Prussian Blue

EIGHTEEN

The first man I spoke to was the state engineer August Michahelles. He was a handsome man wearing military uniform, who bowed politely as he presented himself at the breakfast table. I stood up, shook his limp hand, and then invited him to sit down and help himself to coffee. I opened my file of witness statements and found the list that Högl had compiled.

“You’re the head of the state construction bureau for Deutsche Alpenstrasse, is that right?”

“That’s correct.”

“I thought there would be more of you out there. According to my list there were twelve people on that terrace yesterday morning. Including the dead man. And yet there are only eight people here at the Berghof today.”

“Professor Fich, the architect—I believe he had to go to Munich to meet with Dr. Todt and Dr. Bouhler. As did Professor Michaelis.”

I shrugged. “How is it that people feel they can absent themselves so quickly from a murder investigation?”

“You’d have to ask them. And if you’ll forgive me for saying so, I’m not sure what else I can add to the statement I made to Captain Kaspel yesterday.”

In spite of his uniform he seemed uncertain of himself. He didn’t even pour himself a coffee.

“Probably not much,” I said. “Only your statement was about what happened. What you saw. I’m more interested to hear what the meeting was all about. Martin Bormann was rather vague about that. All these very well-qualified engineers meeting up at the Berghof. I’m sure there must have been something of real importance that brought you all together. And I’d also like to hear more about Dr. Flex.”

The state engineer looked thoughtful for a moment and played with a rather scabby-looking earlobe that he’d clearly worried before.

“So,” I said. “What was the purpose of the meeting?”

“It’s a regular meeting. Once a month.”

“And is this meeting well-known about, generally?”

“There’s nothing secret about it. In order to accomplish the transformation of the Obersalzberg in accordance with Herr Bormann’s wishes, it’s necessary that from time to time we meet to review the progress of construction work. For example, there’s the construction of the new Platterhof Hotel, which has required the demolition of almost fifty old houses. Also the construction of new technical installations, such as an electricity supply station. The current from Berchtesgaden has proved to be unreliable. At present we are laying new electrical and telephone cables in the area, widening access roads, and digging new access tunnels. This requires skilled workers of course—”

“I’d like to take a look at this work sometime,” I said.

“You’ll have to ask Bormann,” said Michahelles. “Some of the work is for the security of the Leader and therefore secret. I should need to see something in writing and signed by him in order to answer a question like that.”

“So it’s military then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“All right. That’s fair enough. I will ask Bormann. So tell me about Dr. Flex, instead. Did you know him well?”

“No, not well.”

“Can you think of a reason why anyone would want to kill him? Any reason at all?”

“Frankly, no.”

“Really?”

Michahelles shook his head.

“You know it’s strange, Herr Michahelles, I’ve been here in Obersalzberg for less than ten hours. And yet I’ve already heard that Karl Flex was one of the most unpopular men in the Bavarian Alps.”

“I wouldn’t know. But you’re speaking to the wrong person.”

“So who should I be speaking to? Ludwig Gross? Otto Staub? Walter Dimroth? Hans Haupner? Bruno Schenk? Hanussen the clairvoyant? Who? Give me a clue. I’m supposed to solve a murder here. If everyone on this damn list is as uninformative as you, that might take a while. For obvious reasons I’d like to be gone before summer.”

“I don’t mean to be unhelpful, Commissar Gunther. The two men who worked most closely with him and knew him best were Hans Haupner and Bruno Schenk. Schenk’s the first administrator and had worked closely with Flex. I’m sure he could tell you more than I can.”

“That wouldn’t be difficult.”

Michahelles shrugged, and suddenly I was having a hard job holding on to my temper, although quite possibly that was the magic potion kicking in again. My heart was already working like it was being paid treble-time.

“A busy man, is he? Dr. Schenk.”

“I should say so, yes. He’s what we call the fire brigade man for sensitive situations involving local construction work.”

“Let’s talk about you, Herr Michahelles. Are you popular in Berchtesgaden?”

“I have no idea.”

“Is it possible that someone would like to kill you, too? I mean, apart from me. Like someone who used to own one of those fifty houses you mentioned just now. The ones that were demolished.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Has anyone ever threatened you? Perhaps even told you they were going to shoot you?”

“No.”

I spread the four spent bullets across the tablecloth like a waiter’s crummy tip. “You see these? These are four bullets we found in the woodwork of the balcony immediately above the terrace. So it’s just possible the gunman took a shot at you, too. Maybe more than one. And missed. How about it?”

“No, I’m sure there isn’t anyone.”

“I hope you’re right, August. You’re a brainy fellow, I can tell. And I’d hate to see those brains end up on someone’s floor like Karl Flex’s, just because you couldn’t quite bring yourself to tell me if there’s anyone you know who’d like to kill you, too. If the shooter did try to murder you, then he might try again, you know.”

