My Cousin Skinny, page 1
Contents
Cover
Also by Peter Steiner
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for the Willi Geismeier mysteries
About the Author
Munich, November 1913
Murder
The Boy Detective
28 June 1914
Helmutt Arenz
Graf Sigismund Maria Von Wittelsbach
The Green-Eyed Monster
8 November 1917
Munich Again
Home
The Engineer
Karlo’s Friends
Detective Geismeier
The Plague
The Royal Bavarian Assurance Company
The Bridge
Two Cases
Prisoner 61757
Poor Gabek
The Warden
Rounds
Soup
A Science Lesson
Two Gabeks
Germany for the Germans
Eugenics
Ottmar Freiherr Von Fischer
An Unholy Alliance
The Laboratory
Beelzebub
The Experiment
An Unexpected Outbreak
Too Many Coincidences
The Hero
What Must be Done
Gutting a Trout
The Hornets
On the Other Hand
Stettnerstraße 11
The Key
Inmate 59033
The Warden Again
A Surprise
Schobert
Thin Ice
Gregor Wertheimer
Schobert
Fresh Air
Tuesday
Wednesday
The Aftermath
Also by Peter Steiner
The Louis Morgon mysteries
LE CRIME
L’ASSASSIN
THE TERRORIST
THE RESISTANCE
THE CAPITALIST
The Willi Geismeier mysteries
THE GOOD COP *
THE CONSTANT MAN *
THE INCONVENIENT GERMAN *
* available from Severn House
THE NEW DETECTIVE
Peter Steiner
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First world edition published in Great Britain and the USA in 2023
by Severn House, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd,
14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE.
This eBook edition first published in 2023 by Severn House,
an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd.
severnhouse.com
Copyright © Peter Steiner, 2023
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The right of Peter Steiner to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0642-8 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0650-3 (e-book)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
This eBook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland
Praise for the Willi Geismeier mysteries
“Smashing … Put this series in the hands of Philip Kerr fans”
Booklist on The Inconvenient German
“Fans of Philip Kerr’s Bernie Gunther will want to take a look”
Publishers Weekly on The Inconvenient German
“Taut … Steiner maintains suspense”
Kirkus Reviews on The Constant Man
“A disturbing, menacing novel … Strongly recommended … Fans of Rebecca Cantrell’s ‘Hannah Vogel’ series will recognize the bleak atmosphere”
Library Journal Starred Review of The Good Cop
“Impressive … A precisely written, carefully plotted novel, all the more dramatic for its understated tone”
Booklist on The Good Cop
“Steiner brings this frightening period to life through well-drawn characters we come to care about … A humdinger”
Wall Street Journal on The Good Cop
About the author
Peter Steiner is the author of the critically acclaimed Louis Morgon series of crime novels. He is also a cartoonist for The New Yorker and is the creator of one of the most famous cartoons of the technological age which prompted the adage, ‘On the Internet, nobody knows you’re a dog.’
MUNICH, NOVEMBER 1913
Sergeant Schobert looked his newest patrolman up and down. Willi Geismeier was nineteen. He looked like a schoolboy, tall, skinny, disheveled. But when Schobert looked him in the eye, there was something about how he looked back that made Schobert look away.
Willi’s paperwork said he had graduated from the Royal Bavarian Police Academy at the top of his class – first in riding, first in marksmanship, first in everything. Schobert didn’t like this new academy; he didn’t see the need for it. In the old days you learned on the job. You just followed the tried-and-true ways and you’d be fine.
Someone being first in his class – he didn’t like that either. And Willi was a rich kid. Plus, he had a sponsor in the upper police echelons, Chief Benno von Horvath. Schobert had heard about Horvath, one of those reformers – community policing, social justice, anti-corruption, that sort of thing.
He closed Willi’s file. ‘OK, Geismeier. I’m partnering you with Patrolman Heisse. He’ll show you the ropes.’
Werner Heisse was old school in the worst sense. He had been a policeman for five years. He had tried for detective a few times, until he finally realized being a patrolman suited him better. As a patrolman with a regular beat, he could set things up to his advantage without anyone taking much notice. The protection he extorted from villains meant he always had money in his pocket. He just had to let the pimps and whores know who was boss from time to time, and he could have sex whenever it suited him. He got free drinks at the bars and clubs the same way. He’d just threaten to bring in a health inspector or to recommend that your license not be renewed. And he didn’t have a wife or children to bother with. What more did he need?
Schobert warned Heisse about Willi. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Heisse with a wink. His idea of showing Willi the ropes was to have him walk a night patrol alone through the toughest parts of the district. Schobert acted like he didn’t know what Heisse meant. ‘Whatever you think is best,’ he said.
