March Violets

15

There were only two items in the morning mail, and both had been delivered by hand. Away from Gruber’s inquisitive, hungry-cat stare, I opened them, and found that the smaller of the two envelopes contained a solitary square of cardboard that was a ticket for the day’s Olympic track-and-field events. I turned it over, and on the back were written the initials ’M.S.’ and ‘2 o’clock.’ The larger envelope bore the seal of the Air Ministry and contained a transcript of calls that Haupthandler and Jeschonnek had made and received on their respective telephones during Saturday, which, apart from the one I had made myself from Haupthandler’s apartment, was none. I threw the envelope and its contents into the waste-paper basket and sat down, wondering if Jeschonnek had already bought the necklace, and just what I would do if I was obliged to follow Haupthandler to Tempelhof Airport that same evening. On the other hand, if Haupthandler had already disposed of the necklace I couldn’t imagine that he would have been waiting for the Monday evening flight to London just for the hell of it. It seemed more likely that the deal involved foreign currency, and that Jeschonnek had needed the time to raise the money. I made myself a coffee and waited for Inge to arrive.

I glanced out of the window and, seeing that the weather was dull, I smiled as I imagined her glee at the prospect of another shower of rain falling upon the Fuhrer’s Olympiad. Except that now I was going to get wet too.

What had she called it? ‘The most outrageous confidence-trick in the history of modern times.’ I was searching in the cupboard for my old rubberized raincoat when she came through the door.

‘God, I need a cigarette,’ she said, tossing her handbag onto a chair and helping herself from the box on my desk. With some amusement she looked at my old coat and added, ‘Are you planning to wear that thing?’

‘Yes. Fräulein Muscles came through after all. There was a ticket for today’s games in the mail. She wants me to meet her in the stadium at two.’

Inge looked out of the window. ‘You’re right,’ she laughed, ‘you’ll need the coat. It’s going to come down by the bucket.’ She sat down and put her feet up on my desk. ‘Well, I’ll just stay here on my own, and mind the shop.’

‘I’ll be back by four o’clock at the latest,’ I said. ‘Then we have to go to the airport.’

She frowned. ‘Oh yes, I was forgetting. Haupthändler is planning to fly to London tonight. Forgive me if I sound naive, but exactly what are you going to do when you get there? Just walk up to him and whoever it is he’s taking with him and ask them how much they got for the necklace? Maybe they’ll just open their suitcases and let you take a look at all their cash, right there in the middle of Tempelhof.’

‘Nothing in real life is ever all that tidy. There never are neat little clues that enable you to apprehend the crook with minutes to spare.’

‘You sound almost sad about it,’ she said.

‘I had one ace in the hole which I thought would make things a bit easier.’

‘And the hole fell in, is that it?’

‘Something like that.’

The sound of footsteps in the outer office made me stop. There was a knock at the door, and a motorcyclist, a corporal in the National Socialist Flying Corps, came in bearing a large buff-coloured envelope of the same sort as the one I had consigned earlier to the waste-paper basket. The corporal clicked his heels and asked me if I was Herr Bernhard Gunther. I said that I was, took the envelope from the corporal’s gauntleted hands and signed his receipt slip, after which he gave the Hitler Salute and walked smartly out again.

I opened the Air Ministry envelope. It contained several typewritten pages that made up the transcript of calls Jeschonnek and Haupthandler had made the previous day. Of the two, Jeschonnek, the diamond dealer, had been the busier, speaking to various people regarding the illegal purchase of a large quantity of American dollars and British sterling.

‘Bulls-eye,’ I said, reading the transcript of the last of Jeschonnek’s calls. This had been to Haupthandler, and of course it also showed up in the transcript of the other man’s calls. It was the piece of evidence I had been hoping for: the evidence that turned theory into fact, establishing a definite link between Six’s private secretary and the diamond dealer. Better than that, they discussed the time and place for a meeting.

‘Well?’ said Inge, unable to restrain her curiosity a moment longer.

