The City of Shadows

14. Danzig-Langfuhr

The De Havilland Dragon Rapide rattled down the runway at Baldonnel and pulled up into the sky south of Dublin. Below Stefan Gillespie were the hills that stretched down into Wicklow. It was a clear April morning, a little after nine o’clock. It was the first time he had been in an aeroplane. He was surprised how unsurprising it was. There was a sense of exhilaration when the bi-plane lifted off and he first gazed down at the countryside below, trying to recognise where he was as they headed east towards the sea. He looked at the fields pegged out with sheep and cattle, sloping up into the Dublin Mountains. He followed a road as it wound through the fields and the bare hillsides into thick, dark woodland. Somewhere underneath him were the slopes of Kilmashogue, where the bodies of Vincent Walsh and Susan Field had been buried. He had been a long way from that. He knew from Dessie MacMahon that the investigations had stopped. But unexpectedly it wasn’t over; that was why he was here. It was why he was flying to London, to take the Deutsche Luft Hansa plane from Croydon Aerodrome to Berlin and Danzig.

Very quickly the mountains were gone. The plane hummed with the steady drone of the propellers. They were over the sea. Stefan sat at the back of the plane. Only two other seats were occupied. The other passengers were Irish civil servants, travelling to a League of Nations meeting in Geneva. At Baldonnel they had plied him with questions. He had been pushed on to the flight by someone who knew someone, so there had to be something interesting about him. He made sure there wasn’t. They soon found his polite monosyllables irritating and the role he had come up with — a cattle dealer looking for new markets in Germany — decidedly down-the-country. He sat far enough back to make conversation impossible on the noisy two-hour journey to Croydon. The grey sea spread out below them, the waves catching the spring sunlight. There was a boat sailing to England. He looked down as the plane passed over it, and watched it until it had disappeared.

The months had passed quickly at Kilranelagh as winter moved into spring in the mountains. Stefan had plunged himself into work at the farm with an energy that absorbed his days and left him tired enough to sleep at night. The smell of stone and earth and animals was something to hold on to, and the longer the days were out in the fields the less time there was to talk about the threat that still hung over him and his parents, and over his son. Tom’s fifth birthday had come and gone now and he still knew nothing about the curate’s plan to send him to live with his uncle and aunt. Stefan had made it clear over and over again that he would never agree. There had been a brief exchange of letters between his solicitor, Emmet Brady, and the bishop in Carlow, then nothing. Tom was happy at school and happier still because, for reasons he didn’t understand, his father was at home. Father Carey was polite whenever Stefan saw him and had not referred to the matter since February now. David and Helena had read into that silence a truth Stefan was far less sure about. They thought it was done. For more than a month now none of them had discussed the threat as they had through the long winter evenings after Tom had gone to bed. But there were still nights when Stefan couldn’t sleep, however hard he worked. The curate’s bitter determination was still a shadow over him. He would lie awake, turning Emmet Brady’s cautious words around in his head for the hundredth time. He heard himself in the Four Courts, trying to persuade a judge not to take Tom away. And sometimes, as he imagined the judge telling him he was unfit to be a father to his son, he thought about the answer that was there, always unspoken, the answer even his mother and father must know had to be in his head. If it wasn’t finished, if it wasn’t forgotten, if the threat was as real as the old solicitor claimed it was, then one day the only option might be the journey to Dun Laoghaire, and the boat across the Irish Sea he had just been looking down at. But all that was for another day, however, a day he still hoped would never come. Now he was casting his mind back to the events of the previous morning and the reason he was on a plane to London.

The unfamiliar car had pulled into the farmyard at Kilranelagh early. He had never met Hannah Rosen’s father, but unexpectedly Adam Rosen was there, bringing back everything that had happened at the end of the previous year. Stefan had not forgotten Hannah, but he had pushed her to the corners of his mind. There seemed no point doing anything else. The other man introduced himself as Robert Briscoe. Stefan knew who he was. A Member of Parliament in Dublin and a close friend of Eamon de Valera’s; an old IRA man who had fought against the British and then against the Free State in the Civil War. He was also a leader of Ireland’s Jewish community. He was a surprising guest. The two men offered no explanation for why they were there. Briscoe spent no more than five minutes congratulating David Gillespie on the quality of his cattle, and Helena on the biscuits he smelled when he walked into the kitchen, but by the time he and Adam Rosen were installed in the sitting room, with a cup of tea and a plate of those biscuits, still hot from the oven, it felt as if he had been speaking to old friends for an hour. He had a politician’s skills and, as Stefan’s father remarked later, a politician’s handshake; a little too hard and a little too sincere. But despite all the good humour, neither David nor Helena had any doubt that when the sitting room door shut, the visitors weren’t there to discuss the weather.