“Is that all?” he said stiffly.

“Yes, that’s all. Oh, ask Dr. Schenk if he’d mind coming in here next, would you?”

Bruno Schenk was about forty years old with a high forehead and an even higher manner. He wore a gray suit, a neat white shirt and collar, and a tie with a Party pin. He wasn’t much taller than his walking stick but he was the section head of Polensky & Zöllner, with responsibility, he quickly informed me, for building all of the connecting roads between the Kehlstein and Berchtesgaden, which made him feel taller, I suppose.

“I hope this won’t take too long,” he added to the pompous sum total of that. “I’m a busy man.”

“Oh, I know. And I appreciate you coming here to help me out with my questions.”

“What do you want to know, Commissar?”

“P&Z. That must be a rich company by now with all this construction work. Paid for by the state, I believe.”

“P&Z. Sager & Woerner. Danneberg & Quandt. Umstaetter. Reck brothers. Höchtl & Sauer. Hochtief. Philipp Holzmann. There are more companies contracted to do work here by the Obersalzberg Administration than you could possibly imagine, Commissar. And more work than anyone might reasonably conceive.”

I could tell that I was supposed to be impressed by all that. I wasn’t.

“As first administrator, you must be an important man.”

“I enjoy the confidence of the deputy chief of staff in all matters affecting building development on the mountain, that’s true. Between Martin Bormann and myself there’s only the chief administrator, Dr. Reinhardt, who’s tasked with more responsibility.”

Schenk’s voice and his grammar were no less correct than his appearance and most of the time he didn’t even look at me, as if I were beneath his influence and concern. Instead he turned his coffee cup on its saucer, one way and then the other as if he wasn’t sure which way the handle should face—toward him, or toward me—a bit like a snake trying to decide where it should park its rattle. He didn’t know it yet but he was looking for a slap.

“So tell me about the work,” I said. “I’m interested.”

“Perhaps another time,” he said. “But today’s my birthday. I have a number of appointments to keep before an important luncheon date. With my wife.”

“Congratulations,” I said. “How old are you anyway?”

“Forty.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you look older.”

Schenk frowned for a moment but tried to contain his irritation, the way I’d just contained my own. I was being given the runaround and getting tired of it; there seemed little point in my murder investigation having the full backing of Martin Bormann if no one else around the Berghof seemed to appreciate this. It was beginning to look as if I would have to get tough with someone—tougher than I’d been with August Michahelles—if I were to make some progress before Bormann saw me. Bruno Schenk looked made for a little roughhousing. I always say if you’re going to get tough with someone, you might as well enjoy it.

“Then again,” I said, “I expect with all of the responsibilities resting on your shoulders, the work takes its toll on a man.”

“Yes it does. We’ve had to accomplish some massive tasks in less time than was needed. The Kehlstein tea house, for example. That particular feat of engineering gave Herr Bormann’s previous adjutant, Captain Sellmer, a heart attack. And as one thing ends another begins. The Platterhof-Resten Road has had to be entirely replanned, because a bridge has had to be built. And just consider this, Commissar—that all the work has to be achieved without damaging a single tree. The Leader is most insistent that trees are to be preserved at all costs.”

“Well, that’s reassuring anyway, about the trees. We certainly need lots of those in Germany. Exactly what is the Platterhof, sir?”

“A people’s hotel, formerly the Pension Moritz, that is being created using only the finest materials, to house the many eager visitors who come to see the Leader when he’s here. Currently it’s one of the largest projects in Obersalzberg. And when it’s complete it will be one of the finest hotels in Europe.”

I wondered just how many would come when the whole of Europe was at war. Perhaps some, looking for Hitler’s head on a stick, or perhaps none at all. Schenk looked at his watch, which reminded me that it was time for me to put him on the spot, or at least to try; he was slippery.

“Well, I won’t keep you, sir. I can see you’re a very busy man. I just wanted to ask you why you think that your assistant Karl Flex was one of the most hated men in the area. And if perhaps you might believe that someone local might have shot him out of revenge for being overzealous in carrying out your instructions. Such as serving a compulsory purchase order on the original owners of the Pension Moritz, perhaps. Or demanding more of your local workers than seemed at all reasonable. Men have been killed, I believe. Perhaps unnecessary risks were taken. That’s the kind of thing that can easily produce a motive for murder.”

“I really couldn’t speculate on such a distasteful thing. And I don’t mean to teach you your duties, Commissar, but you shouldn’t ask me to, either. You’re the detective, not me.”

