Prussian Blue

TWENTY-THREE

“What’s your name, handsome?” she asked.

“My name’s Gunther. Bernhard Gunther. And this is Captain Kaspel, from the RSD.”

“That’s a relief. I thought it must be a cowboy. What was the shooting about, cowboy?”

“Martin Bormann sent me,” I said. “Your clients were very impatient for your company and didn’t seem to understand that I’m not accustomed to waiting in line. I felt it was all the explanation I owed them.” I shrugged. “They’re outside, in their truck. I told them to wait an hour.”

“Thoughtful of you, I’m sure.” She lit a cigarette and blew some of the smoke my way, which was generous. “They’ve been a bit cranky since the local supply of Pervitin dried up. That’s the local drug of choice. Poor man’s cocaine, if you ask me.”

“So I hear.”

“If you’re here from Martin Bormann, then I assume Flex must not be coming. Besides, he’s usually here by now with the hand out for his lordship’s share.”

“Dr. Flex won’t be coming anymore on account of the fact that he’s dead. Someone murdered him. Put a bullet in his head.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. I’ve seen the body. And believe me, it’s not funny at all. Half his head was gone. And his brains were piled on the floor.”

“I see.”

The woman said no more about Flex’s death, and her expression gave away nothing. It seemed she wasn’t going to miss him very much. I’d yet to meet anyone who was.

“Tall, aren’t you? Almost as tall as Flex.”

“I was a lot shorter until I started working for the deputy chief of staff. Couple of weeks ago I was carrying a pickax, looking out for six brothers and answering to the name of Grumpy.”

“That happens a lot around here. But you’re thinking of Doc, aren’t you? Grumpy just scowled a lot and looked out for himself.”

“Like I said, Doc’s dead. Besides, I’m not that clever. Just the one with the biggest nose and the worst temper.”

“I’ve seen worse. As you’ve already discovered, some of these local dwarves like to play rough. But I can usually take care of it.” She lifted her gilet a few centimeters and let me catch sight of a little automatic she was keeping warm under there. “You see? I make an excellent wicked stepmother when the need arises.”

“I’ll bet you do,” said Kaspel.

“He’s not as nice as you,” she told me. “I expect it’s the uniform.”

I shrugged. “Captain Kaspel? He always tells the truth, I’m afraid. Just like the slave of the magic mirror. So be careful what you ask him. You might not like the answer, your majesty.”

“Am I supposed to pay you from now on? Do tell.”

“I’m not here to discuss the new arrangements. Frau?”

“Lola,” she said. “They call me naughty Lola. Like Marlene Dietrich, you know?”

But there the similarity ended. I nodded all the same, hardly wanting to earn her displeasure by laughing in her face, which looked like a wax orange, there was so much paint covering it. On the way to some information there was still room for a bit of common courtesy and good manners, especially after pulling a gun on her customers and making free with Bormann’s name like some pompous Party official. Surrounded by so much ruthless efficiency in the name of the Leader, it now fell to someone like me to try to redress that balance. Perhaps. I shot Kaspel a look, hoping to dampen his contempt. Maybe Lola wasn’t the fairest of them all but she was still the queen of the hut and I needed her talking.

“Sure,” I said. “I know. The Blue Angel is one of my favorites.”

“Then you’re in the right place, Herr Gunther. Maybe I’ll come sit on your knee and sing you a nice song, if you’re a good boy.”

I managed not to laugh at that one, too, but Kaspel was finding it harder to keep a straight face. I needed to get rid of him, and quickly, before he could upset her. Outside the grimy window it had started snowing again. Undeterred, the four P&Z workers were still awaiting our departure. A part of me was already feeling sorry for all the girls who were trapped in this awful love hut in the forest. At least Snow White never had to sleep with the seven dwarves. Not in the version I’d read, anyway.

“Can we talk somewhere in private?” I asked her.

“You’d better come into my office.”

“Captain Kaspel,” I said, “would you mind keeping an eye on the car? I wouldn’t put it past those bastards in the truck to do something to our tires.”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“Please.”

He frowned for a moment, probably considered arguing about it, and then remembered the inflexible reputation of the man who had sent me down to Berchtesgaden in the first place. “All right,” he said, and went outside.

Lola led me into a room with a bed, a shower, and a toilet, and closed the door. There were some religious prints on the walls and from these and from her accent I concluded that she might be Italian. On the bedside table was a bowlful of Gummis and I supposed she was not above handling a few clients herself, when things were busier. I sat on the only chair; she sat on the bed and finished her cigarette. The office part was probably the metal desk and the filing cabinet by the window. There was even an old candlestick phone. Meanwhile, Kaspel was walking back to the car.

