Babylon Berlin Read Free Page B

They made their way towards the Sinalco poster to take a closer look. The paper was torn under the C and the O. A dirty abrasion left by a shoe.
    Wolter gave Rath a leg-up to haul himself up the slippery wet timber and peer over the top. Wilhelm II was running towards Urbanstrasse and had almost reached the opposite end of the building site. A decent effort, as the department store façade occupied the entire length of Hermannplatz, around 300 metres in all.
    ‘He’s headed for Urbanstrasse! Go and intercept him there!’ he shouted to Uncle, before jumping over and taking up the chase once more. If Bruno could cut him off, he’d be theirs for the taking, but Wilhelm II had seen Rath, and was growing increasingly frantic. Now level with the north tower, he moved past the freight elevator that flanked it, directly towards the fence onto Urbanstrasse. Any moment now he’d be trapped, but then he stopped, turned on his heels and disappeared behind the steel framework of the elevator. The next minute he was climbing the struts, nimble as a rat. Rath barely gave the situation a second thought before following.
    The porn Kaiser must have been a cat burglar or an acrobat. No match for a policeman lacking circus training. Rath swung himself onto the nearest ladder and ascended carefully, level by level, always mindful not to lose sight of the nimble, climbing rat. Today was Sunday and the vast building site was deserted. Only the two of them moved in the web of steel and timber until, suddenly, there were no more ladders. The scaffolding came to an end on the seventh floor, the main building didn’t extend any higher, but the freight elevator by the north tower, which resembled an aborted skyscraper, had scaffolding for several more floors. Wilhelm had kept climbing. Was he headed for the spire? It looked as if he might be.
    Rath groaned. Just don’t look down, he told himself. Above, the Kaiser climbed onto the elevator struts sixty metres above ground. Rath fixed his gaze ahead, crossing a few metres of wobbly planks to reach the north tower. Then more scaffolding and another set of ladders. He could no longer see the Kaiser but it didn’t matter, he just had to keep going. They’d get him in the end. When he reached the summit Rath was so out of breath he leaned his head against a cool iron girder, panting. Where was this guy, and why didn’t the scumbag just give himself up?
    There was no sign, but he must see that it was pointless. Rath felt his hands cramp around the iron girder as he fixed his gaze downwards. How was it the drop could be so alluring and yet so panic-inducing at the same time?
    On Hermannplatz an endless stream of ants scuttled along heedlessly, while toy cars wheeled this way and that. His knees grew weak. Over the roofs, he could see as far as Kreuzberg, the great hall of Görlitzer station amidst a sea of houses and, in the distance, the chimneys of Klingenberg power station.
    Was the fake Kaiser already on his way down? If so, Bruno would intercept him. If he was still scrambling around up here it would be his responsibility to nab him, Gereon Rath, vertigo or no. The whistling of the wind become unbearable as, carefully, he climbed down to a more sheltered level, and suddenly Wilhelm II was standing right in front of him, just as startled as the detective. He had lost half of his fake moustache during the pursuit.
    ‘Fuck off, pig,’ he said, his voice nervous and shrill and quite the opposite of majestic. Madness was in his eyes, an impression only intensified by the smear of greasepaint.
    Cocaine, Rath thought, he’s on cocaine, he’s been snorting it in the toilet. Just what I need.
    ‘C’mon pal,’ he said, trying to sound as calm as possible, ‘you must see this is pointless. Why don’t you spare us any further trouble?’
    ‘I ain’t going to spare you nothing,’ the man said in a thick Berlin accent, and suddenly a glistening piece of metal was in his hand. Great, Rath thought, a