I grinned at her. ‘My ace in the hole. Someone just dug it out. There’s a meet arranged between Haupthandler and Jeschonnek at an address in Grünewald tonight at five. Jeschonnek’s going to be carrying a whole bagful of foreign currency.’

‘That’s a hell of an informant you have there,’ she said, frowning. ‘Who is it? Hanussen the Clairvoyant?’

‘My man is more of an impresario,’ I said. ‘He books the turns, and this time, anyway, I get to watch the show.’

‘And he just happens to have a few friendly storm-troopers on the staff to show you to the right seat, is that it?’

‘You won’t like it.’

‘If I start to scowl it will be heartburn, all right?’

I lit a cigarette. Mentally I tossed a coin and lost. I would tell it to her straight. ‘You remember the dead man in the service-lift?’

‘Like I just found out I had leprosy,’ she said, shuddering visibly.

‘Hermann Goering hired me to try and find him.’ I paused, waiting for her comment, and then shrugged under her bemused stare. ‘That’s it,’ I said. ‘He agreed to put a tap on a couple of telephones—Jeschonnek’s and Haupthändler’s.’ I picked up the transcript and waved it in front of her face. ‘And this is the result. Amongst other things it means that I can now afford to tell his people where to find Von Greis.’

Inge said nothing. I took a long angry drag at my cigarette and then stubbed it out like I was hammering a lectern. ‘Let me tell you something: you don’t turn him down, not if you want to finish your cigarette with both lips.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Believe me, he’s not a client that I would have chosen. His idea of a retainer is a thug with a machine-pistol.’

‘But why didn’t you tell me about it, Bernie?’

‘When Goering takes someone like me into his confidence, the table stakes are high. I thought it was safer for you that you didn’t know. But now, well, I can’t very well avoid it, can I?’ Once again I brandished the transcript at her. Inge shook her head.

‘Of course you couldn’t refuse him. I didn’t mean to appear awkward, it’s just that I was, well, a bit surprised. And thank you for wanting to protect me, Bernie. I’m just glad that you can tell someone about that poor man.’

‘I’ll do it right now,’ I said.

Rienacker sounded tired and irritable when I called him.

‘I hope you’ve got something, pushbelly,’ he said, ‘because Fat Hermann’s patience is worn thinner than the jam in a Jewish baker’s sponge-cake. So if this is just a social call then I’m liable to come and visit you with some dog-shit on my shoes.’

‘What’s the matter with you, Rienacker?’ I said. ‘You having to share a slab in the morgue or something?’

‘Cut the cabbage, Gunther, and get on with it.’

‘All right, keep your ears stiff. I just found your boy, and he’s squeezed his last orange.’

‘Dead?’

‘Like Atlantis. You’ll find him piloting a service-lift in a deserted hotel on Chamissoplatz. Just follow your nose.’

‘And the papers?’

‘There’s a lot of burnt ash in the incinerator, but that’s about all.’

‘Any ideas on who killed him?’

‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘but that’s your job. All I had to do was find our aristocratic friend, and that’s as far as it goes. Tell your boss he’ll be receiving my account in the post.’

‘Thanks a lot, Gunther,’ said Rienacker, sounding less than pleased. ‘You’ve got—’ I cut across him with a curt goodbye, and hung up.

