or pretend that she felt fine when she actually felt vile. Although Gereon’s immediate reaction to the confession about her missing period was a flash of horror, by the next morning he seemed to have recovered from the initial shock and regained his composure. It was silly to expect him to rejoice at the news of her pregnancy, but at least he didn’t hate her, didn’t accuse her of anything and didn’t kick her out of his flat.

Gereon was using his universal strategy for dealing with uncomfortable situations. He had retreated into his shell and resisted having any meaningful conversations. Occasionally he cast anguished looks at her and generally became even more attentive to her needs. Every evening he heated the boiler so that she wouldn’t have to wash with cold water. Charlotte wanted to say that running water was a luxury in itself, and that there was no need to waste so much coal on her, but she knew that Gereon meant well and decided to refrain from making any critical comments.

He didn’t smoke in the flat when she was there and delayed having his morning cigarette until he left. In spite of their previous agreement, Gereon began to do some grocery shopping, carrying the heaviest items on his own, be it a sack of carrots and potatoes or a few bottles of beer and ginger ale.

Moreover, he managed to find fresh lemons, which was a real miracle when they were out of season. Charlotte couldn’t help wondering aloud how he had obtained them, and Gereon answered that he had found a supplier who grew lemons in a greenhouse and suggested that next time he could buy oranges too, if she liked. Charlotte had never touched a whole fresh orange. She used to drink mimosa cocktails in Moka Efti, but it had twice as much champagne as orange juice, and she wasn’t sure what a real, raw orange tasted like.

Simply inhaling the citrusy scent of lemon reduced her queasiness when morning sickness kicked in. It was tempting to avoid food altogether in the morning but going to work on an empty stomach made her symptoms worse. A cup of lemon mint tea and some plain buttered bread saved her when she felt too awful for scrambled eggs or porridge.

Charlotte was quietly observing Gereon and trying to understand the underlying reasons for his incredible attentiveness towards her. Eventually she came to the conclusion that he was acting like that out of gratitude. Not long ago she had helped him in his struggle against his withdrawal symptoms, and now he was returning the favour. It was noble of him not to turn his back on her and remain her friend. She was much more used to giving than to receiving, and it wasn’t easy for her to accept his care and generosity, to burden him with her problems.

Charlotte was determined to stay strong and handle whatever life handed her, afraid of becoming caught in a downward spiral. She kept throwing herself into activity, from early morning until night. Shooting sessions and interviews with witnesses and detainees brought colour to the monotonous office hours that were otherwise filled with heaps of paperwork. Inspektion A had many homicide cases under investigation, but the brutal murder of the rabbi’s family stood out. Reporters were claiming that the detectives had made little progress, and that the monstrous killer was still free and hunting for more victims.

Böhm was responsible for the case, and he always made sure that only his male assistants got to do interesting or important work for the investigation. Following the incident at the weekly briefing, Böhm had begun mocking Charlotte more than ever, pouring his frustration and anger on her, usually in front of their colleagues. He gave her a handful of small coins and sent her out to buy cigarettes. When she brought the cigarettes, he asked her to go back and buy a newspaper, or to make him coffee, or to carry his letters to the postbox down the street. She could have refused to obey his commands, reminding him that she held the position of criminal assistant and not secretary, but she knew it would be wiser to bite her tongue and not to argue with her superiors while she was still on her probationary period.

Despite Böhm’s efforts, Charlotte was still working on the investigation. Gennat had negotiated with the banker and arranged a reward for information that led to the murderer’s arrest. The idea of using money to encourage witnesses to come forward was Charlotte’s, and she was tasked with collecting the tip-offs. After the end of every working day Charlotte spent three more hours at the Burg, talking to people who reported anything that they felt might be connected with the murder of the rabbi’s family. Five hundred marks was a huge sum, and it attracted crowds. Potential witnesses queued down the corridors, and Charlotte questioned each of them briefly but thoroughly in the interrogation room downstairs. There might be one valuable tip among dozens of irrelevant ones, and she couldn’t afford to miss it.

****

On Tuesday evening Charlotte left the Burg after 8 o’clock. The grocery stores were already closed, and she was coming home empty-handed. She would quickly throw something simple together, maybe pancakes or some vegetable soup. As she approached the building where they lived, Charlotte noticed that light was streaming through their kitchen window and imagined Gereon scratching his head in front of the empty cupboard. Suddenly she felt an unpleasant sense of déjà vu. The night of her abduction she had come back home late without any groceries and Gereon had made a nasty remark about having only flour, raisins and vinegar for dinner.

She walked into the building quickly and almost bumped into their neighbour, Herr Erler. The old man often took his dog out around that time.

“Good evening, Fräulein Ritter!” Herr Erler tipped his hat and bowed to her courteously. Plato the schnauzer came up to Charlotte wagging his tail and touched her palm with his chilly wet nose, soliciting her attention.

“Evening!” she returned her neighbour’s greeting and bent down to pet his dog.

“Coming home late today,” the neighbour shook his head, expressing empathy. “Busy day at work?”

“Pretty busy,” she admitted. Herr Erler was in the mood for chit-chat, and although Charlotte was tired and hungry, she didn’t want to be rude. “And how was yours?”

“I'm retired, so every day is like a Sunday to me. I went fishing today and caught five pikeperches. We don’t need that many, so I’ve shared them out among the neighbours.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“I gave one to Herr Rath too,” Herr Erler said.

“Aww, thanks a lot from both of us!” Charlotte beamed. “Now I need to hurry up or the pikeperch might rebel and slither back into the Spree.”

Herr Erler laughed at her comment and wished her good night.

Charlotte leapt up the stairs, thinking about the whole fresh fish waiting for her on the kitchen counter. She would have to gut and scale it, and then cook it somehow. Fresh fish usually didn’t smell too bad, but touching its cold, slimy body and cutting its abdominal cavity open would still be disgusting.

When Charlotte finally arrived home, Gereon emerged from the kitchen immediately. His whole face lit up when he saw her. For a fleeting moment she thought that he would give her a kiss and help her with her coat, but he froze somewhere on the way and then shrank back into the kitchen doorway.

“The grocery stores were closed, so I didn’t buy any food. I’m sorry,” Charlotte hoped her apology sounded sincere. “But I met our neighbour in the hallway, and he told me about his catch. I can fry it or something.” A feeble attempt to remedy the situation.

“I’ve cooked it already,” Gereon said.

She stared at him in bewilderment. “Have you?” her empty stomach rumbled at the prospect of having a warm meal right away.

“Yes, although I ate without you because I didn’t know what time you’d be back.”

They stepped into the kitchen together, and Charlotte saw that Gereon wasn’t joking. There was a bowl of boiled rice on the counter and a deep plate covered with another plate, presumably with fish in it. He had even washed the frying pan and aired the kitchen.

“I found a clinic for you,” Gereon flicked her a glance. “It’s run by Professor Hastreiter.”

“That’s great. Thank you.”

“They gave us a pre-appointment questionnaire, and I’ve already filled my part in.”

“Alright, I’ll fill mine in too,” she nodded.

“You’re on the rota for tomorrow night, so I thought you’d have time to see the nurse in the morning.”

“Yes, I have a free morning, so I can definitely make it,” Charlotte assured him.

“Good. You need to be at Bauhofstraße, 7 at 10 o’clock.” Gereon paused and looked at her as if he wanted to say something else, but eventually decided against it. “I’ll take the rubbish out.”

He wrapped up the fish bones and guts in the newspaper, grabbed his cigarettes and lighter from the windowsill, put on his hat and coat and left. His real destination was definitely further away than the inner courtyard and its waste bins. What mission was he on that he didn’t want to disclose to her?

Charlotte served herself a portion of fish and rice. It felt odd to come home after a long day at work and find dinner ready on the table. Nobody had cooked for her since her mother had died. The food was still warm and looked delicious. It tasted delicious too. The unbelievably tender pikeperch fillets had been nicely poached in butter, and the rice was light and fluffy, the perfect accompaniment. Another surprise from Gereon. He had prepared the whole fish without making a mess of the thing.

He had spent a few months living here with his nephew, without a woman around, and he had needed to feed himself and the boy. Perhaps he used to go fishing with Moritz on his days off, and Helga showed him how to remove the scales and innards and cook a fish properly. Gereon hardly ever mentioned his nephew, and Charlotte couldn’t draw any conclusions about their relationship. Had he spent his free time with Moritz? Chatting with him about anything and everything, showing him different places? The boy had grown up without a father, and his grandpa, old Rath, was a deranged monster, so Charlotte thought that Gereon must be the only positive male role model in Moritz’s life. Had they kept in touch after Moritz had moved out? Gereon must certainly be a good uncle if the boy had chosen him over his own mother. He would make a good father too, no doubt. Sadly, he wasn’t willing to become a father to her baby, Charlotte sighed.

She had to be grateful that Gereon had kept his promise and found a private clinic for her. It was located in the very centre of the city and owned by a university professor. The treatments and procedures carried out in such places cost a fortune. Any regular doctor would be good enough, as long as it wasn’t the police clinic.

After Charlotte had finished her meal, she looked through the questionnaire that Gereon had asked her to fill in. The document was marked ‘Confidential’, and it started with a few lines explaining that the professor was gathering background information on his patients' short- and long-term medication, hereditary conditions and reproductive diseases in order to predict pregnancy and labour complications and evaluate possible health issues with the fetus. Charlotte wasn’t cold, but the hair on her arms stood up, and she felt a shiver down her spine.