“Sorry about him,” I said. “Von Ribbentrop he’s not.”

“If you mean he’s no diplomat, I’d say that’s true. But then Ribbentrop isn’t much of a diplomat, either. You’re different. Well, let’s just say we could have used you down here back in September, when Chamberlain came to eat Hitler’s shit. Maybe things would have turned out different. Then again, I’m Italian. We like everyone to be happy. That’s why we have Mussolini. He at least seems to enjoy his fascism in a way you Germans don’t.”

“You’ve been in Berchtesgaden for a while, then.”

“About a year. Seems a lot longer, especially when there’s snow on the ground. We get to keep half of what we earn on our backs. Flex used to take the rest, for our room and board, he said. If that’s what you can call this dump. I hope you’re not here to renegotiate that rate.”

“No, I’m not here to renegotiate anything. Look, Lola, I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I’m a police commissar from Berlin. A detective. I’ve come down here to investigate the murder of Dr. Flex. And I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

“Beyond the fact that I’m glad he’s dead, I don’t know what to tell you, Herr Commissar. Karl Flex was a chiseling son of a bitch and deserved that bullet. I just hope he didn’t suffer—for any length of time shorter than several hours.”

“Those are strong words, Lola. And, if you’ll take my advice, perhaps best moderated, given who he worked for.”

“I don’t care. I’ve had enough of this place. You can arrest me and throw me in a cell and I’ll say the same thing. But of course you won’t because nobody wants to hear what I’ve got to say. In the beginning, when Bormann ordered this place to be built, we were handing over only twenty-five percent. But about three months ago, Flex told us it was now fifty. When I protested he told us to take it up with Bormann if we didn’t like it. Not that we could. We can’t even go into Berchtesgaden. Once we tried it and the locals almost stoned us. Of course, none of us are German, so that makes us easier to spot. And easier to control, too. Flex knew damn well that we didn’t really have any choice but to do whatever he told us. And I do mean whatever he told us.”

“Meaning what—that he enjoyed the favors of some of these girls himself?”

“Just the one girl, actually. Renata Prodi.”

“I’d like to speak with her, if I can.”

“Well, you can’t. She’s gone. Sent home to Milan by the doctor. On account of the fact that Flex gave her gonorrhea. I’d catch a train home myself if I had enough money. But I don’t.”

“He gave it to her? Jelly?”

“Almost certainly.”

“When was this?”

“A few days ago. It almost closed us down. The doctor has got us all on silver proteinate.” She leaned forward and tugged open the bedside drawer to reveal the same Protargol that I’d seen before, on the list of Flex’s personal effects—the drug thoughtfully removed by Karl Brandt. “Not that there’s any real need. Renata was the only one affected. And she used Gummis with all her clients. All except Flex. He insisted on not wearing a raincoat. But you couldn’t argue with a man like that. He really was wicked, you know. Not like you.”

“I’m part of the same crummy football team.”

“But not in your heart. I can read men really quickly, you know, Commissar. There’s a kindness in your eyes, which is why you keep them narrowed and well-shaded by the brim of your hat, so that no one will notice that you’re not like the rest of the dwarves. No, you’re Humbert the Huntsman. I can tell. If the wicked queen told you to take Snow White into the woods and cut her heart out, you’d let her go and take a pig’s heart home with you in a nice box with a ribbon on it. Flex’s heart, probably. Assuming he had one.”

“Was it always Flex who came for the money?”

“No, once or twice it was another Fridolin. Fellow named Schenk. Cold bastard. Almost as bad as Flex. I expect he’ll be the one who we have to deal with now. Something else I’m not looking forward to.”

“Who gets the money from this little house of silk? Bormann, I suppose?”

“I imagine. There’s not much that happens around here his lordship doesn’t know about. Or from which he doesn’t take a nice fat cut. Based upon what the men who work building his hotels and his roads and his tunnels are telling me, he must be worth millions. But certainly he’s hated every bit as much as Flex was. Strikes me you’ve got your work cut out for you, Herr Gunther.”

“That’s what it feels like, for sure. I’d like to speak to your girls, if I could.”

“What? You think one of them might have shot him? That’s inspired.”

“No, but they might have screwed the man who did. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

“I promise you, you’d be wasting your time. For one thing, they’re not like me. Kids, mostly. And too afraid to say anything. Besides, there are only two girls who speak good German.”

“What? No German girls here at all?”

“No. Not one. There’s a Sudeten Czech and an Austrian girl. Maria. Hitler would go mad if he even knew about this place, that’s what I heard. But he’d be even angrier if any German women were ever found working here. It seems as if they’re something holy.”

“Haven’t you heard? Our women are supposed to be breeding a master race, not falling in love again, like Lola, or headlining the local cabaret in a top hat with stockings and garters.”