I left Inge the keys to the car, telling her to meet me in the street outside Haupthändler’s beach house at 4.30 that afternoon. I was intending to take the special S-Bahn to the Reich Sports Field via the Zoo Station; but first, and so that I could be sure of not being followed, I chose a particularly circuitous route to get to the station. I walked quickly up Königstrasse and caught a number two tram to Spittel Market where I strolled twice around the Spindler Brunnen Fountain before getting onto the U-Bahn. I rode one stop to Friedrichstrasse, where I left the U-Bahn and returned once more to street level. During business hours Friedrichstrasse has the densest traffic in Berlin, when the air tastes like pencil shavings. Dodging umbrellas and Americans standing huddled over their Baedekers, and narrowly missing being run over by a Rudesdorfer Peppermint van, I crossed Tauberstrasse and Jagerstrasse, passing the Kaiser Hotel and the head office of the Six Steel Works. Then, continuing up towards Unter den Linden, I squeezed between some traffic on Französische Strasse and, on the corner of Behrenstrasse, ducked into the Kaiser Gallery. This is an arcade of expensive shops of the sort that are much patronized by tourists and it leads onto Unter den Linden at a spot next to the Hotel Westminster, where many of them stay. If you are on foot it has always been a good place to shake a tail for good. Emerging on to Unter den Linden, I crossed over the road and rode a cab to the Zoo Station, where I caught the special train to the Reich Sports Field.

The two-storey-high stadium looked smaller than I had expected, and I wondered how all the people milling around its perimeter would ever fit in. It was only after I had gone in that I realized that it was actually bigger on the inside than on the outside, and this by virtue of an arena that was several metres below ground level.

I took my seat, which was close to the edge of the cinder track and next to a matronly woman who smiled and nodded politely as I sat down. The seat to my right, which I imagined was to be occupied by Marlene Sahm, was for the moment empty, although it was already past two o’clock. Just as I was looking at my watch the sky released the heaviest shower of the day, and I was only too glad to share the matron’s umbrella. It was to be her good deed of the day. She pointed to the west side of the stadium and handed me a small pair of binoculars.

‘That is where the Fuhrer will be sitting,’ she said. I thanked her, and although I wasn’t in the least bit interested, I scanned a dais that was populated with several men in frock-coats, and the ubiquitous complement of S S officers, all of them getting as wet as I was. Inge would be pleased, I thought. Of the Führer himself, there was no sign.

‘Yesterday he didn’t come until almost five o’clock,’ explained the matron. ‘Although with weather as atrocious as this, he could be forgiven for not coming at all.’ She nodded down at my empty lap. ‘You don’t have a programme. Would you care to know the order of events?’ I said that I would, but found to my embarrassment that she intended not to lend me her programme but to read it aloud.

‘The first events on the track this afternoon are the heats of the 400-metre hurdles. Then we have the semi-finals and final of the 100-metres. If you’ll allow me to say so, I don’t think the German has a chance against the American negro, Owens. I saw him running yesterday and he was like a gazelle.’ I was just about to start out on some unpatriotic remark about the so-called Master Race when Marlene Sahm sat down next to me, so probably saving me from my own potentially treasonable mouth.

‘Thank you for coming, Herr Gunther. And I’m sorry about yesterday. It was rude of me. You were only trying to help, were you not?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Last night I couldn’t sleep for thinking about what you said about—’ and here she hesitated for a moment. ‘About Eva.’

‘Paul Pfarr’s mistress?’ She nodded. ‘Is she a friend of yours?’

‘Not close friends, you understand, but friends, yes. And so early this morning I decided to put my trust in you. I asked you to meet me here because I’m sure I’m being watched. That’s why I’m late too. I had to make sure I gave them the slip.’

‘The Gestapo?’

‘Well, I certainly don’t mean the International Olympic Committee, Herr Gunther.’ I smiled at that, and so did she.

‘No, of course not,’ I said, quietly appreciating the way in which modesty giving way to impatience made her the more attractive. Beneath the terracotta-coloured raincoat she was unbuttoning at the neck, she wore a dress of dark blue cotton, with a neckline that allowed me a view of the first few centimetres of a deep and well-sunburnt cleavage. She started to fumble inside her capacious brown-leather handbag.

‘So then,’ she said nervously. ‘About Paul. After his death I had to answer a great many questions, you know.’

‘What about?’ It was a stupid question, but she didn’t say so.