Most of the questions were addressed to a female patient, but there were a few for her male partner too, if she had one. The first set of questions was about any chronic or infectious diseases that she had suffered from in the course of her life. The second was entitled ‘Reproductive Health’, and it made Charlotte uncomfortable. Some of the questions were simple and innocent, about her menstrual cycle and previous pregnancies, labours and miscarriages, but some were rather disturbing. For example, how many sexual partners she had had in the last 12 months. Too many to count. In May and June of 1929 she had done regular shifts in the basement of Moka Efti, and in September she went to Luxor and got involved in a gang bang. She answered several and ticked the “yes” box next to the question about whether needed to be tested for venereal diseases.

The last part of the questionnaire had to be filled by both partners. It was about fatal diseases in their close relatives, drugs and medications. Gereon had answered honestly, mentioning the morphine and barbiturates he had been using until recently and wrote about his father’s heart attack and cerebral stroke and his mother’s difficulties with asthma. At least he wasn’t completely denying his possible paternity, even if he did have his doubts about her baby. Charlotte finished the questionnaire and put it in her handbag, as she didn’t want Gereon to read her answers.

She spent the rest of the evening revising the theory for her upcoming shooting test and trying to avoid speculating about where Gereon was and what he was up to. She went to bed rather early. Tiredness was claiming her, but she refused to surrender to sleep before he was back home. For a couple of hours Charlotte stayed wide awake, tossing and turning in bed, staring into the darkness and listening to the sounds inside the building. Her intuition told her that Gereon was in danger. What if he had gone for another psychotherapy session with Anno? Or some enemy had trapped and hurt him? Didn’t he care at all that she was worrying about him?

Gereon’s mixed signals were driving her mad. He was treating her with compassion and kindness, and at the same time constantly upsetting her with his unreasonably secretive behaviour, as if she were no longer worthy of his trust. They were becoming estranged from each other, losing the last traces of closeness and affection. Separation felt inevitable, and Charlotte was grieving after it in advance.

*****

At quarter past one she finally distinguished Gereon’s footsteps on the staircase. He quietly opened the door and slipped into the flat without turning on the lights, apparently trying not to disturb her sleep. Charlotte jumped out of bed, stumbled into the corridor and felt the wall for the switch. She squinted in the soft glow of the electric light and looked at Gereon in amusement. His boots and trousers were covered in wet mud, and the sleeve of his coat was torn. The right side of his face was red and swollen; he’d have a big bruise there by the morning. Although he wasn’t bleeding, he probably had concussion. For a moment they stared at each other in silence. Gereon endured her inspection, holding himself stock-still and staying tight-lipped.

“The rubbish is out, I suppose,” Charlotte quipped and marched back to bed.

She needed her rest. She had a long and tough day ahead, and it wouldn’t be wise to invest the last remnants of her energy in a pointless confrontation with Gereon. His reluctance to explain what had happened to him and where he had been made her boil with anger and annoyance. Why couldn’t he put himself in her shoes and imagine how she was feeling? What if she went out alone late at night without telling him anything about her plans and then returned in dirty, torn clothes with bruises and blood on her face? He would hardly be very happy, or would it be all the same to him?

Even though Gereon had made it back home safely, Charlotte couldn’t quell her concerns, relax and fall asleep. She heard him moving around the flat and wondered what he was doing. He went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of tap water, spent a moment in the bathroom and then crept into the bedroom, quiet as a mouse. She realised that he was in bed beside her only when the mattress sank under his weight. Was he really pretending that he didn’t exist? That was a heart-wrenching assumption, and Charlotte couldn’t help pitying him. The poor man had endured a rough night, and instead of showing sympathy, she had given him a rather unfriendly welcome. How could she hold grudges any longer when Gereon was hurting and coping with his raw emotions all alone? Her irritation had receded quickly, and she was eager to smooth things over. Words wouldn’t help, as he clearly didn’t feel like talking, so she needed to think up something else. But what?

Charlotte remembered that her brother had pressed a cold, wet towel to his jaw when he was recovering from the knock-out blow. A cold compress could work for Gereon too, relieve his pain and reduce the swelling. Charlotte tiptoed to the kitchen, found a clean tea towel, opened the icebox and dipped the towel into the drip tray that collected the icy water.

Gereon was lying motionless on his back, his bare arms crossed over the blanket. He hadn’t bothered to change into pyjamas and had instead gone to bed in his undergarments. She lay down next to him, lightly traced her fingers along the contours of his face and put the compress against his cheek.

“You don’t have to…” he mumbled, but he didn’t jerk away from her.

“Hush.”

She kept the cold cloth pressed against his skin for a few minutes until his breathing steadied and he drifted off to sleep. Charlotte brushed her lips over his bare shoulder and shuffled back onto her side of the bed. She wasn’t ready to give up on their relationship just yet. If they still cared about each other, maybe they could find a way to make it work and turn their lives around. Charlotte closed her eyes and felt a pleasant, warm sensation in her lower stomach. As if the little one was reading her mind and encouraging her to keep going and keep believing.

Chapter Text

Shooting proficiency was the last qualification exam that Charlotte had to pass before she could apply for a permanent position in the Homicide Unit. Her ultimate goal was nearer than ever, and she was ready and eager to face this final challenge. She was managing to keep calm about it; she had thoroughly drilled the theory and knew it back to front. Her regular training sessions with Herr Haas had helped her acquire solid practical skills, too. Why should she be nervous now, when she had already proven to herself that she was capable of shooting accurately, even under pressure, from a difficult position and without sufficient light? A couple of days prior to her abduction, she and Gereon had been trapped in the dark basement of the murderer’s house, and she had had less than a second to aim and fire. She had done fine without having anyone to back her up. She would do just fine in the exam as well.

Herr Reipert, who was in charge of the Firearms Unit, would be supervising the test himself. He was a thin, arrogant man in his fifties, known for his rigid military bearing and his deep, loud voice. He had served as a drill instructor in the Imperial German Army and had retained the habit of bellowing orders at his troops (as he referred to his subordinates and trainees), such that his shouts were audible even through their soundproof ear plugs and over the crack of the guns as they fired. Nobody knew what rank he had attained during the war, but everybody called him the Colonel, behind his back of course.

Herr Reipert despised the young men who had not been toughened up by battle and called them incapable, lazy and apathetic. As for women, the Colonel respected them even less and certainly didn’t mince his words. Charlotte was the first female in the German police force who had been allowed to apply for a gun licence, and when she first arrived at the Firearms Unit to schedule her training sessions, Herr Reipert thought she had walked through the wrong door by mistake. “Get out of here before we shoot you down, stupid hussy!” he yelled at her, waving his clenched fist in her face. Charlotte had promptly retreated and returned later, accompanied by Gereon. He stepped rather decisively into the Colonel’s territory, showed him the order signed by Gennat and explained that his assistant, Fräulein Ritter, needed to start practising for her shooting proficiency test as soon as possible.

The Colonel read the piece of paper and made sure that Gennat’s seal and signature were genuine. Then he nodded at Gereon and approached Charlotte. He studied her face slowly through a magnifying glass, as if to imply that she was nothing more than another specimen for his insect collection, and not a particularly valuable one at that. Dissatisfied with the result of his examination, Herr Reipert proclaimed that having to teach a woman how to handle a gun was definitive proof that the world had gone insane.

“A man, a woman or a unicorn, it doesn’t matter,” Gereon said drily. “We must obey all lawful orders issued by our superiors.” Quoting the service regulations was the right way to communicate with the Colonel, and he raised no further objections upon hearing Gereon’s strong argument. Herr Reipert gnashed his teeth and appointed Herr Albert Haas to be Charlotte’s personal instructor, choosing the least experienced and clumsiest member of his staff on purpose. It was written all over his face that he would never give a gun licence to a woman, even if the order had been signed by Herr von Hindenburg himself.

Today, the Colonel would be testing ten men and Charlotte. Usually test groups consisted of ten people, but this time an exception had been made. Perhaps Herr Reipert hadn’t taken Charlotte into account, assuming that she would drop out very quickly, having failed to answer the theoretical questions.

When Charlotte arrived at the shooting range, all the other candidates had already gathered there. She had a few minutes to chat with them, and they told her a rumour that a week ago only three out of ten people had been successful, and that the rest had had their tests rescheduled for June and July. Half of the candidates in Charlotte’s group were on their second or third attempt to pass. She didn’t let their gossip discourage her. She would focus solely on her own performance and ignore the others.

“Stand to attention and wait for orders!” the Colonel shouted instead of a greeting. When all the candidates had lined up in a row, he drew more air into his lungs and continued, “I set the standards and you meet the requirements! The requirements are challenging but attainable. First the theory and then shooting in prone, kneeling and standing positions. The test requires 50 rounds of ammunition and is fired at three distances: five, ten and twenty metres. A score of 90 percent is required to pass. If you make five mistakes, stop shooting and get out of here immediately – you have failed. Those who qualify with a handgun will proceed with a rifle. The rifle procedure is similar, but I shall explain it later to those few who’ll make it there.”

Without further delay, the Colonel started with the theoretical part. He asked a question and pointed at the person he wanted to give the answer. He expected an immediate response and wouldn’t give them even a second to recall their knowledge. Charlotte noticed that the easier questions about weapons handling, accessories and ammunition went to the male candidates, whereas all the more complicated ones, for example about windage and elevation adjustments or external ballistics, were directed to her. None of them threw Charlotte, because she had been studying The Marksmanship Manual for weeks and knew it almost by heart. She looked the examiner straight in the eye, demonstrating that she was completely confident and sure of herself.