‘It’s about Hannah.’ Adam Rosen spoke urgently once they were alone.

‘Isn’t she back in Palestine now?’

‘I wish she was.’ Hannah’s father hadn’t said much while Robert Briscoe was making conversation about cattle and cooking, but now it was obvious he was worried.

‘She’s in trouble, Mr Gillespie.’ It was Robert Briscoe who continued.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Stefan

‘She’s in Danzig. You’ll know why she’s there I think.’

It was all in front of him; the priest, Father Francis Byrne.

‘I can make a good guess.’

‘I’m sure you know a lot more than either of us, Mr Gillespie.’

Stefan frowned. At first he was simply puzzled, not because Hannah had gone to find Francis Byrne, but because of the time that had passed. It was months since he had last seen her, he had assumed she had left Europe completely.

‘I thought she went back to Palestine ages ago.’

‘She’s been on the Continent.’ Adam Rosen answered awkwardly. It was an odd turn of phrase. It sounded as if his daughter had been on a long holiday. ‘She didn’t tell anyone she was going to try and find this priest.’

‘But she arrived in Danzig two days ago,’ continued Briscoe.

In December, Hannah had told Stefan she was going to England. That was nearly four months ago now. If she had intended to go to Danzig, why had it taken so long? He could feel the two men were skirting around something, something that made the simple fact of Hannah’s arrival in Danzig dangerous in some way. He was conscious of Briscoe’s hard eyes watching him, in the silence that hung over the dark sitting room, weighing him up.

Adam Rosen was Robert Briscoe’s friend, and his friend’s daughter needed help. Hannah had put herself at risk, and not only herself. Now someone had to bring her back. It was Brian Field who had suggested Stefan Gillespie. He was a policeman. He spoke good German. And he probably cared about Hannah. There had been something between her and the guard, at least that’s what her father thought. That was good. It was a lever, and where trust was an issue, perhaps it was something to put some trust in too.

‘The situation is complicated, Mr Gillespie,’ said Briscoe.

Stefan smiled. ‘That doesn’t surprise me, with Hannah.’

‘We can’t do anything openly in Danzig.’

‘I’m not sure I understand.’ Whatever Robert Briscoe and Adam Rosen were uncertain about Stefan knew that it must go deeper than Francis Byrne.

Briscoe looked at Adam Rosen again. Hannah’s father nodded. They had made the decision that Stefan Gillespie could be trusted, that he had to be trusted. It was the only way.

‘She was staying with some friends in Italy,’ said Hannah’s father. ‘She was meant to be sailing to Haifa three days ago, from Trieste. We do know she got as far as Trieste, but the boat sailed without her. She cancelled the booking. And then she took a train to Danzig the same night.’

‘She waited a long time,’ said Stefan, ‘but you know why she went?’

‘I know about Susan Field and the priest — ’

‘Francis Byrne. He was certainly in Danzig in December.’

‘We can’t make contact with her.’ Adam Rosen’s anxiety was clear. It seemed out of proportion, but it was clear.

‘Is that really such a big problem?’

‘Of course it bloody is,’ snapped Briscoe.

‘I don’t suppose she’s going to make herself very popular in ecclesiastical circles in Danzig,’ said Stefan, ‘but Father Byrne has already denied any kind of relationship with Susan Field. There’s a statement to that effect collecting dust in Dublin Castle. I don’t believe it any more than Hannah does, but that’s the Garda line here, and that’s all he’s going to say if she finds him. I doubt she’s going to beat the truth out of him, whatever it is.’

Hannah’s father shook his head. That wasn’t what this was about.

‘It’s not that simple.’ Briscoe was still watching Stefan intently. ‘Hannah needs to leave Danzig before anything happens. She’s not safe.’

‘If you’re worried, perhaps you should contact the police?’

‘The police?’ smiled the politician. ‘You really don’t understand — ’

‘Then maybe you’d better explain, Mr Briscoe.’

‘First of all, she wasn’t travelling under her own name.’

‘A false passport?’ It was a strange beginning.

‘For all practical purposes, yes.’

‘Why?’

The question went unanswered. ‘We have found out where she’s staying. Adam tried phoning the hotel. She hasn’t checked out, but they haven’t seen her since the morning after she arrived. She’s disappeared.’

‘I see. But if she’s missing, then surely the police — ’

‘She’s a Jew, Mr Gillespie,’ interrupted Adam Rosen, irritated, almost angry.

‘She’s an Irish citizen. Besides, Danzig’s not Germany.’