‘Everything. I think that at one stage they even got round to suggesting that I might be his mistress.’ From out of the bag she produced a dark-green desk diary and handed it to me. ‘But this I kept back. It’s Paul’s desk diary, or, rather, the one he kept himself, his private one, and not the official one that I kept for him: the one that I gave to the Gestapo.’ I turned the diary over in my hands, not presuming to open it. Six, and now Marlene, it was odd the way people held things back from the police. Or maybe it wasn’t. It all depended on how well you knew the police.

‘Why?’ I said.

‘To protect Eva.’

‘Then why didn’t you simply destroy it? Safer for her and for you too I would have thought.’

She frowned as she struggled to explain something she perhaps only half understood herself. ‘I suppose I thought that in the proper hands, there might be something in it that would identify the murderer.’

‘And what if it should turn out that your friend Eva had something to do with it?’

Her eyes flashed and she spoke angrily. ‘I don’t believe it for a second,’ she said. ‘She wasn’t capable of harming anyone.’

Pursing my lips, I nodded circumspectly. ‘Tell me about her.’

‘All in good time, Herr Gunther,’ she said, her mouth becoming compressed. I didn’t think Marlene Sahm was the type ever to be carried away by her passion or her tastes, and I wondered whether the Gestapo preferred to recruit this kind of woman, or simply affected them that way.

‘First of all, I’d like to make something clear to you.’

‘Be my guest.’

‘After Paul’s death I myself made a few discreet inquiries as to Eva’s whereabouts, but without success. But I shall come to that too. Before I tell you anything I want your word that if you manage to find her you will try to persuade her to give herself up. If she is arrested by the Gestapo it will go very badly for her. This isn’t a favour I’m asking, you understand. This is my price for providing you with the information to help your own investigation.’

‘You have my word. I’ll give her every chance I can. But I have to tell you: right now it looks as though she is in it up to her hatband. I believe that she’s planning to go abroad tonight, so you’d better start talking. There’s not much time.’

For a moment Marlene chewed her lip thoughtfully, her eyes gazing emptily at the hurdlers as they came up to the starting line. She remained oblivious of the buzz of excitement in the crowd that gave way to silence as the starter raised his pistol. As he fired she began to tell me what she knew.

‘Well, for a start there’s her name: it’s not Eva. That was Paul’s name for her. He was always doing that, giving people new names. He liked Aryan names, like Siegfried, and Brünhilde. Eva’s real name was Hannah, Hannah Roedl, but Paul said that Hannah was a Jewish name, and that he would always call her Eva.’

The crowd gave a great roar as the American won the first heat of the hurdles.

‘Paul was unhappy with his wife, but he never told me why. He and I were good friends, and he confided in me a great deal, but I never heard him speak about his wife. One night he took me to a gaming club, and it was there that I ran across Eva. She was working there as a croupier. I hadn’t seen her in months. We first met working for the Revenue. She was very good with figures. I suppose that’s why she became a croupier in the first place. Twice the pay, and the chance to meet some interesting people.’

I raised my eyebrows at that one: I, for one, have never found the people who gamble in casinos to be anything less than dull; but I said nothing, not wishing to cut her thread.

‘Anyway, I introduced her to Paul, and you could see they were attracted. Paul was a handsome man, and Eva was just as good-looking, a real beauty. A month later I met her again and she told me that she and Paul were having an affair. At first I was shocked; and then I thought it was really none of my business. For a while—maybe as long as six months—they were seeing quite a lot of each other. And then Paul was killed. The diary should provide you with dates and all that sort of thing.’

I opened the diary and turned to the date of Paul’s murder. I read the entries written on the page.

‘According to this he had an appointment with her on the night of his death.’ Marlene said nothing. I started to turn back the pages. ‘And here’s another name I recognize,’ I said. ‘Gerhard Von Greis. What do you know about him?’ I lit a cigarette and added: ‘It’s time you told me all about your little department in the Gestapo, don’t you think?’

‘Paul’s department. He was so proud of it, you know.’ She sighed profoundly. ‘A man of great integrity.’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘All the time he was with this other woman, what he really wanted was to be back home with the wife.’