“So you did see the movie.”

“It’s a favorite of mine.”

Lola nodded. “Not that we haven’t had some local girls turning up here looking to make a little pocket money. But I had to send them packing. Flex might not have noticed a few extra girls. But Dr. Brandt would have. He’s the one who examines all the girls for jelly. Once a week, regular as a Swiss watch.”

This was a name I hadn’t expected to hear in the local brothel.

“Brandt? I thought it was some pill Jesus from Salzburg who looked after you all.”

“It was. But he decided this wasn’t his cup of tea and stopped coming. So Brandt took over. Dr. Infernal we call him. One time he came over and he was wearing the uniform under his white coat. Some of the girls found it quite sexy, I think.”

“Interesting.”

“Well, pin your ears back, Commissar, because he does a lot more than examine girls for a dose of jelly.”

“He likes a dish on the side, too?”

“No, not him. They’d probably kick him out of the SS for something human like that. No, what I mean is that he’s carried out at least three midnight abortions since I’ve known him. For money, of course. None of these men do anything for nothing. Knows what he’s about, though, I’ll say that much for him. The rumor is that before he came down here he used to perform scrapes on women who were mentally handicapped, or because they were Jewesses who’d got themselves in trouble with a nice German boy. They say he’s Hitler’s own doctor. But I wonder what Hitler would say if he knew about all this kind of thing.”

“I wonder.” I sighed, not wondering very much. “These abortions carried out by Dr. Brandt. Can you remember who had one?”

“Yes, but I don’t think I should tell you.”

“Was one of them Renata Prodi?”

“Now I come to think about it, yes, it was.”

“So it’s quite possible that Karl Flex was the father.”

“It’s possible, yes.”

I sighed, liking the case less and less. It’s common enough for a detective to hate an investigation he’s been tasked with, but it’s less often the case—at least for me—that I dislike myself so thoroughly for investigating it. It made me want to do something good.

“Where are you from, Lola?”

“Milan. Do you know Milan?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“It’s beautiful. Especially the cathedral. I miss that most of all.” She took out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “I’d love to go back but I think I’m stuck in this misbegotten place, for the moment, anyway. All the money I’ve earned I sent home already. It’ll be at least a month before I can save enough to make the trip. I should have gone back at Christmas, when I had the chance, but La Befana didn’t come last year. She’s the Italian version of Santa Claus. Still, that’s hardly surprising in a place like this. We don’t even have a proper chimney. At least, not one that Befana could come down.”

I thought about this for a moment, and we were both silent while my thoughts buzzed around my head and then flew out to the rooftop. I was glad to see them go. I hadn’t been wasting my time as much as I’d feared. “What will happen to the other girls if you leave?”

“They’ll be all right. Aneta can take over. She’s Czech, but speaks excellent German and is very capable. At the beginning of the summer they’ll bring some new girls to replace the girls now working here. Besides, I’d like to leave before someone like Dr. Infernal finds out the truth about me.”

“Don’t tell me, Lola. Truth is not something to share with anyone in Germany these days. You wouldn’t know it now, I used to like talking. But lately I’ve been struck dumb, like the angel Gabriel told me I was about to father a son called John. Life’s safer that way.”

“I told you before. You have kind eyes. And don’t let those pictures of the saints fool them. They’re just for show. The fact is, I’m Jewish.”

“Then you should certainly leave while you can. How much would it take to get you home?”

“A hundred reichsmarks would probably cover it. Don’t worry about me. I’ll make it. I just hope I can do it before the war starts.”

“Pity” and all of its many soft synonyms was not a word in Reinhard Heydrich’s devilish dictionary. I already knew he thought I was a sentimental fool. Maybe I was. But there and then I decided to live up to the general’s low opinion of me and donate some of the money I’d persuaded him to let me have for information and bribes to Lola. And of course I was well aware that giving money to a Jewish whore was the absolute opposite of the way he would have preferred it spent. Which made what I was doing less an act of generosity and more a token act of resistance. Even as I handed her a hundred marks I was paying less attention to the real pleasure and relief that now crossed her clownish face and more to the look of outrage that I imagined would have been on Heydrich’s horse-like features had he witnessed this scene.

“Here,” I said. “With the compliments of the SD. And if anyone ever asks, I’m doing this because I loathe and despise Jews and want all of them safely out of the country as soon as possible.”

Lola smiled and put the money in a little pocket next to the automatic she was carrying.

“I knew I was right about you, Humbert. I’m only sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

“On the contrary. You’ve been very helpful.”

“I don’t see how.”

“No, but I think I do. Sometimes, seeing what’s been right in front of my nose all along is what this job is all about.”