The Case of the Nazi Canary

CHAPTER SIX

As it happened, there was no need to visit the police station. Arriving back at their hotel's foyer and collecting their keys, they were immediately confronted by an extraordinarily beautiful young woman who rose from a couch and came toward them smiling. Her full red lips and dark red hair worn in a fashionable wave were complemented by her green evening dress as she stretched a gloved hand toward Sir Seaton.

He bent to kiss it. Of course they had immediately recognized the woman. Once a ruthless adventuress whose love affair with Begg had resulted in her decision to make herself his ally, she was now a freelancer. Unlike Begg she took retainers from any government that valued her skill.

From her reticule the woman took a small book on which was fastened a metal badge. After they had glanced at it, she returned it swiftly to its place.

"My dear Countess von Bek," exclaimed Sir Seaton, "I had no idea you were in Munich. Are you staying here?"

"Nearby, Sir Seaton. I wondered if you had seen my cousin lately?" This was prearranged code. Countess Rose von Bek wanted to speak urgently and privately. Begg immediately led them into the deserted sitting room, ordered some tea, and closed the doors.

Once they were settled and the tea served, Sir Seaton relaxed. "So, my dear Rose, we appear to be working on the same case? Can you say who your client is?"

The adventuress responded with her usual charm. "I have made no more a secret of it than have you, Seaton. The German Federal Government Special Political Service. They sent me down from Berlin to give support to the local cops-the ones who don't actually believe Herr Hitler to be the next world savior and that Jews are damned to hell for not accepting the Messiah. So far I've met a good number of decent cops and some very clever newspapermen."

"So we find ourselves on different sides in this case. I take it, therefore, you know who killed Geli Raubal?"

She took an ironic sip from her Dresden cup. "We've been working on the broader political associations."

"But surely everything we need to know hinges on the circumstances and solution of this case?" Taffy Sinclair chipped in.

"No doubt, Mr. Sinclair. But the government's priorities aren't always our own." She spoke softly, anxious not to offend him. "I agree it is possible to argue that Frдulein Raubal's death is emblematic, if not symptomatic, of her times, but at the moment we're worrying that the National Socialists have a sizable representation in Parliament. And a large amount of armed support. We are thinking 'civil war' here. Cberchez la femme is not a game we often play in my section."

Taffy mumbled some polite apology and said he thought it was time he turned in, but Begg insisted he stay. "I think I'm going to need your help tonight, old man."

"Tonight?"

"Afraid so."

Sinclair rather reluctantly poured himself a fresh cup of Earl Grey.

"Was the corpse still in the apartment when you arrived on the scene?" Begg asked his old paramour.

"Hinkel of the Taggeblat called us. He's our best man down here. So I caught the express from Berlin and was here in time to have a look at the body."

"You're certain she was murdered? How? Did some expert sniper shoot her through the window?"

Rose was certain. "Nothing so complicated. Someone's made a clumsy attempt to make it look as if she'd shot herself through the heart. Hitler's gun-easy accessibility. Dead canary nearby-she'd been carrying it around all day-no doubt adding to the impression that she was suicidal. But the angle of entry was wrong. Someone shot her, Seaton, while she was lying on the rug-probably during an amorous moment. Half-undressed. Evidently an intimate. And Hitler was certainly an intimate…

"You've seen these pictures?" He handed her the envelope.

"No wonder the poor girl was confused." Even the countess winced at what she saw. "They might have tried to push her toward suicide but she wouldn't fall. Eventually someone shot her at close range, then put the gun in her hand so it seemed suicide. Only there were too many clues to the contrary."

"Any chance of taking a look at the corpse?" Taffy's dry, decisive tone was unexpected.

"Engaging your gears at last, are we, Taffy?" said Begg jumping to his feet. "Come on, Countess. Get us to the morgue, posthaste!"

Responding with almost gleeful alacrity, Countess von Bek allowed Sinclair to open the door for her. Dolly was still outside, so within moments the investigators were on their way to the Munich police headquarters.