‘In a funny way that’s absolutely true, Herr Gunther. That’s exactly what he wanted. I don’t think he ever stopped loving Grete. But for some reason he started hating her as well.’

I shrugged. ‘Well, it takes all sorts. Maybe he just liked to wag his tail.’ She stayed silent for a few minutes after that one, and they ran the next heat of the hurdles. Much to the delight of the crowd, the German runner, Nottbruch, won the race. The matron got very excited at that, standing up in her seat and waving her programme.

Marlene rummaged in her bag again, and took out an envelope. ‘This is a copy of a letter originally empowering Paul to set up his department,’ she said, handing it to me. ‘I thought you might like to see it. It helps to put things in perspective, to explain why Paul did what he did.’

I read the letter. It went as follows:

The Reichsführer SS and

Chief of the German Police in

the Reich Ministry of the

Interior

o-KdS g2(o/RV) No. 22 11/35

Berlin NW₇

6 November 1935

Unter den Linden, 74

Local Tel. 120 034

Trunk Call 120 037

Express letter to Hauptsturmführer Doktor Paul Pfarr

I write to you on a very serious matter. I mean corruption amongst the servants of the Reich. One principle must apply: public servants must be honest, decent, loyal and comradely to members of our own blood. Those individuals who offend against this principle—who take so much as one mark—will be punished without mercy. I shall not stand idly by and watch the rot develop.

As you know, I have already taken measures to root out corruption within the ranks of the S S, and a number of dishonest men have been eliminated accordingly. It is the will of the Führer that you should be empowered to investigate and root out corruption in the German Labour Front, where fraud is endemic. To this end you are promoted to the rank of Hauptsturmführer, reporting directly to me.

Wherever corruption forms, we shall burn it out. And at the end of the day, we shall say that we performed this task in love of our people.

Heil Hitler!

(signed)

Heinrich Himmler

‘Paul was very diligent,’ Marlene said. ‘Arrests were made and the guilty punished.’

‘“Eliminated”,’ I said, quoting the Reichsführer.

Marlene’s voice hardened. ‘They were enemies of the Reich,’ she said.

‘Yes, of course.’ I waited for her to continue, and seeing her rather unsure of me I added, ‘They had to be punished. I’m not disagreeing with you. Please go on.’

Marlene nodded. ‘Finally, he turned his attention to the Steel Workers Union, and quite early on he became aware of certain rumours regarding his own father-in-law, Hermann Six. In the beginning he made light of it. And then, almost overnight, he was determined to destroy him. After a while, it was nothing short of an obsession.’

‘When was this?’

‘I can’t remember the date. But I do remember that it was about the time that he started working late, and not taking telephone calls from his wife. And it wasn’t long after that he started to see Eva.’

‘And exactly how was Daddy Six misbehaving?’

‘Corrupt DAF officials had deposited the Steel Workers Union and Welfare Fund in Six’s bank—’

‘You mean, he owns a bank as well?’

‘A major shareholding, in the Deutsches Kommerz. In return, Six saw to it that these same officials were given cheap personal loans.’

‘What did Six get out of it?’

‘By paying low interest on the deposit to the detriment of the workers, the bank was able to improve the books.’

‘Nice and tidy then,’ I said.

‘That’s just the half of it,’ she said with an outraged sort of chuckle. ‘Paul also suspected that his father-in-law was skimming the union’s funds. And that he was churning the union’s investments.’

‘Churning,’ I said. ‘What’s that?’

‘Repeatedly selling stocks and shares and buying others so that each time you can claim the legal percentages. The commission if you like. That would have been split between the bank and the union officials. But trying to prove it was a different story,’ she said. ‘Paul tried to get a tap on Six’s telephone, but whoever it is that arranges these things refused. Paul said that somebody else was already tapping his phone and that they weren’t about to share. So Paul looked for another way to get to him. He discovered that the Prime Minister had a confidential agent who had certain information that was compromising to Six, and for that matter to many others. His name was Gerhard Von Greis. In Six’s case, Goering was using this information to make him toe the economic line. Anyway, Paul arranged to meet Von Greis and offered him a lot of money to let him take a look at what he had on Six. But Von Greis refused. Paul said he was afraid.’