The last question addressed to her was about the factors affecting range estimation, and Charlotte gave detailed explanations about the nature of the target and terrain, obstacles and limited visibility. She spoke in an even, measured tone, answering thoroughly but concisely, relaying the manual’s text as closely as she could. When Charlotte had finished her answer, the Colonel stared at her sombrely, his lips tightly pursed.

“Would you like me to go deeper into range estimation and tell you more about halving and bracketing methods?” she asked.

“Enough,” he barked and addressed those examinees whose theory knowledge had been deemed insufficient. “You see, gentlemen? She can recite the whole damn manual word for word. Which proves that even a parrot can learn things through sheer repetition. A shame that some of you couldn’t be bothered to put your backsides on a chair and stay there for a few evenings to revise for the exam. Lazy buffoons!”

Herr Reipert sent away the two men who had failed the theoretical part and led the rest of the group to the small, lacquered table for the practical section of the test. He fished a stopwatch out of his pocket and nodded at Herr Haas, who stepped forward holding two pistols: the time-honoured Mauser C96 and the Behörden Sauer, a brand-new semi-automatic model that the German police had adopted earlier that year. Ironically, it was manufactured at the firearms factory co-owned by the Nyssen family.

“Take the handgun apart and put it back together,” the Colonel commanded. “Just field stripping, I’m not asking you to do a full disassembly and assembly. Leave those operations to qualified gunsmiths. I require only what is absolutely necessary as a minimum, for which I shall give you a generous four minutes. Should be an easy task.”

Constable Ellerhusen stepped forward, volunteering to start the task, but the Colonel raised his hand to stop him.

“Ladies first,” he smirked meanly at Charlotte. “I don’t want to keep you here for too long. Your bosses upstairs must be waiting for their afternoon coffee.”

He placed a Sauer in the middle of the table and pressed the button of his stopwatch. Charlotte had practised the exercise before every shooting session and could even perform it blindfolded. Her only concern was the glossy, slippery table. If a breech cap or a recoil spring rolled off and dropped onto the floor, it would mean the end of the test.

Charlotte wiped her palms on her trousers and started removing parts of the pistol. She arranged them in front of her methodically, being especially careful with the details that had no corners or edges. She didn’t let the ticking watch in the Colonel’s hand disturb her concentration. It would certainly be a case of less haste, more speed.

“Done,” she gave the Colonel a disarming smile and handed him the reassembled weapon.

Herr Reipert stopped the watch and inspected the pistol, checked its chamber and magazine, and flared his nostrils, suppressing an exasperated sigh.

“Three minutes and twenty-two seconds. Not bad for a novice,” he said and marked Charlotte’s result on the chalk board. “Looks like the officers upstairs need to wait for their coffee a wee bit longer.”

Herr Reipert redirected his attention to the other candidates, and Charlotte got a half-hour break before the shooting part. Her shoulders and arms felt tight – a sign of her underlying stress – and she tried to loosen up her tense muscles with a couple of simple stretching exercises.

Herr Haas watched Charlotte from afar, pondering whether it was appropriate to talk to her during the test, if a verbal exchange with a trainee might enrage the Colonel or violate the exam procedure. Finally he summoned up his courage and took a few steps in her direction.

“Well begun is half done,” he said. “I know you’ll get your licence today. Just show him what you’re capable of. I have complete faith in you.”

“Thanks,” Charlotte smiled.

Haas’s words of encouragement boosted her confidence. They had practised all the positions hundreds of times; she just had to keep a positive mindset throughout the test and hope that the Colonel would assess her performance objectively.

All the other candidates made it through the field stripping task, but four out of the eight men needed more time than Charlotte to complete it, which gave the Colonel yet another reason to scold them.

“Bunch of useless, cack-handed oafs!” he groaned. “You don't need twelve fingers or any special mechanical talent for this task. We’re talking about a small number of pieces that only fit in one place each. An incredibly simple puzzle. And yet some of you are slower than a woman. It’s embarrassing!”

Charlotte noticed that the young constables were staring at her with irritation, as if she were the reason for their own less-than-impressive results. It was hard to keep a low profile when the examiner was constantly drawing attention to her and insulting the male candidates at her expense.

In the meantime, Herr Haas had hung paper targets on the wall of the range and had drawn chalk lines on the floor, marking the three shooting distances. Each target featured a life-size silhouette of a man, with big red zones on the chest and head areas, and smaller red marks on both arms and legs. The candidate was supposed to hit all of them.

“Aim for the arms and legs first of all,” the Colonel demanded. “We don’t train you to shoot to kill, but to shoot to stop your aggressor. Killing the suspect needlessly is a malicious action, and if you do that, you could be charged with manslaughter. Paper targets hold their limbs steady, so it’s easy to hit them. Hitting the arm or leg of a moving target when your life is on the line is far more difficult. Once again, I’m not asking you to do anything impossible.”

Charlotte was chosen to start the shooting part too. Herr Reipert was still determined to get rid of her as quickly as possible. He asked her to start in a prone position, at a distance of ten metres.

Charlotte put in her earplugs, assumed the correct position and immediately got down to business. She fired twelve rounds and hit all four limbs of the paper silhouette. Only one bullet went wide. When the magazine was empty, she had to recharge. The Colonel looked mildly astonished as he signed to her to move to a twenty-metre distance and aim at the bullseye zones. Everything went well again. Too smoothly, Charlotte thought. After eighteen rounds, she was allowed to switch to the kneeling position. She shot two more rounds without mistakes and took aim for a third time, but the pistol didn’t fire when she pulled the trigger.

She took out her earplugs and turned to the Colonel: “Sorry, I’ve got an issue here.”

“An issue?” Herr Reipert chuckled. “Your grip is too loose. You are limp-wristing the pistol such that it won’t function.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Charlotte protested politely. “When I shoot, I always make sure that the slide travels all the way to the rear of the slide rails. I think it jammed because an unfired bullet got stuck in the barrel. It’s happened to me before. Wait a moment, please. I think I know how to clear the jam.”

“Do you?” The Colonel raised his brow, expressing concern. “Be cautious, girl! Don’t shoot yourself or any of these duds.”

Herr Haas, who was standing behind Herr Reipert’s back, gave her a wink, confirming that her assumption was correct. He had taught her how to deal with jams, so it shouldn’t be a problem this time. Charlotte removed the slide cap and the slide with the bullet in the barrel still in place, and then levered the breech block carefully out of its jammed position.

“It’s sorted now!” she beamed. “Wasn’t a big problem. May I resume the test?”

The new rush of adrenaline helped her to focus, and she shot the rest of rounds in the kneeling position without any mistakes. The standing position was her strongest, and she did that cleanly too.

“One mistake,” the Colonel said. “God moves in mysterious ways.”

Charlotte lifted her eyes towards the ceiling: “Just and true are His ways.” She had picked that phrase up from Engelbert’s Bible, and it was perfectly suited to the occasion.

And yes, she did it. She qualified with a pistol and got her licence, which would enable her to apply for a permanent position in the Unit. Should she simply leave and tell her colleagues upstairs that she’d finally passed all her exams? Or should she stay for the second part of the test? Rifle shooting was not obligatory for her, but she had done the training and had achieved a good level of proficiency, so it would be a brilliant opportunity to exceed the requirements and show Herr Reipert (and other people too) that a “stupid hussy” could indeed handle something heavier than a Sauer, a ladle and a duster.

Five out of the eight remaining candidates were less successful than Charlotte and failed the handgun test. They all fled from the range as soon as the Colonel had finished his round of curses and nasty remarks.

Herr Reipert was genuinely surprised to see Charlotte among those who were going to proceed with a rifle.

“Still here?” he asked. “Wouldn’t a handgun licence be enough for a girl?”

“I’d like to stay if you’ll let me,” Charlotte answered with false modesty.

“Stay, then,” he nodded in agreement. “You arouse my curiosity more and more, little Minerva.”

The constables burst out laughing at the Colonel’s witticism, and he commanded them to shut up and get back to business. The first task was to disassemble and reassemble a Kar 98b rifle.

“This time you’ll go in alphabetical order: Ellerhusen, Ritter, Vornbrock and Weil.”

Unfortunately, Constable Ellerhusen fell victim to the Colonel’s tricky table. When he extracted the bolt from the bolt carrier, it rolled swiftly across the glossy surface and dropped to the floor before he could take any action to prevent it.

“An unforgiveable mistake!” Herr Reipert yelled. “Your life depends on your firearm and your ability to maintain it.”

“The table is too slippery,” the young constable murmured, bowing his head.

“When we were on the battlefield, we were lying on our stomachs, our rifles were on our backs, and we had to disassemble and reassemble them without any parts touching the ground,” the Colonel said. “Completely doable! Soldiers perform the same routine one-handed, if their other hand is wounded. And at night, in the darkness too. In the swamp! It’s not hard when you put your mind to it. Piss off now! I’ll reschedule you and your fellow dunces for July.”

Charlotte and the two remaining constables were luckier than poor Ellerhusen, and after the assembly task, the Colonel let them go on with the shooting part. He gave them rifles and twenty-round magazines and proclaimed that this time he would go in reverse alphabetical order, starting with Constable Weil.