The countess had already established her authority there. She led the way directly through the building to a door marked "Inspector Hoffmann." The round, red-faced inspector assured them that he knew them all by reputation and had the greatest respect for their skills. He was grateful, he said, for their cooperation.

"However," said the bluff Bavarian when they were all seated, "I ought to tell you that I'm convinced Hitler killed her during quite a nasty fight. Fortunately for your client, Sir Seaton, he has the best possible alibi-with dozens of witnesses to show he could not possibly have committed the murder. Hess? What do you think? Was it Hess who contacted you, Sir Seaton?"

They all agreed Hess was an unlikely suspect. Indeed, not one of the party hierarchy had an evident motive. All had perfect alibis. A hired killer? Begg put the notion to Hoffmann, who remained convinced that Hitler was the murderer. Another lover? Vaguely mysterious figures had been reported as coming and going, but Geli, of course, had not advertised them. "Coffee?" Hoffmann touched an electric bell.

After coffee, Hoffman led them down to the morgue, a clean, tiled, up-to-date department with refrigerated cabinets, dissecting tables, and the latest in analytical instruments. Taffy was impressed, unable to hold back his praise for the splendid facilities. "I can't tell you how old-fashioned Scotland Yard looks in comparison. You can't beat the Germans at this sort of thing."

Herr Hoffman was visibly flattered.

"Practical science and sublime art," murmured Taffy.

Inspector Hoffmann rather proudly crossed the mortuary. "Wait until you see this, my friend." He went to a bank of switches, each with a number. He flipped a toggle and then, magically, one of the drawers began to open!

"The wonders of 'electronics'!" cried Begg. Then he moved quickly toward the projecting steel box, where he knew he would find the mortal remains of Hitler's mistress.

Begg's expression changed to one of deep pity as he studied the contents. Even Sinclair stood back, paying some sort of respect to the corpse. Begg touched the skin, inspected the wound, and then, frowning, bent as if to kiss the frozen lips.

A shocked word froze on Sinclair's tongue as Begg straightened up, his nose wrinkling almost in disgust. "See what you think, Taffy."

After Sinclair had inspected the corpse, Hoffmann turned the switch to send the temporary coffin back into its gleaming, stainless-steel housing.

"I know we're on opposite sides in this, Sir Seaton," Hoffman said, "but I have to insist the obvious suspect is the masochist. Herr Hitler. Hired killers? Communists? Mysterious lovers? How could we find them? The Winters noted only one lover but hinted at many others. They would not be on our side in court. I suppose I shouldn't be saying this. But I know your analytical powers, Sir Seaton. And your thirst for justice."

"And you know something of the science of psychiatry?" chimed in Taffy.

"Of course, I first studied in Vienna. To me this Hitler matter seems a classic case of the father figure and the bored young protegee. The father becomes obsessively possessive. The more he grows like that, the more she seeks to break free in the only way she knows-affairs of the heart. One after another. The father, unable to watch her hourly, pretends it isn't happening. The daughter grows bolder. No one can ignore what is going on. Her affairs become common gossip. Eventually his ego can be suppressed no longer…" He turned to Begg. "You saw the marks on her face and shoulders?"

"Indeed I did," said the detective.

"He had beaten the poor little thing black and blue!" Sinclair barely controlled his anger. "They were fighting, as you say, and brought Hitler's gun into play. Next thing, 'Bang,' and the girl's dead on the carpet."

"Lovers' quarrel?" said Rose von Bek. "Maybe. But I prefer to believe the girl knows too much about our suspect's sex life as well as political plans. Election coming up. She tries blackmail. Second time it's happened. Could she have been behind the first attempt? He snaps." She spread her hands, palms out. "Open and shut." She made fists. "This isn't the first time Herr Adolf Hitler has been involved in some sadistic business or other, I take it."