She looked around as the crowd, anticipating the semi-final of the 100-metres, grew more excited. With the hurdles cleared off the track, there were now several sprinters warming up, including the man the crowd had come to see: Jesse Owens. For a moment, her attention was devoted entirely to the negro athlete.

‘Isn’t he superb?’ she said. ‘Owens I mean. In a class of his own.’

‘But Paul did get hold of the papers, didn’t he?’

She nodded. ‘Paul was very determined,’ she said, distractedly. ‘At such times, he could be quite ruthless, you know.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘There is a department in the Gestapo at Prinz Albrecht Strasse, which deals with associations, clubs and the DAF. Paul persuaded them to issue a “red tab” on Von Greis, so that he could be arrested immediately. Not only that, but they saw to it that Von Greis was picked up by Alarm Command, and taken to Gestapo headquarters.’

‘What is Alarm Command exactly?’ I said.

‘Killers.’ She shook her head. ‘You wouldn’t want to fall into their hands. Their brief was to scare Von Greis: to scare him badly enough to convince him that Himmler was more powerful than Goering, that he should fear the Gestapo before he should fear the Prime Minister. After all, hadn’t Himmler taken control of the Gestapo away from Goering in the first place? And then there was the case of Goering’s former chief of Gestapo, Diels, being sold down the river by his former master. They said all of these things to Von Greis. They told him that the same would happen to him, and that his only chance was to cooperate, otherwise he would find himself facing the displeasure of the Reichsführer S S. That would mean a KZ for sure. Of course, Von Greis was convinced. What man in their hands would not have been? He gave Paul everything he had. Paul took possession of a number of documents which he spent several evenings examining at home. And then he was killed.’

‘And the documents were stolen.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know something of what was in these documents?’

‘Not in any detail. I never saw them myself. I only know what he told me. He said that they proved beyond all shadow of a doubt, that Six was in bed with organized crime.’

At the gun Jesse Owens was away to a good start, and by the first thirty metres he was powering fluently into a clear lead. In the seat next to me the matron was on her feet again. She had been wrong, I thought, to describe Owens as a gazelle. Watching the tall, graceful negro accelerate down the track, making a mockery of crackpot theories of Aryan superiority, I thought that Owens was nothing so much as a Man, for whom other men were simply a painful embarrassment. To run like that was the meaning of the earth, and if ever there was a master-race it was certainly not going to exclude someone like Jesse Owens. His victory drew a tremendous cheer from the German crowd, and I found it comforting that the only race they were shouting about was the one they had just seen. Perhaps, I thought, Germany did not want to go to war after all. I looked towards that part of the stadium that was reserved for Hitler and other senior Party officials, to see if they were present to witness the depth of popular sentiment being demonstrated on behalf of the black American. But of the leaders of the Third Reich there was still no sign.

I thanked Marlene for coming, and then left the stadium. On the taxi-ride south towards the lakes, I spared a thought for poor Gerhard Von Greis. Picked up and terrified by the Gestapo, only to be released and almost immediately picked up, tortured and killed by Red Dieter’s men. Now that’s what I call unlucky.

We crossed Wannsee Bridge, and drove along the coast. A black sign at the head of the beach said, ‘No Jews Here’, which prompted the taxi-driver to an observation. ‘That’s a fucking laugh, eh? “No Jews Here.” There’s nobody here. Not with weather like this there isn’t.’ He uttered a derisive laugh for his own benefit.

Opposite the Swedish Pavilion restaurant a few die-hards still entertained hopes of the weather improving. The taxi-driver continued to pour scorn on them and the German weather as he turned into Koblanck Strasse, and then down Lindenstrasse. I told him to pull up on the corner of Hugo-Vogel Strasse.