“Twenty rounds will be shot at three distances: fifteen, twenty-five and forty metres. Your only objective is to aim at the bullseye zones. As you are shooting indoors, I demand absolute accuracy, because the results will not be influenced by the weather.”

Weil completed five or six rounds and seemed to be doing alright, but Herr Reipert apparently didn’t think so. He stopped him and asked him to remove his earplugs: “All your shots are going low because you’re anticipating recoil.”

“This rifle bruises the hell out of my shoulder,” the young man frowned.

“Mind your language, Weil!” the Colonel clearly felt that swearing at the range was his privilege alone. “This rifle has a very mild recoil, and one should be able to shoot it all day long. You’re not shouldering it properly. Keep it tight against your muscle, not your bone. Tuck your elbows in and lean into it. Yes, just like that. Didn’t Haas teach you how to hold your rifle properly?”

“I’ve certainly done my best,” Herr Haas stepped in to defend himself. “But I’m powerless if the trainee displays a smug attitude and skips his training sessions.”

On hearing Haas’s explanation, the Colonel’s anger flared anew, hot and explosive.

“Lousy attitude?” he tore the rifle from Weil’s hands and struck him on the bruised shoulder with the butt. “That comes from a sense of entitlement. You think you know more than your instructor. Any relatives in the Police Presidium? An uncle at the prosecutor’s office?”

“No, sir,” Constable Weil winced as a sharp pain flashed through his injured shoulder.

“Learn to follow instructions and come back in July with a better attitude,” Herr Reipert said, showing him towards the door.

Charlotte suspected that Weil’s shoulder might be dislocated, as he seemed unable to move his left arm. It hung lifelessly down his body. If the Colonel did something like that to her, Gereon would come and maim him, she thought. The last weeks had certainly been tough for them, but she knew that he still cared about her. If he heard that she was hurt, he’d drop anything at a moment’s notice and rush to help her. Whenever her life or safety were threatened, Gereon shed his usual mask of indifferent aloofness and revealed his dark side. His side of a violent and destructive man capable of drawing blood.

Constable Vornbrock and Charlotte were the last remaining candidates, and the exhausted Colonel, who had spent much of his energy screaming, swearing and scolding, decided to save time by putting them both on the line and asking them to shoot together. They started at twenty-five metres in the prone position, aiming at the heads of their targets, and after ten rounds switched to the standing position and aimed at their chests.

Before firing the last five rounds, Charlotte paused briefly to calm her mind and gather strength so that she would be able keep the rifle still for the next couple of minutes. She didn’t fear the recoil. And why would she? She was holding the weapon correctly, and the recoil was nothing more than a bit of slap against her shoulder and the side of her arm.

She and Vornbrock finished almost simultaneously and waited for the smoke left by the guns to clear. Both seemed to have taken twenty accurate shots. Herr Reipert asked Herr Haas to bring him the paper targets for closer inspection. He broke into almost hysterical laughter when he took them in his hands. Charlotte had made a neat heart shape on the chest of her paper target.

“A pure heart and a steadfast spirit,” he snorted and poked Charlotte in the back with his index finger. “You’re the funniest little trickster I’ve met in years!”

Constable Vornbrock didn’t enjoy the fact that his female counterpart was receiving all the praise and attention.

“It’s a draw!” the young man said to Herr Reipert. “Can you hang up new targets so we can go on shooting and decide the winner?”

On hearing the constable’s suggestion, the Colonel’s good mood transformed straight back into a bad one. His sudden outburst of joy had lasted no more than five seconds.

“Shut up!” he roared. “This isn’t a marksmanship competition, and I’m not wasting valuable ammunition on your silly games. You’ve both qualified with a handgun and a rifle. The test is over.”

The constable shook Charlotte’s hand and mumbled congratulations. Herr Haas followed his example.

“The lady can shoot, can’t she?” he addressed his boss with a pout, waiting for his share of recognition. “She outshot nine men today!”

“Yes, she’ll make a good killer,” the Colonel didn’t share Haas’s enthusiasm, but didn’t contradict him either.

Charlotte waited for Herr Reipert to sign and seal her papers. He was in no hurry at all, still unsure whether he was doing the right thing.

“You’ve passed the test, and I’m obliged to give you a licence,” he admitted finally. “But I still believe it’s fundamentally wrong for a woman to carry and use firearms. Women should bring lives into the world, not take them away. Motherhood is a woman's primal purpose.”

Charlotte took the signed permit out of his hand without a gesture of thanks. The Colonel’s comment was a real punch in the gut, and she simply couldn’t leave it unanswered.

“Or to be more precise, a woman’s purpose is cater to men’s needs and produce more cannon fodder.”

Herr Reipert gaped at her in disbelief: “What? What did you say?”

“The truth,” Charlotte answered calmly. “Have a good day, sir,” she called over her shoulder and marched off the shooting range.

Charlotte had never been that short with anybody at the Burg before, but the exhausting nature of the test and the Colonel’s rudeness would have infuriated even a saint, and she was a mere human being made of flesh and blood. And nerve cells.

She headed straight to the personnel department so that she could have the shooting test result marked on her record and fill in the application for the permanent position in the Homicide Unit. It was wise to do it before the Colonel recovered from his shock and cancelled her test score.

*

Rumours of Charlotte’s success at the shooting range reached Inspektion A before she did. When she stepped through the doors of the Unit, her colleagues greeted her with loud cheers, and only Böhm’s expression remained sour. He pointed at the mountain of paperwork on Charlotte’s desk and shook his head disapprovingly.

“Even if you do get the position in our unit, I won’t think of you as a co-worker,” he declared. “Because you don’t do any work. You're the loudest at the weekly briefings, but you contribute the least when things need to be done here in the office. The stenographs don’t decipher themselves. The post doesn’t walk to the letterbox by itself. The coffee doesn’t…”

Böhm’s angry rant was interrupted by the internal telephone, and Czerwinski hurried to pick up the call. He listened for a few moments and mumbled a couple of words in response, saying that he wasn’t sure and that he had to ask his boss for permission, and then hung up.

“There’s a journalist from the Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger downstairs,” he said. “He has some questions about the murder of that schoolgirl the whole city was searching for recently.”

“He can go to hell,” Böhm answered.

“Buddha says we need positive publicity and must always talk to reporters when they come asking about resolved cases…” Czerwinski reminded him. “Especially now, when they’re giving us hard time about the rabbi’s family.”

“Whatever,” Böhm shrugged his shoulders. “Then tell him to wait for our brave hero Kommissar Rath, who found the missing girl and caught the dangerous bandit. Alone, with his bare hands, in the dead of night.”

“It was impressive indeed and certainly boosted the unit’s reputation,” Czerwinski nodded. He had difficulty understanding sarcasm and apparently thought that Böhm’s praise was sincere.

“Impressive?” Böhm snorted. “Oh yes, I’m also impressed that a detective from the Homicide Unit got beaten by a fourteen-year-old. A toddler might shoot him with a toy gun next time. Perhaps he could use Ritter as his personal bodyguard. Now that she has her gun licence, she could come along and scare off the naughty little boys and girls.”

“Absolutely,” Charlotte assured. “And I could also come along to ensure your security if you decide to make another raid on the Stock Exchange.”

Everybody stared at her in horror, and Böhm seemed absolutely mortified at her comment. He said nothing in return but retreated rapidly to his office and slammed the door behind him. Herr Oberkommissar needed a break to get over the shattering blow to his ego and think up a way to get revenge on Charlotte, the bold assistant. Charlotte knew it would have been wiser to refrain from making such a remark, especially as her appointment order was still unsigned, but she hated how Böhm belittled Gereon’s accomplishments and mocked him behind his back.

“Ah, Kommissar Rath, there you are!” Czerwinski exclaimed as Gereon made his appearance. “A journalist from the Berliner Lokal-Anzeiger is waiting for you in the foyer. And the girl’s grandparents are here too. The poor old folks are completely devastated, but they want to express their gratitude to you in person.”

Gereon nodded, clearly distressed at the prospect of meeting the girl’s family, but didn’t raise any objections. He spun on his heels and walked silently out of the office.

“Are we experiencing some sort of geomagnetic storm today?” Czerwinski muttered under his breath, addressing nobody in particular.

Charlotte’s immediate impulse was to run after Gereon and offer him some friendly support. To say that she was proud of him because had done justice to the murdered girl and detained the suspect without harming him. He had allowed himself to get hurt, rather than shooting or injuring the underage boy, who was innocent until proven guilty. But on second thoughts, Charlotte decided to let Gereon deal with the issue on his own. Her surge of emotions might cause her to say or do something improper, or simply start crying in front of him for no reason, making things even worse. She should look after her own business before Böhm accused her of idleness again.

**

Charlotte was productive during the rest of the working day. The heap of papers on her desk gradually melted away, and by the time her colleagues left for home, she had finished all the boring tasks that Böhm had loaded her with.

Some people hated night rotas, but Charlotte didn’t mind them. She liked to be alone on the premises of the Homicide Unit without anybody to distract her, without constant supervision and endless requests from her superiors. That night she was planning to have a brainstorm about the murder of the rabbi’s family in an attempt to find some new leads. If she was lucky, she might make some sort of breakthrough, which would be an excellent way to consolidate her position in the unit and demonstrate her professional qualities to Buddha and her other colleagues.