Hoffmann nodded. "But, if it could be proven, Hitler's enemies would be dancing in the streets. His chances of wheedling any more concessions from Hindenburg would disappear at once. Hindenburg already considers him a parvenu. So he has to go to great lengths to build an alibi."

Begg became uncomfortable at this. "You seem to hate Hitler," he suggested. "Yet you seem to be a conservative yourself…"

"I hate Bolshevism." Hoffmann searched through a gleaming filing cabinet for the documents he needed. "But I am also a Catholic, and all the Nazis' antireligious talk, especially against the Jews, who are amongst the most law-abiding people in the nation, is too much for me to stomach. I know Hitler did this murder, but that alibi…"

"No way he could have come back, committed the crime, then returned to Nuremberg?" asked Sinclair.

"Too many people know him in Nuremberg. He is very popular there. They would have noticed something. Of course, he could have used another car altogether, and a disguise. I think you'll agree the bruises might have been delivered earlier than the gunshot?"

All three nodded.

"So," continued Hoffmann, "she knew too much. There was a fight. The gun. A shot. I don't say it was premeditated. Then he gets into the car and heads for Nuremberg, guessing nobody would want to disturb her until the next morning. He locked her door with his own key. No doubt he had had it made long before."

Begg smiled almost apologetically, adding: "And then she appears on the balcony. No doubt she has at last got Hitler's message.

Stemming the blood from her wounded heart she calls: 'So you won't let me go to Vienna?'"

"Pretty clear, I'd say." The countess recognized Begg's rather inappropriate black humor.

"I think Hitler beat her up. Then one of his henchmen went back and shot her. Maybe some kind of 'Murder in the Cathedral' situation? I gather that's how Mussolini learned he was responsible for his first murder. Overzealous followers. So who shot her? Rцhm? He's ruthless enough and he doesn't much like women. Himmler? A cold fish, but too far away at the time. Same with Goring or Gцbbels, if we assume they didn't come to Munich incognito."

"I think our people would have known about it," said the countess.

"Ours, too, most likely," confirmed Hoffmann, rubbing at his red jowls. "They have orders to keep track of who goes in and out of the Brown House."

"So we have a dozen suspects and nothing which leads to any of them." Sinclair lifted his eyebrows. "But two of you at least are convinced Hitler did it. What about you, Begg? What do you think?"

"I'm beginning to get an idea of who killed Geli Raubal, and I think I can guess why. But there is another element here." Begg frowned deeply. "I think in the morning we'll set off for Berchtes-gaden, for Herr Amman's little hideaway. You, presumably, have already interviewed Hitler, Inspector Hoffmann?"

"As soon as he arrived back from Nuremberg, of course. He seemed in a state of shock, but, as stated, his alibi was airtight. Of course, you will wish to prove he didn't do it, Sir Seaton, and I admit the cards are stacked in your favor."

"Not exactly, old boy. But I agree with you that as things stand, any case against Herr Hitler couldn't be proven in a court of law."

With a courteous good night to the policeman, Begg escorted his two friends outside. In the street his car was being guarded by a uniformed constable, who saluted as soon as he recognized Countess von Bek and opened the doors for them.

It was only a short drive to the hotel and most of it was spent in silence as the three investigators thought over what they had learned.

"I suppose there's no chance of me coming down with you?" asked the countess. "Since Herr Hitler isn't my client."

"Exactly," murmured Begg, concentrating on the unfamiliar streets. "And I think even you'd agree, Rose, that client confidential-ity, at least at this stage, is sacrosanct."

While Begg waited with the engine running, Sinclair saw the beautiful adventuress through the doors of her hotel. As they drove off, Sinclair said: "She wants our Mr. Hitler hanged, no doubt about it. She's afraid you'll get him off the hook. Are you sure he didn't do it?"

"I merely noted," said the detective with what seemed inappropriate cheerfulness, "that there was no evidence directly linking Hitler with the murder of his niece. Nothing to convince a jury. Don't worry, Taffy. One way or another justice will out. I have a feeling we will meet at least one more old acquaintance before this business is over."