It was a quiet, well-ordered and leafy suburb consisting of medium to large-sized houses, with neat front lawns and well-clipped hedges. I spotted my car parked on the pavement, but could see no sign of Inge. I looked around anxiously for her while I waited for my change. Feeling something was wrong, I managed to over-tip the driver, who responded by asking me if I wanted him to wait. I shook my head, and then stepped back as he roared off down the road. I walked down towards my car, which was parked about thirty metres down the road from Haupthändler’s address. I checked the door. It wasn’t locked, so I sat inside and waited a while, hoping that she might come back. I put the desk diary that Marlene Sahm had given me inside the glove-box, and then felt around under the seat for the gun I kept there. Putting it into my coat pocket, I got out of the car.

The address I had was a dirty-brown, two-storey affair with a run-down, dilapidated look about it. The paint was peeling from the closed shutters, and there was a ‘For Sale’ sign in the garden. The place looked as though it hadn’t been occupied in a long time. Just the kind of place you’d choose to hide out in. A patchy lawn surrounded the house, and a short wall separated it from the pavement, on which a bright blue Adler was parked, facing downhill. I stepped over the wall, and went round the side, stepping carefully over a rusting lawnmower and ducking under a tree. Near the back corner of the house I took out the Walther and pulled back the slide to load the chamber and cock the weapon.

Bent almost double, I crept along beneath the level of the window, to the back door, which was slightly ajar. From somewhere inside the bungalow I could hear the sound of muffled voices. I pushed the door open with the muzzle of my gun and my eyes fell upon a trail of blood on the kitchen floor. I walked quietly inside, my stomach falling uncomfortably away beneath me like a coin dropped down a well, worried that Inge might have decided to take a look around on her own and been hurt, or worse. I took a deep breath and pressed the cold steel of the automatic against my cheek. The chill of it ran through the whole of my face, down the nape of my neck and into my soul. I bent down in front of the kitchen door to look through the keyhole. On the other side of the door was an empty, uncarpeted hallway and several closed doors. I turned the handle.

The voices were coming from a room at the front of the house and were clear enough for me to identify them as belonging to Haupthandler and Jeschonnek. After a couple of minutes there was a woman’s voice too, and for a moment I thought it was Inge’s, until I heard this woman laugh. Now that I was more impatient to know what had become of Inge than I was to recover Six’s stolen diamonds and collect the reward, I decided that it was time I confronted the three of them. I’d heard enough to indicate that they weren’t expecting any trouble, but as I came through the door, I fired a shot over their heads in case they were in the mood to try something.

‘Stay exactly where you are,’ I said, feeling that I’d given them plenty of warning, and thinking that only a fool would pull a gun now. Gert Jeschonnek was just such a fool. It’s difficult at the best of times to hit a moving target, especially one that’s shooting back. My first concern was to stop him, and I wasn’t particular how I did it. As it turned out, I stopped him dead. I could have wished not to have hit him in the head, only I wasn’t given the opportunity. Having succeeded in killing one man, I now had the other to worry about, because by this time Haupthändler was on me, and wrestling for my gun. As we fell to the floor, he yelled to the girl who was standing lamely by the fireplace to get the gun. He meant the one which had fallen from Jeschonnek’s hand when I blew his brains out, but for a moment the girl wasn’t sure which gun it was that she was supposed to go for, mine or the one on the floor. She hesitated long enough for her lover to repeat himself, and in the same instant I broke free of his grasp and whipped the Walther across his face. It was a powerful backhand that had the follow-through of a match-winning tennis stroke, and it sent him sprawling, unconscious, against the wall. I turned to see the girl picking up Jeschonnek’s gun. It was no time for chivalry, but then I didn’t want to shoot her either. Instead I stepped smartly forward, and socked her on the jaw.