It was a poor neighborhood. The apartment blocks had been put up in a hurry in the late 1890s. Thanks to corruption in the building trades, they were already crumbling and should have been condemned. Few trees or shrubs could grow in the dark, narrow courtyards. The gas lights should have been on around the clock, but most of them had been destroyed. Drugs were sold and used freely in the courtyards. Prostitutes entertained their customers in hallways and abandoned rooms. Residents mostly cowered in their apartments.
Willi asked Heisse whether he would come along.
‘Why? Are you scared, Geismeier?’
‘A little,’ said Willi. ‘Besides, it’s department policy that night patrols consist of two policemen,’ said Willi.
‘You know what’s my department policy, Geismeier? That you damn well do what I tell you to do,’ said Heisse.
Willi went alone. It was a warm night for November. He was new and in uniform, so when he approached a group of men standing about, they dispersed and sauntered off into the shadows. They leaned against a wall, hands in their pockets, and waited. But Willi didn’t leave. Instead, he walked up to them.
‘Guten Abend,’ he said. ‘What’s going on?’
The men looked at each other. ‘Nothing’s going on, Herr Wachtmeister,’ said one. ‘We was just discussing the latest economic news.’ The other men laughed.
‘Really,’ said Willi. ‘And what do you think?’
The men looked at one another. ‘What’s your deal, copper?’ said one. The others looked uncomfortable, ready for trouble.
‘No deal,’ said Willi. ‘Just keeping the peace. Whatever you’re doing, don’t bother anyone and we’ll be fine. I’ll see you again soon. Have a good night.’
The men watched him go. ‘What the devil was that?’ said one.
‘He’s just a kid,’ said another with a sneer. But he looked even younger than Willi.
A woman spilling out of a tiny dress stood by an alley waiting for customers. ‘I’m meeting my husband,’ she said when Willi came up. She dropped her cigarette on the pavement.
‘I know,’ said Willi.
‘Where’s Heisse?’ she said.
‘It’s just me tonig
Willi went into a bar. It was busy at this time of night, but it went quiet. ‘Something to drink, officer?’ said the bartender.
‘A beer,’ said Willi. Everyone was watching.
Willi reached into his pocket. ‘On the house,’ said the bartender.
‘No thanks,’ said Willi and laid a coin on the bar. The bartender stared at the coin for several seconds. Everyone else was looking at Willi, wondering what it meant that a policeman was paying for his own drink.
The next morning Willi found Werner Heisse in Schobert’s office. ‘How’d it go, Geismeier?’ said Heisse. Willi took out his notebook and read from his notes: instances of drug dealing and prostitution.
‘Did you bring them in?’ said Schobert.
‘No, I didn’t,’ said Willi.
‘Why the hell not?’ said Heisse. ‘They were breaking the goddamn law. Did you let them feel your club, at least? Jesus!’ Heisse was mad. He had hoped Willi would put his foot in it one way or the other and come back the worse for wear. Then he – Heisse – could go out there, reassure everyone and make everything right, remind the whores and dealers that as long as they kept up their side of the bargain, they had nothing to worry about. You had to remind them every once in a while what might happen if there was ever a straight cop on the beat.
‘One drunk and disorderly,’ said Willi, continuing his report. ‘A Herr Metzger.’
‘Metzger? Herr Metzger?’ Heisse laughed. ‘Did you at least bring that son of a bitch in?’
‘I walked him home,’ said Willi.
‘You walked him home? Christ, Geismeier! We’re not an escort service …’
‘What Patrolman Heisse means, Geismeier, is that Walther Metzger is a real troublemaker. Sometimes it’s drunk and disorderly, sometimes it’s … he needs to be … kept in line. You know what I mean?’
‘I think I do,’ said Willi.
‘Damn it, I knew that kid was gonna be trouble,’ said Schobert as soon as Willi had left the office. He and Heisse spent the next hour trying to figure out how to get rid of Willi. The trouble was that Willi wasn’t going to make it easy for them. As time went on, he walked the worst beats and took the worst shifts without complaining. He filed his paperwork on time. And he arrested thieves, bullies, muggers, even as he left the drug dealers and users, the whores and drunks alone.
Werner Heisse ordered a few of the dealers to beat Willi up. The next day Willi reported that he had been attacked by three men. He filed a detailed report on the event, including descriptions of the men Heisse had drafted to do the deed.
‘I suppose now you’re going to want medical leave?’ said Schobert.
Willi said he was all right; no, he didn’t need leave.
‘You can’t let them get away with that kind of behavior,’ said Schobert.
‘You should go back and beat the shit out of them,’ said Heisse.
Later Schobert said to Heisse, ‘Did you notice, Geismeier didn’t seem to have a scratch on him?’
Heisse went back out and found the men. ‘We gave him a good beating, Sergeant.’ ‘We made him pay, Sergeant, I swear.’ They called Heisse Sergeant because they thought it flattered him.
‘If I find out you’re lying,’ said Heisse, ‘you’ll regret it.’ And then he punched one of them in the kidney just to let them know he meant business.