‘Not yet.’ Robert Briscoe shrugged. ‘Not quite yet.’

There were several long seconds of silence. Stefan’s tone was harder. It was his turn to show irritation.

‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or not?’

Briscoe nodded.

‘Do you know what the Haganah is?’ He put his cup down. There was a change of mood. He was more brusque.

Stefan shook his head.

‘The nearest thing would be the Volunteers here, under the British. It’s a Jewish self-defence force in Palestine. When the Arabs started attacking Jews about ten years ago it became clear the British weren’t going to do much about it. It wasn’t just that they didn’t want to take on the Arabs. There are people in the Mandate administration giving arms to the Arabs at the same time as they’re preventing the Jews getting any. The Haganah was formed to defend homes and farms, that was all, to begin with but it couldn’t really stay like that. It all changed one day in 1929. When sixty Jews were killed in Hebron.’

Stefan remembered. He’d read about it and forgotten about it. There was a lot of slaughter everywhere after all.

‘That was five years ago. Maybe the Mandate Police didn’t know it would be a massacre on that scale, but they knew enough to keep out of the way. While people were having their heads hacked off, they were nowhere to be seen. Of course, the Mandate Police aren’t exactly the British bobby on the beat. It collects up all sorts, including a few friends we know of old, Black and Tans who needed a job when they were kicked out of Ireland. The Empire’s always got dirty work for that sort somewhere. It’s got dirtier for everyone in Palestine now, Jews and Arabs. There’s a feeling that something bloody is on the way again. That means the Haganah has to be better armed. You know Hannah quite well. Perhaps you know who Benny Jacobson is?’

‘I know he’s Hannah’s fiance.’

‘He’s a Haganah commander too. And she’s a Haganah courier. She’s been collecting money in Europe for the last three months, to buy weapons.’

Stefan felt as if the months that had passed since he saw Hannah were shrinking away in front of him. What Briscoe had said surprised him, yet it made sense of her finally. It made sense of the moments when she was talking to him about Palestine and then, quite suddenly, she remembered to stop. Now he understood why it was so complicated for her. He also understood why she was at risk.

‘And who knows that? Who knows what she’s been doing?’

‘The Mandate Police must have a pretty good idea. That means British Special Branch too. If the British Consul and the British police get involved in Danzig, if Hannah’s arrested, I’ve no idea what sort of information they’d pass on if it suited them. I wouldn’t trust what they’d do, out of spite or sheer bloody stupidity.’

‘Danzig’s still a long way from Palestine, Mr Briscoe.’

‘It’s not a long way from Berlin. The SS and the Gestapo have people in Danzig. They wouldn’t care very much about her embarrassing a priest, but they care about other things. Hannah knows a lot of names. The Nazis like names, long lists of names. Long lists of Jewish names are even better.’

‘She must know that.’

‘As you said, Danzig isn’t Germany. I imagine she felt the same.’

‘She doesn’t know as much as she thinks.’ It was Hannah’s father who spoke again. There was almost a smile. Whatever else Hannah was, she was his daughter. He was remembering her as that now, strong-willed and wilful.

‘You speak good German, Mr Gillespie,’ continued Robert Briscoe.

‘Yes.’ He already knew why they were there.

‘Will you go and find her?’

‘I wouldn’t know where to start, Mr Briscoe.’

‘You’re a policeman.’

‘I’m not at the moment.’

‘I think you’re the policeman Hannah needs. Someone who’s not connected to her, someone who’s not Jewish, someone she cares about — ’

The politician smiled. He already knew Stefan cared about Hannah too.

‘I would pay you well of course, Mr Gillespie,’ said Adam Rosen.

‘It’s not a question of money, Mr Rosen.’

‘Hannah trusts you. Find her and bring her back, please.’

‘It could take me three or four days to get there.’

There was silence. In that silence, his decision was made. If it hadn’t been for him Hannah wouldn’t be in Danzig. She wouldn’t be in danger. She was there because the Gardai had failed her, most of all because he had failed her.

Robert Briscoe took an envelope from his pocket.

‘There’s a government charter to Croydon Aerodrome tomorrow morning. I can get you on it.’ He handed Stefan a plane ticket. Stefan looked, not quite sure what it was. ‘That’s for the midday Deutsche Luft Hansa from Croydon to Berlin. The Berlin-Danzig flight leaves at 7:20 in the evening. You’ll be there by 10:30 tomorrow night. You already have a room at Hannah’s hotel.’

Clearly the TD hadn’t considered the idea that Stefan wouldn’t go. But if the look on Briscoe’s face was all about what had to be done, Adam Rosen’s face was full of his fears for his daughter. And Stefan understood that too.