With Jeschonnek’s gun safely in my coat pocket, I bent down to take a look at him. You didn’t have to be an undertaker to see that he was dead. There are neater ways of cleaning a man’s ears than a 9 mm bullet. I fumbled a cigarette into my dry mouth and sat down at the table to wait for Haupthandler and the girl to come round. I pulled the smoke through clenched teeth, kippering my lungs, and hardly exhaling at all, except in small nervous puffs. I felt like someone was playing the guitar with my insides.

The room was barely furnished, with only a threadbare sofa, a table and a couple of chairs. On the table, lying on a square of felt, was Six’s necklace. I threw the cigarette away, and tugged the diamonds towards me. The stones, clacking together like a handful of marbles, felt cold and heavy in my hand. It was hard to imagine a woman wearing them: they looked about as comfortable as a canteen of cutlery. Next to the table was a briefcase. I picked it up and looked inside. It was full of money—dollars and sterling as I had expected—and two fake passports in the names of a Herr and Frau Rolf Teichmüller, the names that I had seen on the air-tickets in Haupthändler’s apartment. They were good fakes, but not hard to obtain provided you knew someone at the passport office and were prepared to pay some big expenses. I hadn’t thought of it before, but now it seemed that with all the Jews who had been coming to Jeschonnek to finance their escapes from Germany, a fake-passport service would have been a logical and highly profitable sideline.

The girl moaned and sat up. Cradling her jaw and sobbing quietly, she went to help Haupthandler as he himself twisted over on to his side. She held him by the shoulders as he wiped his bloody nose and mouth. I flicked her new passport open. I don’t know that you could have described her, as Marlene Sahm had done, as a beauty, but certainly she was good-looking, in a well-bred, intelligent sort of way—not at all the cheap party-girl I’d had in mind when I’d been told that she was a croupier.

‘I’m sorry I had to sock you, Frau Teichmüller,’ I said. ‘Or Hannah, or Eva, or whatever it is you or somebody else is calling you at the moment.’

She glared at me with more than enough loathing to dry her eyes, and mine besides. ‘You’re not so smart,’ she said. ‘I can’t see why these two idiots thought it was necessary to have you put out of the way.’

‘Right now I should have thought it was obvious.’

Haupthändler spat on the floor, and said, ‘So what happens now?’

I shrugged. ‘That depends. Maybe we can figure out a story: crime of passion, or something like that. I’ve got friends down at the Alex. Perhaps I can get you a deal, but first you’ve got to help me. There was a woman working with me—tall, brown hair, well-built, and wearing a black coat. Now there’s some blood on the kitchen floor that’s got me worried about her, especially as she seems to be missing. I don’t suppose you would know anything about that, would you?’

Eva snorted with laughter. ‘Go to hell,’ said Haupthandler.

‘On the other hand,’ I said, deciding to scare them a little. ‘Premeditated murder, well, that’s a capital crime. Almost certain when there’s a lot of money involved. I saw a man beheaded once—at Lake Ploetzen Prison. Goelpl, the state executioner, even wears white gloves and a tail-coat to do the job. That’s rather a nice touch, don’t you think?’

‘Drop the gun, if you don’t mind, Herr Gunther.’ The voice in the doorway was patient, but patronizing, as if addressing a naughty child. But I did as I was told. I knew better than to argue with a machine pistol, and a brief glance at his boxing-glove of a face told me that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me if I so much as told a bad joke. As he came into the room, two other men, both carrying lighters, followed.

‘Come on,’ said the man with the machine pistol. ‘On your feet, you two.’ Eva helped Haupthandler to stand. ‘And face the wall. You too, Gunther.’

The wallpaper was cheap flock. A bit too dark and sombre for my taste. I stared hard at it for several minutes while I waited to be searched.

‘If you know who I am, then you know I’m a private investigator. These two are wanted for murder.’

I didn’t see the India Rubber so much as hear it sweep through the air towards my head. In the split second before I hit the floor and lost consciousness I told myself that I was getting tired of being knocked out.