MURDER
Walther Metzger was found in the courtyard beaten to death. Willi and Heisse went out there together when the call came in. The neighborhood looked different in the daylight, still poor but less menacing. The dealers and whores were sleeping. A stooped old man with a stick was walking a dog that was even slower than he was. A woman pulled a small wooden cart with a bag of coal. A few people were standing back from Metzger’s body watching the goings-on. One held a handkerchief over her mouth and nose, even though there was no smell.
The coroner was already there. ‘Blunt force trauma,’ he said when the two policemen walked up. ‘Quite a few blows to the body and head with this.’ He pointed to what looked like a table leg. There was hair and blood on it.
Heisse nudged the body with his foot and the coroner shot him a look. ‘He was a useless piece of shit,’ said Heisse. ‘Come on, Geismeier. Let’s go.’
‘Where?’ said Willi.
‘Back to the station.’
‘I’m going to look around,’ said Willi.
‘What for?’ said Heisse.
‘I’m going to look around,’ said Willi again, and stooped down over the body beside the coroner.
Heisse looked at Willi. ‘They’ll be sending a detective, Geismeier. That’s not your job.’ Heisse waited for Willi to say something, but he didn’t. Heisse figured, what the hell? If Willi wanted to get in the way of the detectives, fine with him. Heisse left, and Willi watched as the coroner went about his business.
‘Was he drunk?’ said Willi.
‘He’d been drinking, but I don’t know yet if he was drunk,’ said the coroner.
‘Anything in his pockets?’ said Willi.
‘A few coins,’ said the coroner. ‘One pocket was inside out, so maybe there was something else. But it’s gone now.’
‘Any sign of the table?’ said Willi.
‘The table?’
Willi pointed to the table leg.
‘No,’ said the coroner. ‘Not my job.’ He looked at Willi for the first time. ‘You’re new, aren’t you?’
‘Not that new,’ said Willi.
‘How long?’
‘Two months.’
The coroner laughed then stood up with a sigh. ‘Be careful,’ he said.
‘Careful?’ said Willi. ‘Of what?’
‘Just be careful,’ said the coroner. He nodded to the ambulance men.
They loaded Metzger’s body into the ambulance and drove off, leaving Willi by himself. Most of the onlookers had drifted away, but Willi asked the three that remained whether they knew the victim. They all said they didn’t.
Willi knocked on the door of the nearest apartment. It opened a crack. A security chain was in place. An old man looked out. Willi had seen him watching from the window. ‘Did you know Walther Metzger?’
‘Not really.’
‘Do you know where he lived?’
‘Upstairs. Two-B.’
‘Were you friends?’
‘No,’ said the man.
‘Had he lived there a long time?’
‘I don’t know.’
After a little prodding, Willi learned that the old man and Metzger had once been friends, but had fallen out.
‘Why?’ said Willi.
‘Over a woman,’ said the old man. ‘It’s true,’ he said, seeing that Willi didn’t believe him. ‘But I didn’t kill him.’ The man’s face dissolved and he let out a sob.
‘Who was the woman?’ Willi asked.
‘Izabella,’ said the old man. ‘I don’t know her last name.’
‘Really?’ said Willi. ‘What do you know about her?’
‘Just that she’s called Izabella.’
‘Who would have a key to Metzger’s apartment?’
The old man closed the door and opened it again, leaving the chain in place, and reached out, handing Willi a key on a ribbon.
‘Why do you have his key?’
‘He would get sick sometimes. From drinking. I would help him out.’
‘But you weren’t friends?’
‘No,’ said the man.
‘Do you have anything else of his?’
‘No,’ said the man.
‘Thank you,’ said Willi, holding up the key. ‘I’ll bring it right back.’
‘Keep it. I don’t need it any more,’ said the man, and closed the door.
There was a sink across the hall from 2-B, and next to it was a rickety table. The leg that had been used to bludgeon Metzger had been torn from the table. Someone had stood the table back up on its three remaining legs. But there was debris on the floor – a broken bottle, a few dead flowers, a soap dish – that must have come from the table. The walls and floors were dingy, and there were flecks of blood on the wall.
Willi didn’t need the key to get into the apartment; the door had been kicked in, splintering the molding and tearing the lock from the door. There was more blood inside the small kitchen. A door at the far end of the kitchen led into a bedroom. Each room had a window that looked out on the courtyard. The kitchen had a two-burner gas stove, a small ice box with butter, milk, eggs inside. There were a few jars and cans of food inside a built-in cupboard, along with a few pots, cups, saucers, bowls, plates. But it felt more like an office than a kitchen. A green table was pushed against the wall beside the window. There was a typewriter on it. There was a stack of various newspapers and books on the table as well. There were pencils, pens, an ink pot, a stack of blank paper, and two new ribbons in front of the typewriter. The table’s drawer was empty. There were two chairs, one facing the desk and one beside it with more books on it, including some ledgers and law books. Some books were open, others had places marked with scraps of paper.
