A Quiet Flame

“I hope he sees it that way,” said Nebe. “For your sake. Look here, going without a barker is no good for a cop, see? Last April, after I put Franz Spernau in the cement, I got so many death threats they were offering even money at the Hoppegarten that someone would stall my motor before the end of the summer. It was a bet that was almost collected, too.” Nebe grinned his wolfish grin and swept back his jacket to reveal a big, broom-handled Mauser. “Only I stalled them first, if you know what I mean.” He tapped the side of his not inconsiderable nose with clear meaning. “By the way, how’s the Schwarz case coming along?”

“What’s it to you, Arthur?”

“I know Kurt Daluege a little. We were in the army together. He’s sure to ask the next time I see him.”

“Actually I think I’m beginning to make real progress. I’m more or less certain my suspect is a patient at the jelly clinic in the state hospital in Friedrichshain.”

“Is that so?”

“So you can tell your chum Daluege that it’s nothing personal. I’d be working just as hard to catch this kid’s murderer even if her father wasn’t a lousy Nazi bastard.”

“I’m sure he’ll be pleased to know it. But speaking personally, I can’t see the point of bringing a kid like that into the world in the first place. As a society, I think we should follow the example of the Romans. You know? Romulus and Remus? We should leave them out on a hillside to die of exposure. Something like that, anyway.”

“Maybe. Only those two weren’t left on a hillside because they were sick but because their mother was a Vestal virgin who had violated her vow of celibacy.”

“Well, I wouldn’t even know how to spell that,” said Nebe.

“Besides, Romulus and Remus survived. Haven’t you heard? That’s how Rome was founded.”

“I’m talking about the general principle, that’s all. I’m talking about wasting money on useless members of society. Did you realize that it costs the government sixty thousand marks more to keep a cripple alive in this country than the average healthy citizen?”

“Tell me, Arthur. When we talk about healthy citizens, are we including Joey Goebbels?”

Nebe smiled. “You’re a good cop, Bernie,” he said. “Everyone says so. Be a shame to stall a promising career because of a few thoughtless remarks like that.”

“Who would say such a thing? That these are just thoughtless remarks?”

“Well, aren’t they? You’re no Red. I know that.”

“I put a lot of effort into my detestation of the Nazis, Arthur. You of all people should know that.”

“Nevertheless, the Nazis are going to win the next election. Then what will you do?”

“I shall do what everyone else will do, Arthur. I’ll go home and stick my head in the gas oven and hope to wake up from a very bad dream.”

IT WAS ANOTHER FINE, unusually warm evening. I threw Heinrich Grund’s jacket at him. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go and do some detective work.”

We went downstairs and into the central courtyard of the Alex, where I’d parked my car. I turned the key and pressed the button to operate the starter motor. The car rumbled into life.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Oranienburger Strasse.”

“Why?”

“We’re looking for suspects, remember? That’s the great thing about this city, Heinrich. You don’t have to visit the nuthouse to seek out twisted, disordered minds. They’re everywhere you look. In the Reichstag. In the Wilhelmstrasse. In the Prussian Parliament. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there were even one or two in Oranienburger Strasse. Makes the job a lot easier, don’t you think?”

“If you say so, boss. But why Oranienburger Strasse?”

“Because it’s popular with a certain kind of whore.”

“Gravel.”

“Precisely.”

It was a Friday night, but I couldn’t help that. Every night was a busy one on Oranienburger Strasse. Cars stopped outside the Central Telegraph Office, which was open day and night. And, until the previous year, Oranienburger Strasse had been the location of one of Berlin’s more notorious cabarets, the Stork’s Nest, which was part of the reason the street had come to be popular with the city’s prostitutes. It was rumored that quite a few of the girls on Oranienburger had previously worked at the Stork, before the club’s manager had brought in some younger, cheaper nude dancers from Poland.