“I’m glad you understand that, sir. And I’m under a certain amount of pressure, too. From the same man as you, I believe. So please don’t think I take my job any less seriously than you do yours. Or that it’s any less important. In fact, right now, I rather think that my job may be more important. You see, last night when I met Martin Bormann he told me two things. One was this—and I’m quoting him here: ‘When I talk it’s as if the Leader were here now, telling you what the fuck to do.’ And the other thing he told me was that I enjoyed his full authority to catch this man before the Leader’s own birthday. Which is in a week’s time, as I’m sure I don’t have to remind you, Dr. Schenk. His full authority. Isn’t that right, Hermann?”

“That’s right. Those were his exact words. His full authority.”

It was my turn to bang a tabletop, so I did and Schenk’s coffee cup bounced pleasingly on its saucer, so I banged the table a second time and stood up to make my point even more forcefully. I might even have smashed a cup or a saucer on the engineer’s carefully combed head but for the AH monogram on the pattern, which gave me a little pause for thought. The meth was coursing through me now and even Kaspel was looking surprised.

“His full authority,” I yelled. “You hear that? So think again and think fast, Dr. Schenk. I want some better answers than ‘Another time, today’s my birthday’ and ‘I really couldn’t speculate’ and ‘You’re the detective, not me.’ What are you wasting my time for? I’m a policeman, and a commissar to boot, not some fucking toothless peasant with a pickax in his hand and a dumb look on his gormless face. It’s a murder I’m trying to solve—a murder at the Leader’s house—it isn’t the crossword in today’s newspaper. If Adolf Hitler can’t come down here next week because I couldn’t catch this maniac then it won’t just be my guts hanging on the Leader’s perimeter fence, it’ll be yours and every other tongue-tied bastard who calls himself an engineer on this fucking mountain. And as the first administrator, you’d better make sure they know that. Do you hear?”

It was all an act, of course, but Schenk didn’t know that.

“I must say, you have a most violent temper,” said Schenk.

He flushed the same color as the chair he was on and stood up, only I put my hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down. I could be a bit of a bully myself, when I tried; only I never once thought I’d be trying to pull it off in Hitler’s own dining room. I was starting to like Dr. Temmler’s magic potion. Kaspel seemed to like it, too. At least, he was smiling as if he’d been wanting a chance to slap Schenk himself.

“Most violent and unpleasant.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet. And I’ll tell you when I’m through stiffening your ears, Dr. Schenk. I want a list of names. People you’ve upset and pissed off. Maybe one or two of them threatened you and your boy Flex. You and he have done a lot of that, haven’t you?”

Schenk swallowed uncomfortably and then raised his voice. “Anything I have done has been done with the full knowledge of the deputy chief of staff himself, with whom I shall certainly be lodging a formal complaint regarding your egregious conduct.”

“You do that, Bruno. Meanwhile, I shall certainly call General Heydrich in Berlin and have the Gestapo take you into custody, for your own protection, of course. Salzburg, isn’t it, Hermann? The nearest Gestapo HQ?”

“That’s right. In an old Franciscan monastery on Mozartplatz. And a horrible place it is, too, sir. Even the spirits of the saints walk carefully past that monastery. We can have him there in half an hour.”

“You hear that, Bruno? And after you’ve had a few days in a cold cell on bread and water, we’ll talk again and see how you feel then about my conduct.”

“But please, you’ve no idea how bad things had got here,” he bleated. “For example, on the southern side of the Haus Wachenfeld there was a path for cows, which local sightseers were starting to use to catch a glimpse of the Leader, even in bad weather. Local farmers were charging visitors, some of whom would even bring binoculars to get a better look at him. This situation had become unacceptable—the Leader’s security was becoming compromised—and in 1935, we began to purchase property around the house, piece by piece, lot by lot. But as, in the beginning, Hitler didn’t allow us to apply pressure on these property owners, we were obliged to pay some outrageous prices. Local farmers—many of whom had been heavily indebted before—were now making a fortune from selling their little gold mines. This had to stop, and in due course it did. In order to establish the transformation of the Obersalzberg the way the Leader wanted it, we’ve had to demolish over fifty houses, and yes, it’s true that some of these people were not happy with the price they received, in comparison with the price they were asking. Please, Commissar, there’s no need to involve Himmler and Heydrich, is there?”

“They are involved,” I snarled back. “Who do you think it was asked me to come here? Now go out there and speak to your colleagues waiting in the Great Hall and when I come back here, I want a list of names. Resentful workers, angry homeowners, sons of aggrieved widows, anyone with a grudge against you, Flex, or even Martin Bormann. Understood?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll do as you say. Immediately.”

I grabbed my coat and walked out of the dining room. I’d enjoyed my breakfast but I’d eaten too much. Either that or talking to a Nazi like Schenk just gave me a rotten feeling in my stomach.

“I don’t know where any of this is going to go,” said Kaspel, following me out of the Berghof and down the icy steps to the car. “But I do like working with you.”