Despite Böhm’s discouraging remarks, Charlotte decided to talk to each and every person who had come forward with a tip on the case. The crime had taken place between 7 and 10 o’clock in the evening in the centre of Berlin, so the probability that somebody had seen something important was quite high. For the first few days after the reward was announced, the potential witnesses came to the Burg in droves. It was unfortunate that none of them had provided any valuable information. Charlotte checked out some of the tips and found that the passers-by often reported each other or the postman, or the rabbi’s neighbours and housemaid.

Only one witness arrived at the Burg that night: a lanky, fair-haired girl in shabby clothes who couldn’t be any older than twenty. She was wearing a brown cotton dress and a knitted cardigan with a crocheted floral pattern. Charlotte immediately spotted an ugly patch on her left elbow and a few mended holes in her stockings – the unmistakable signs of poverty. The girl was a little gawky and obviously felt ill at ease in the Police Presidium. She fidgeted nervously with the hem of her cardigan and didn’t open her mouth until the uniformed constable who had shown her the way to the interrogation room left her alone with Charlotte.

Charlotte greeted the witness, introduced herself and invited the girl to sit down. She started every conversation with a set of standard questions to gather background information about the person who had come forward. Tonight it was Fräulein Therese Rethel, an odd-jobber from Wedding who had been born in Berlin in 1909.

“I think I saw something… someone…” the girl swallowed thickly, struggling to get her words out.

“Sure, go ahead whenever you’re ready,” Charlotte said. “Any seemingly random fact might be crucial for our investigation, so I’m glad you’ve come here to share whatever it is with me.”

They were quite close in age and came from the same neighbourhood. Charlotte chatted with the girl in a friendly, casual manner, letting her know that they were equals and that it was therefore safe for her to speak up. Unlike her male colleagues, Charlotte never pressured or intimidated the witnesses (it would be a bad strategy, as nobody would take threats from a young female seriously anyway). Instead she tried to get on her witnesses’ good side, make them feel comfortable, and after that carefully fish for the facts she needed, giving people enough space to speak and asking them questions if their statements were unclear or inconsistent.

“On the night the rabbi’s family was murdered, I happened to be in the neighbourhood,” Fräulein Rethel said. “When the police arrived, a few reporters with photographic cameras and a crowd of passers-by had already gathered near the rabbi’s house. I went to see what was happening, simply out of curiosity, and spotted a man I had noticed near the house once before. He was standing in the crowd and smoking.”

“Alright,” Charlotte nodded. “Let’s put things in order. Tell me everything about the man. How did you meet him for the first time? Why did he draw your attention? Why do you think he might be connected with the case?”

The girl had been mulling over these questions for a while, weighing up the possible risks and glancing in the direction of the exit, as if to make sure that she still had an escape route. She knew that if she said anything that could suggest her own involvement in a crime, she could be walking straight into a prison cell. Charlotte understood her concerns very well. Not all that long ago she, too, had been walking along the dark streets of Wedding just like this girl, afraid of being arrested for prostitution. Police officers were a potential danger and getting chatty with them was always a bad idea.

“Remember, we’re only focusing on the man here, not on you. Whatever you get up to on the streets at night is entirely your own business,” Charlotte assured her. “So?”

“I saw the man on Neue Grünstraße earlier in the week that the murders took place,” Fräulein Rethel recollected.

“Wait,” Charlotte interrupted the girl. “What day of week was that? Strain your memory a bit, if you could. It’s very important.”

The girl did some calculations in her head and started counting the days on her fingers.

“I think it was Thursday. Around ten in the evening.”

“Good!” Charlotte made a note in her pad.

“The man was standing opposite the house, right across the road. I thought he was waiting for someone, and his date hadn’t shown up. So I approached him… and err… offered… asked something…”

Charlotte’s assumption about the nature of Fräulein Rethel’s trade turned out to be correct: “Right. You asked him a question. What did he answer?”

“He turned around and glanced at me, and honestly I nearly took back my offer. The man’s repulsive!” the girl narrowed her eyes in disgust. “If you see him once, you’ll never forget him!”

“Why so?” Charlotte asked. “Describe him as precisely as you can.”

“He is a head taller than me and beefy, maybe in his forties. His face is gruesome. There is a thick, white scar running over his forehead and left cheek. And he has a glass eye.” The girl’s voice quivered with fear, as if the person she was talking about wasn’t an ordinary Berliner at all, but the devil himself in disguise. Charlotte wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that the mysterious man also had a pitchfork and a pair of red horns.

“A prosthetic eye, do you mean?”

“Yes,” Fräulein Rethel confirmed. “He has a lifeless fish eye with no eyelid, and it sticks right out of his eye socket. I was about to run away, but he grabbed me by the arm and said he could use some company.”

“Ouch!” Charlotte expressed her sincere sympathy for the poor girl, knowing full well what followed those words. “What was he wearing?”

“His clothes were peculiar too,” the girl recollected. “It was a warm night, but he was wearing a long woollen coat. And he had an apron underneath it. He moved the apron to the side when he…”

“I see,” Charlotte cut her off. She didn’t want to embarrass the girl more and made an attempt to help her save face. “Can you tell me what kind of apron it was?”

“A black oilcloth one, about knee-length. It was dirty…slimy or something. It was glistening in the streetlights.”

“Very good. Anything else about this particular man?” Charlotte asked. “Any details at all.”

“He had a tweed eight-piece cap on his head and a big leather rucksack on his back,” the girl said. “And…” she beckoned Charlotte to come closer and whispered in her ear, “…the guy’s member was very small, about the size of my pinkie.”

“Alright,” Charlotte stifled a chuckle. “And then you saw the man again, on the night the rabbi’s family was murdered,” she returned to the beginning of their conversation. “Were you walking in the neighbourhood before the murders took place? Did you see anything?”

“No. That night I was washing dishes in the Bierhaus nearby.”

“Which one? Grober Wirt?”

“Yes. Around 11 o’clock one of the customers walked in and said some brutal crime had happened two streets away from us, on Neue Grünstraße. The area was roped off, and there were a few cops… policemen, I mean… and reporters hanging around. Me and Walli, the other dishwasher, ran over to see what was going on. And I noticed the one-eyed man standing in the crowd. He was smoking a cigarette.”

“Did he see you?” Charlotte asked.

“I’m not sure, probably not. At least, he wasn’t looking my way. He was staring at the rabbi’s house, like everybody else. We couldn’t stay for too long because we had to hurry back to work. I don’t know what he did next. Perhaps he just walked away,” she shrugged her shoulders and took a gulp of water from the glass Charlotte had given her. “Um… I really don’t know if this bloke has anything to do with the murders, but I decided to come here and tell you about him all the same.”

“Thanks a lot,” Charlotte smiled. “I have your name and home address. We will contact you later if needed.”

***

After the witness had left, Charlotte went down to the archive and continued working on the case. A year ago she had catalogued the photographs taken at crime scenes according to the murder weapon used. She wasn’t quite sure exactly what she was looking for, but she decided to go through the “Axe” section to see if any similar crimes had taken place in Berlin over the past decade. Luckily, that section wasn’t too extensive and contained only a few cold and unsolved cases.

Almost two years ago, in July 1928, a 65-year-old Polish moneylender, Herr Janusz Zabinski, and his 63-year-old wife, Frau Aldona Zabinska, had been bludgeoned to death at their home at Bernauer Straße, 18. The victims had been struck over the head with an axe and had died from severe wounds, exactly like the rabbi’s wife and children. The murder weapon had been abandoned at the scene and was found near the corpses. Another similarity. The photographs of the axe showed it in detail from different angles. Charlotte compared the images with those taken at the rabbi’s house and realised that the two axes were absolutely identical. Their shape and size matched, and the wooden handles of both had been carved with the letters SH.N.K.

Charlotte felt itchy, knowing that she had something interesting on her hands. She tried not to get overexcited. It could well be that all German axes of that shape had those markings. It could well be that these letters had nothing to do with the weapon’s owner. But there might be a link between the two cases. She had to find out.

After committing a crime, murderers usually preferred to take their weapon with them and dispose of it later. They chose to hide it somewhere remote, drop it in the Spree or bury it in the forest. But this killer hadn’t done that. Carrying a huge axe around could arouse suspicion, and clearly the murderer didn’t want to be seen or caught with the bloody weapon in his possession. He had left the axe behind so that there would be one less thing linking him to the crime scene.

Charlotte decided to take the file with the Zabinskis’ case upstairs and get thoroughly acquainted with all its circumstances. She couldn’t spend too much time in the archive, because someone might be trying to reach the Homicide Unit by telephone, and she had to be there to answer the calls.

The premises of the unit were deserted, but her desk was not. A brown paper bag had appeared there while she was away. It contained a bottle of lemonade, a fresh pretzel, a box of peppermints, an apple and an orange. A real gift from heaven. After seeing the nurse in the morning, Charlotte had grabbed a rye roll with cheese from a street vendor, but later in the day she had been too busy to go out and seek something more to eat.

She snatched up the telephone and dialled Gereon’s home number. He picked up almost immediately.

“Rath.”

“It’s me,” Charlotte said. “Thank you for the food.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I was really hungry by the evening, and everything you got is so easy on the stomach. You even bought me an orange!” She was about to ask whether she was supposed to eat the orange with or without the peel, but then decided against it. She didn’t want Gereon to think of her as a savage who didn’t know basic etiquette.

“How was your day?” he had trouble accepting gratitude and hurried to change the subject.

“I was at the clinic this morning and saw the nurse. The test results will be ready by Friday. She arranged my appointment with the professor for 6 o’clock. He’ll perform a physical examination and say…” she made a pause, considering her words, “whatever he has to say.”

“Can I come with you?” Gereon asked cautiously. He was braver on the telephone than he was face to face, and now dared to come up with a rather bold suggestion.

“You want to?” Charlotte sounded surprised.

“If you’d prefer to go alone…”

“No,” she interrupted him. “No.”

“We’ll go together then. And congratulations on your gun licence.”

“Thanks. Congratulations on catching the murderer of the schoolgirl. I heard he turned out to be fourteen years old. It’s sick!”

“Yes. The pup refused to speak, and it took us a while to determine his identity. He was moved to the juvenile prison.”

“Good job. Sorry, I can’t keep the line busy for too long. Someone might be trying to get through.”

“Right.”

“See you tomorrow,” Charlotte said, and hung up the receiver.

She was deeply touched by Gereon’s suggestion that he accompany her to the doctor’s office. He wasn’t withdrawing from her or leaving her alone in a tough situation.

Her problem was screaming to be solved, growing bigger with each passing day. Although the issue was almost too overwhelming to deal with, she had no other choice but to tackle it as soon as possible. It was about her life and her body, and she bore the exclusive responsibility for what had happened.

****

Rain that had begun as a soft shower on Friday morning had been getting heavier throughout the day, and by the evening the sky had changed from a light slate grey to almost black. Gereon and Charlotte were leaving the Burg together, to be on time for a 6 o'clock appointment with Professor Hastreiter. Gereon held an umbrella over Charlotte, so that she wouldn't be soaked by the time they got to the car.

“Should we wait until it lets up a bit?” Charlotte asked. “There’s almost no visibility, and the road is completely covered with water.”

“It’s just rain,” Gereon shook his head, started the engine and switched on the headlights. He didn’t want to be late for the appointment.

The heavy rain blurred the windshield, and the car’s wipers failed to keep the water off the glass, even though they were moving at their highest speed. Gereon hated the squeaky noise the wipers produced. It made his headache worse. He had suffered from concussion before and knew from experience that it would be wiser to refrain from driving until his dizziness had subsided and his balance was back to normal. But with weather like that, walking all the way to the clinic or hailing a taxi wasn’t an option.

Although the roads were quite empty, the wet asphalt made driving challenging. Gereon was as cautious as he could be, keeping in mind that a traffic accident would be very hard to avoid if the car’s tyres lost traction. He allowed himself to relax a little only when they crossed the Kupfergraben.

“Bike on the left!” Charlotte gasped and jerked backwards in fear. Gereon hadn’t noticed a cyclist when driving through a junction.

“Damn!” He panicked and slammed the brakes on sharply. The car’s rear wheels began drifting to the right, the car bumped into the curb and stopped a split second before colliding with the bicycle. The engine cut out and the wipers froze.

Furious, the cyclist got off his bike and attacked Gereon’s car, tearing the driver’s door open: “What the heck are you doing?” he yelled. “You almost killed me! Are you crazy, speeding like that in the rain? Give me your name, I’ll go to the police station and file a complaint.”

Gereon pulled out his pistol and pointed it at the man: “Go to hell, moron. One more word and I’ll scatter your brains all over the road.”

The terrified cyclist stepped back and bent down to pick his bike up from the ground. Gereon shut the car door and restarted the engine. The driver behind sounded his horn, angry that the crossing was blocked.

Everything had happened so suddenly that Gereon hadn’t had time to think before acting, and he was already regretting what he had done. Instead of apologising and de-escalating the conflict situation, he had cursed the man and threatened to use his firearm. If the cyclist memorised the car’s licence plate and reported the accident, he would be in serious trouble.

Charlotte didn’t say anything until they reached Bauhofstraße. Gereon didn’t know what had shaken her more: the near-collision or the quarrel with the cyclist. He parked the car near the clinic, in the visitors’ space, and checked his watch. It showed five to six. They were not late after all.

“Did you borrow the line about the brains from “Hell's Heroes”?” she gave him a sidelong glance and cracked a smile.

“Pardon?” Gereon frowned.

“It’s an American Western,” Charlotte explained, fishing a pocket mirror and a powder-case out of her handbag. “The bandit who robbed the bank said the same thing to the cashier before shooting him dead… You should watch that film. I think it’s still showing at the cinema.”

Charlotte smoothed her damp curls and added a new layer of powder to her pale face. Gereon wasn’t misled by her humour and cheerful chitchat, sensing the tight emotions that she was hiding behind the façade of make-up.

Professor Hastreiter was waiting for his patient in the clinic’s reception. He turned out to be a husky, middle-aged man with a black pencil moustache and a receding hairline. He briefly introduced himself and asked Gereon to wait while he performed a physical examination on Charlotte, as according to the clinic’s rules, the patient’s partner wasn't permitted to enter the procedure room.

Gereon wasn’t sure whether Charlotte felt uneasy about having her private parts examined by a doctor of the opposite gender. After all she had been through, perhaps it didn’t bother her much. Or maybe it did, but she was concealing her unease and was just putting on a brave face when the professor invited her to follow him. Gereon would have been extremely embarrassed if he had been in her place. During the war he and the other soldiers in his regiment were examined regularly for signs of the French disease, which was a terribly humiliating procedure even though it was always performed by male doctors.

He didn’t know much about women’s physiology and still cherished the hope that Charlotte was alright. That the professor would say that the cause of her late period wasn’t pregnancy but something else. Something not very dangerous. Maybe the result of starvation? Back in the cabin, she had survived on very little food for almost two weeks. That could have affected her menstrual cycle.

Finally the door of the procedure room opened, and the professor asked Gereon to come into his adjoining office. Charlotte was sitting on the chair opposite Hastreiter’s desk, her head tilted downwards, her hands clasped on her lap as if she were praying. Gereon took a seat next to Charlotte and prepared to listen. Hastreiter had a pile of papers and a thick notebook in front of him. It seemed that he had already started a conversation with Charlotte, and now resumed it without paying much attention to the new person who had just joined them.

“You were tested for venereal diseases and contagious infections that are not serious for adults but harmful to unborn children,” the professor said. “Rubella, for example. All the tests came out negative.”

“Good,” Charlotte answered briskly.

“Based on the urine test performed on the lab rats, the recent examination and the information you have given me, I can conclude that you are ten to twelve weeks pregnant. The embryo has become a fetus already.”

His words were met with pin-drop silence. Charlotte dug her nails into the back of her hand, creating a few deep red gashes that looked like cat scratches.

“I don’t understand how it could have happened,” she said in a thin, pained tone that revealed how deeply upset she was. “I’ve been using a cap for years, and this is the first time it’s failed me.”

“A cervical cap is an illegal contraceptive device,” Hastreiter didn’t express the slightest sympathy for his patient. “Many medical professionals oppose that method of birth control because its failure rates are too high. It gives the illusion of safety. Even if you used the cap correctly, the probability of eventual pregnancy has been growing year by year.” He pushed his glasses higher up his nose and consulted one of the papers in the pile. “I have conducted my own research among three hundred users of cervical caps and found that the method’s failure rate is about ten per cent per year for nulliparous women, and up to twenty-five per cent per year for parous women. That’s why I recommend that patients combine at least two methods of contraception or else refrain from extramarital sexual activities altogether. Abstinence is the only form of birth control that is completely effective in preventing pregnancy.”

“Great advice!” Charlotte huffed. “Too bad it’s a little late.”

Gereon couldn’t focus on Hastreiter’s explanations and statistics; he was staring at Charlotte without blinking, but she didn't turn her head to meet his gaze.

“Yes, very unfortunate indeed,” the professor agreed, “because the outcome of a pregnancy in such patients as you is generally unfavourable.”

“Why is that?” Charlotte asked.

“I’ve been collecting data on fetal anatomical findings and abnormalities for two decades. Here we have a case of double toxic impact. First, your male partner was regularly taking injections of morphine and barbiturates at the time of conception,” the professor continued, ignoring Gereon’s presence, speaking directly to Charlotte. “The scientific evidence suggests that these drugs attach to the semen and therefore affect the fetus. Secondly, you received an injection of strong anaesthetic medicine in the early weeks of pregnancy, when the embryonic cells were starting to differentiate into tissues and organs. We don’t know exactly what medicine it was but based on the clinical picture you have given me, I’d say it might be sodium thiopental.”

“Could that be the reason why this pregnancy is taking such a toll on my body?” Charlotte asked.

“Absolutely,” Hastreiter answered. “The heavy intoxication has caused hyperemesis gravidarum, a serious medical condition with intractable vomiting, dehydration and malnutrition that leads to electrolyte imbalance and weight loss. It’s extremely debilitating and lasts for months. You are currently only 45 kilograms, and your weight could drop further, as the symptoms are likely to worsen with increasing gestational weeks.”

The expression on Charlotte’s face was dejected and sad. “They are likely to worsen, you say. Does that’s mean there’s still a chance that my situation might take a turn for the better?”

“I’m afraid in your case, the contributing factors make the risks of different complications exceptionally high,” the professor twirled the long ends of his moustache thoughtfully. “The physical and mental violence you endured and the combination of several toxic substances in your system may have a crippling and potentially deadly effect on the fetus. It’s impossible to be completely confident about the prognosis, but the majority of pregnancies that are similarly affected do not result in a live birth.”

“Really?” Charlotte frowned. “What causes the death of the child?”

“The fetus,” the professor corrected her. “You were hit in the stomach, right? One of the most common issues in fetuses with blunt injuries is a defect in the anterior abdominal wall, which makes intraperitoneal contents herniate outside of the abdominal cavity.”

“Are you talking about some kind of a hernia?” Charlotte raised her eyebrow, showing her confusion.

“The terminology I’m using might be a little obscure for people without a strong medical background,” the professor said. “You must excuse me. Sometimes I forget I’m talking to a patient and not giving a lecture to my students. But I do have a specimen preserved in alcohol that can illustrate this phenomenon. Just a moment.”

He went to one of his closets and took a glass jar out of it.

“This fetus is about eighteen weeks old. It was a late miscarriage, and the patient needed to go through labour to get it out of her uterus. We injected the fetus with formalin to preserve it for educational purposes. Have a closer look: here you see an abdominal cleft. The intestines, liver and kidneys are hanging outside the abdominal cavity. Serious developmental pathologies of this kind always result in the death of a fetus.”

Gereon had seen injured soldiers at the war, but the sight of the dead, underdeveloped baby in the glass jar was far more disturbing. It sliced his heart open and petrified him to the core. He felt a sudden wave of heat in his chest and bile rising in his throat. Charlotte gave him a fleeting concerned glance and turned to Hastreiter.

“Enough. I think we’ve got the idea, Professor Hastreiter. Could you please put the jar back in your closet?”

“Of course. I apologise if it looked disturbing. A picture is worth a thousand words, they say. Homines amplius oculis, quam auribus credunt.”

“Alright. I understand the essence of the pathology. But it can’t be very common, because I’ve never heard of it before,” Charlotte pointed out.

“I don’t want to sound overly pessimistic,” the professor’s cynical tone implied quite the opposite, “but as your doctor I must warn you that even if your fetus doesn’t have an abdominal cleft, and that you somehow carry the pregnancy to full term and give birth, the prognosis for the child remains gloomy all the same. Various birth defects are certain to occur, but we can’t predict how severe they will be. It’ll most likely be the case of both physical and intellectual disability, and your child’s condition will get progressively worse throughout its life.”

Gereon laced his fingers together, cracked his knuckles and grimaced at the sound they produced.

“You mean the child won’t be able to live a normal life?” Charlotte asked.

“Definitely not,” Hastreiter shook his head vigorously, trying to persuade her. “Such invalids can’t live independently and need a lot of help in performing simple daily tasks. They never learn to walk, to eat with cutlery, to button clothes or tie shoelaces, to read or to hold a pen. They get strong contractions in their limbs that gradually spread to their whole body. And the pain! Medication can reduce pain, but the symptoms will become more prominent over time. Such biologically defective individuals are completely housebound and need around-the-clock care. They impose a burden on their families and German society and drain our national resources.”

“How unfortunate,” Charlotte’s voice was bitter and sarcastic. “My handicapped kid might be the straw that breaks the back of the German economy.”

The professor ignored her comment and kept a straight face: “Along with a group of my colleagues and one of the progressive political parties, I am preparing a legislative proposal for the Bundestag. We hope to introduce a new law that would allow the birth of children with congenital defects to be prevented. It would serve women like you,” Hastreiter pointed at Charlotte’s stomach and then at the closet where he kept the jar with the defective fetus. “But at present, while abortions are still banned by law, I wouldn’t advise any of my patients to undergo an illegal procedure that would be performed by an incompetent person in unsanitary conditions. It would be incredibly risky for you, given that you are underweight and still recovering from your injuries. Any major blood loss could be fatal to you.”

“I see,” Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “But you seem to have some other option in mind.”

Hastreiter pinched his moustache again, “Actually, I do have an option for you. A medicine that is used to treat ulcus ventriculi, a gastric ulcer. It will cause your uterus to contract and expel the fetus that is still very small, probably as small as a bean or a walnut. No more pain or bleeding other than during regular menstruation. You will just need a day of bed rest and a week of abstinence.”

“Hmm…” Charlotte hummed. “Sounds almost too easy to be true. I’ve never heard of such a pill before. Is it really effective? What about the side effects?” As the professor didn’t answer her questions straight away, she added another one: “And the legal aspect? Even though this method isn’t a surgical procedure, it would still be an induced termination of pregnancy and thus prohibited by law.”

Hastreiter was taken aback by Charlotte’s questions. He was throwing a lifeline to a drowning woman and had expected to receive gratitude, not suspicions.

“It is an innovative medicine, but its safety and efficacy have already been confirmed in multiple clinical tests,” the professor assured her. “As for its legality, I could put this prescription down as medicine for your stomach aches, so your patient record would be absolutely unremarkable.”

Charlotte looked at Gereon, who had remained silent throughout the conversation with Hastreiter. His face was ashen, and beads of cold sweat had formed on his brow. His hands were not the only things shaking; his whole body was trembling too, and he was desperately struggling to stop the shudder that was running through him.

“I understand your hesitations,” the professor said. “You don’t have to make a decision here and now. Take the pill home and think about it in peace. It’s always good to have options, isn’t it?” On saying so, he gave her a small tin with one pill inside.

“How much time do I have to make a decision?” Charlotte asked, putting the container into her handbag.

“Don’t wait too long. The sooner you take the medicine, the better it works.”

Gereon was watching the scene unfolding, gasping for air, unable to control his breathing. Charlotte realised he might collapse on the floor any moment.

“Do excuse me!” she said to the professor. “We must go now,” she nudged Gereon’s arm, drawing him away with her.

“Wait a minute!” Hastreiter exclaimed, coming out from behind his desk.

“Thank you for your time and insights, Professor. Please mail us a bill and we’ll pay it before the due date,” Charlotte promised.

Before Hastreiter could utter another word, she pulled Gereon into the reception area and closed the door of the doctor’s office behind them.

“Lean on me and try to breathe more slowly,” she said. “You will get through this. It will pass soon.”

Gereon was wobbling on his legs, his gait unsteady and sluggish. When they left the building and stepped back out into the wet street, he drew fresh air into his lungs and felt a little better. The fierce wind was whipping the rain around, and in less than a minute they were both soaking wet.

“Oh!” Charlotte yelped and slapped herself on the forehead. “We left the umbrella in the rack at the clinic. Shall I go back and get it?”

“Don’t go,” Gereon clung onto her sleeve.

“Let’s get in the car then,” she suggested.

She unlocked the car door and helped Gereon in.

“It’s all my fault,” Gereon said, when he began to recover the power of speech. “I was using drugs. My father assaulted you and injected drugs into your system.”

“No, no. This whole mess is purely my fault,” Charlotte looked away with something that might be shame. “I told you I was taking care, so you weren’t cautious. No backup methods, nothing. I failed you, I failed us both. I’m so sorry!” she sniffed and wiped her nose with a handkerchief. “I’ll handle it on my own. Please don’t feel obliged. You’ve already done much more than I could have expected.”

Charlotte turned her head to look at him, but Gereon kept his face averted. The corner of the side window fogged up as he pressed his forehead against the cool glass. He didn’t say a word, unwilling or unable to go on with their dialogue. He needed more time to regain his composure. Once again, Charlotte regretted that she didn’t have a driving licence.

*****

Professor Hastreiter leapt to his chair when the telephone on his desk started to ring. He picked up the receiver, anticipating something bad.

“Hello?”

“They have gone, I assume,” Doctor Schmidt’s voice sounded muffled, and Hastreiter distinguished the hum of rain and street traffic in the background. “Have you given them all the information I provided you with?”

“I have.”

“Speak up!” Doctor Schmidt commanded.

“I have,” Hastreiter repeated. “Are you calling from the street booth?”

Anno ignored the question, posing one of his own instead: “Did you show them the preserved specimen?”

“Yes.”

“Good. What was their reaction?”

“Both were terrified. The woman tried to stay cool, but the man felt extremely sick. His hands were trembling and he almost fainted. He’s one of your patients, isn’t he?”

“Did you give her the pill?” Anno asked.

“I did, but she questioned its effectiveness and wanted to know about the possible side effects. The lady is intuitively smart. She seemed to sense my uncertainty, even though I assured her that the pill was safe and worked well…” the professor made a confused noise in the back of his throat. “But the truth is that I don’t know anything about the medicine, so I’m relying completely on you here. Not to do my patient any harm or get me into trouble. Remember we both took the Hippocratic Oath, colleague. We swore to abstain from all intentional wrongdoing and harm, from abusing the bodies of men and women.”

“Don’t worry, there is no evidence of you giving her the medicine, just don’t put it down in her patient record. No prescription, no fingerprints, no witnesses. Even if the capsule contained rat poison and she died, you would never be charged with anything,” Anno snorted.

“It’s not funny, Doctor Schmidt! Of course, I’m responsible for whatever medicine I give my patients, and I have no intentions of causing them any complications.”

“You did what you had to do,” Anno said. “I’m sure these two will never disturb you again. Thanks for the favour, and don’t make me remind you that you owed me one.”

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up!” Hastreiter exclaimed. “This whole situation is giving me an awful feeling. Perhaps I’ll contact them and advise them not to…”

“You won’t do that. We are in the same boat, Professor,” Anno barked in a low, rumbling voice, almost choking on his own spit. “If you betray my trust, I will reveal that you try out your innovative obstetric procedures on pregnant women and newborns without seeking consent.”

“But it’s you who sends war veterans’ wives to my clinic!” Hastreiter showed his exasperation at Anno’s threat.

“Exactly,” judging by the sound of it, Anno had dropped a few more coins into the slot of the public telephone. “And we both know that medicine moves forward one funeral at a time. Whatever we do is done in the name of science.”

“Damn!” The professor gasped. “Are you really advocating human sacrifice for the sake of science?”

“Stop philosophising, Hastreiter. I’m becoming increasingly annoyed at how you twist my words. Listen to me. I’ll tell you the whole sordid truth about this couple. These people used fake names and identities when they introduced themselves, pretending to be good citizens, which is certainly not the case. The man is a murderer on the run and a perjurer. He has been taking morphine orally and intravenously for over a decade and committed crimes under the influence of drugs. He displays clear symptoms of schizophrenia and a substance-induced psychotic disorder. I’ve treated him to the best of my ability, but he didn’t follow my prescriptions and gave up on his psychotherapy.”

“Yes, I noticed the tremor in his limbs and thought he might have psychiatric issues. And what about the woman? I didn’t get the impression she wanted to end her pregnancy. It felt wrong to exaggerate the probability of pathologies in her child,” the professor said.

“This woman is a high-end prostitute who takes part in vile orgies all around Berlin,” Anno explained. “She has been captured and tortured by her sadistic patrons, a cheap toy for perverts of all sorts. These two wrecks are not in a relationship; they are simply incapable of sustaining one. They don’t want or need a child, and the woman was intending to have a backstreet abortion. You gave her a safer tool for terminating her unintended pregnancy. Your conscience is absolutely clear, dear colleague, and so is mine.”

“I see,” the professor let out a short sigh of relief. “Please accept my apologies for falsely accusing you of unprofessional conduct. If you had explained everything beforehand, I would have never…”

“It was a serious accusation indeed,” Anno interrupted him. “But I accept your apology. Forget these people; pretend you have never met them.”

Anno hung up the receiver, an evil grin plastered across his face. He would finish the task his father had failed to complete and get Siegfried back under his control.

*

Gereon couldn’t remember how they got back home from the clinic. He might well have hit a couple of cyclists and pedestrians on the way or smashed his car into a tree or a wall when parking. He couldn’t bring himself to care. His hands kept trembling, his pulse was thumping and his chest was terribly tight.

At home he didn’t bother to take off his wet boots and jacket, but stumbled straight to the kitchen, opened the built-in cabinet and searched for a bottle of Korn that had been hidden behind the mason jars full of pickled cucumbers and onions. There it was. He unscrewed the bottle and took a big gulp. The Korn burnt his mouth, throat and stomach, making him wince and gag. Another gulp, then one more. He sat for a while on a chair, rocking back and forth, waiting for the alcohol to get into his bloodstream and ease his anxiety.

Was he acting selfishly again? Instead of getting drunk alone in the kitchen, he could try to comfort Charlotte, who must be feeling a thousand times worse than he was. If he were in her position, what would he want to hear? He didn’t know.

She was moving frenetically around the flat, between the bathroom, the living room and the bedroom. Like a small bird beating its wings against the bars of its cage, desperate to break free.

After a few more minutes of hesitation, Gereon joined her in the bedroom. She was standing in front of the open closet, going through her clothes hangers and picking out some items: a pair of trousers, a blouse, a cardigan.

“What are you doing?” Gereon asked.

“Packing,” she answered briefly, without turning her head in his direction. “I’ll stay with Reini and Fred for a while.”

“For a while?” he couldn’t do anything but repeat her words, his brow creased with worry.

“I need to clear my mind and get hold of the situation,” Charlotte explained, still unable to meet his eyes.

“Perhaps you should call them before you go? In case they aren’t at home right now… It’s raining.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll be fine, I’ll find somewhere.”

She was packing quickly and efficiently, stuffing her clothes and undergarments into the big canvas bag that they used to carry sheets to the laundry.

Gereon sat down on the edge of the bed and watched her quietly. When her clothes were packed, she collected her toiletries: shampoo, make-up, her toothbrush and comb.

“Can I give you a lift?” he couldn’t help asking, even though he knew she would refuse.

“Thanks, but I’d rather take the tram.”

He felt his eyes welling up and buried his face in his hands, unwilling to show his tears. Would she say goodbye to him, or would it be a click of the lock in the front door? He heard her approaching him, but he kept his face hidden. Charlotte sat down beside him and rested her hand on his shoulder, offering a comforting touch.

“Thanks for arranging the doctor’s appointment and being there with me. Gereon, nothing is your fault, please don’t blame yourself.” She stroked his back gently and continued, “I fired up the boiler. Take a hot bath and try to get some sleep,” she coaxed. “I’ll go now. Good night.”

Gereon was completely devastated by Charlotte’s departure and couldn’t force himself to open his mouth and say goodbye to her. It took great self-restraint not to start sobbing before she left the flat.

The door closed with a soft click. He waited until the sound of her footsteps had subsided in the hallway before he went up to the bedroom window to catch the last glimpse of her silhouette on the street. The rain had eased off a little, and the rivulets of water were trickling slowly down the glass. Some of the droplets determinedly took their own paths, others followed and eventually merged with them.

Charlotte was walking slowly through the puddles, not minding that water was seeping into her shoes, making her feet wet. A little bird with broken wings who could no longer fly. Her figure grew smaller and smaller in the distance until it disappeared from view.

Once she had promised that she wouldn’t leave him as long as he needed her, but she hadn’t kept her word and had left him alone all the same. It was a farewell, the inevitable end of their relationship. She had made her choice and there was nothing he could do, except to accept the finality of their parting. He had done his best to support her, but she didn’t need him or his support; he wasn’t worthy of her trust. She owed him nothing at all, and no attempt to stop her would have had the desired result. Even if he had asked her to, she wouldn’t have stayed with him. He was trapped, sinking into a quicksand of despair, and no help was coming.

A throbbing ache in his temple where a lump sat became more intense. He still had plenty of Korn, a few vials of morphine and his injection kit. Yes, he would follow Charlotte’s advice and take a hot bath… and a dose too. It would make his pain and troubles disappear, if only briefly. Or maybe God would have mercy on him and take his useless life away.

Gereon hadn’t used drugs for a couple of months, mainly because of Charlotte. But she didn’t care about him anymore, and he no longer had a reason to remain clean. He wriggled out of his damp clothes and climbed into the bathtub. He watched it filling up and sipped Korn straight from the bottle. His mind was swimming, occupied with disjointed images of what he had seen during the day. The wrinkled face of Ulrike’s grandmother, swollen from crying; the wild eyes of the young murderer who hadn’t shown any signs of remorse for his crime; the dead fetus in the jar and the small tin box that the professor had given Charlotte. Anno’s predictions were correct: he had failed to protect his unborn baby from being killed, once again.

A tourniquet and the hot water made it easy for Gereon to find his veins. He chose one on the inside of his left elbow. It was bulging close to the surface. Perfect. The injection of morphine felt good; it brought instant relief and a liberating sense of escape. Gereon drifted in and out of semi-consciousness, hoping to see the little boy in the sailor suit who resembled him so much. The boy who would never be welcomed into this world, who was a mere figment of his sick imagination, and yet still more real than most of the people who surrounded him in his daily life. He dropped the empty syringe onto the tiled bathroom floor, closed his eyes and leaned away, breathless.

He spent a while wandering in the impenetrable darkness before eventually ending up in a dimly lit train tunnel that was filled with cold water up to the height of his knees. He was walking in the space between the railway tracks and felt the uneven wooden sleepers under his feet. There were bats squeaking above his head, their sharp claws scratching his face and neck as they flew by.

“Erwin!” Gereon called out, the sound of his voice echoing through the tunnel. “Er-win! Where are you? Father’s here,” these last words got caught in his constricted throat; he was finally weeping aloud, unable to choke back his tears any longer.

The tunnel was gradually narrowing. No train would fit down here anymore, perhaps only a rail trolley. A pair of yellow lights shone further down the gloomy chamber. They were slowly approaching him, accompanied by a low growling noise that could only be produced by a living creature. A thick dragon with a triangular head and a row of sharp spikes on its back and tail was working its way towards him. Gereon screamed in horror, fell onto his knees and pressed himself against the cold, slimy wall of the tunnel. The turbid, stagnant water was now up to his chest. It was full of tiny insects, dragonfly nymphs and mosquito larvae. They sneaked under his clothes and climbed down his body, causing a torturous tickling sensation.

He was frozen on the spot, hypnotised by the sight of the dragon, unable to turn away from the ugly, slithering mass. The dragon’s eyes were a clear yellow, the stripes of their black pupils were focused steadily on him. The dragon let out a long, threatening hiss and darted forwards, its jaws wide open, its sharp fangs and teeth ready to penetrate the tissue of its prey. The stink of sewer and sulphur from the dragon’s muzzle made Gereon shrink back in disgust. He knew with gut-clenching certainty that he was about to be devoured.

His death would be painful but quick. Wasn't that the mercy he was wishing for? The only thing he regretted was that he had never told Charlotte that he loved her. Those words would remain unsaid. He pictured her dressed in black, standing alone at the edge of his open grave, a single white peony trembling between her fingers. Sleep tight, sweetheart, she would whisper and drop the flower onto the lid of his coffin. He had made the right choice, she was just wasting her time with him, she deserved someone much better than a cheap parody of hell’s hero. She would soon forget him and move on with her life… Or at least he hoped that she would.