‘Please find her and get her out as soon as you can, Mr Gillespie.’

Dear Tom, I’m at Tempelhof Airport. That’s in Berlin. You never saw so many aeroplanes. The picture on the front of this card is like one I came in from London. It’s a Junkers. My second plane and I’m waiting for another! One day we’ll go up in one. I’ll see you as soon as I get back. Love, Daddy.

There was a long wait at Tempelhof for the flight to Danzig. Stefan had walked round and round the airport for over an hour now. The swastikas that lined the walls and hung from the high ceilings were occasionally interspersed with the flag of the Olympic Games. Everywhere there were photographs of the stadiums that were going up in Berlin for the following year, and everywhere there was the message that the Games were Germany’s opportunity to show its great miracle to the world. He couldn’t walk for more than five minutes without a brown-uniformed arm thrusting a tin at him and demanding money. It was twelve years since Stefan had been in Germany with his mother and father. They didn’t go now. The last family contacts were fading away and there was very little left except a few Christmas cards and the occasional black-bordered letter that told of a death. News of births and weddings had stopped altogether; as the family ways were finally parting, it was only death that was worth the price of the stamp.

He thought about the cousins he had walked the Bavarian mountains with, so long ago it seemed. Some of them would be wearing Nazi uniforms now; their children would be rattling those Nazi Party tins. He ate a meal he didn’t really want and drank two Berliner Weisse beers. After two more he told the next Nazi who thrust a tin at him what he could do with it, not to mention the loose change inside. So it was no bad thing that the Junkers 52 that would be flying him to Danzig was on the tarmac, ready for boarding. The angry Nazi youth had returned with several of his comrades-in-armbands. And they were looking for him.

The sun was setting as the three-engined Junkers took off, and as it turned over the great sprawl of Berlin he could see very little. The cloud was low and heavy until the plane broke through it. He sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. It was another two-hour flight, the third of the day. As a man who had never been in an aeroplane until that morning he had already had enough. He opened his eyes. Across the aisle a man in a dark suit who had just a little too much aftershave on smiled and nodded at him. His head was bald two-thirds of the way back; close-cropped hair started just before the crown. He looked at Stefan with the kind of easy assurance that meant there would be no sleep. The man would talk, even if he didn’t. In the lapel of his jacket was a Nazi buttonhole, just like the one Stefan had been given by the German Santa Claus at the Shelbourne Hotel. ‘Deutschland Erwache.’ Germany Awake. He recalled that was the day he had first met Hannah Rosen.

‘Business?’

It was an amiable question, but Stefan hadn’t really thought about the need to explain what he was doing, even in idle conversation like this. He had disposed of two curious Irish diplomats with the whiff of cow dung. It seemed something closer to the truth, if not quite the truth, begged fewer questions now. It was too much elaboration that made lies sound like lies. As a policeman he knew that.

‘Business in Danzig?’

‘A friend of mine’s on holiday there. I was in Berlin so I thought I’d catch up with her.’

It sounded ill-thought-out and unconvincing. Not that there was any reason why that should matter to a stranger he’d know for two hours on an aircraft, but it irritated him that he hadn’t thought about this before. The uncertainty of his reply, far from puzzling the man, seemed to amuse him.

‘I should probably ask no more questions, eh?’ It wasn’t a wink, but it was a smile of the you-sly-dog variety. Stefan couldn’t help laughing, both at the ease with which the assumption had been made, and also at the fact that perhaps, somewhere he hadn’t quite allowed himself to get to, it wasn’t so far from the truth. He had no idea what to expect in Danzig, but he still hoped that finding Hannah wouldn’t be difficult. Getting her to leave might be something else, but would it be such a bad thing if that took longer than Adam Rosen and Robert Briscoe anticipated? He hadn’t forgotten those two nights with Hannah. The faint smile served to confirm the assumptions of the man across the aisle. It was a feeling of comradeship, sly dog to sly dog, that Stefan was not keen to pursue for the next two hours. However, travelling companions were like relatives, you couldn’t choose them. It was some consolation that they were with you for hours and not a lifetime.

‘She’s in Zoppot?’ asked the German.

‘No, in the city.’

‘The city’s something to see, of course, very old, very German, but go to Zoppot. It’s too early for bathing, but the casino will keep you occupied.’

Stefan tried to look as if he really did have an interest in gambling.

‘But you’re visiting us at an exciting moment. These are great times.’

‘Really?’ He tried to look as if he had an interest in those great times.

‘The elections.’ The man delivered the word with a knowing look.

‘Oh yes, I was reading about them.’ Stefan gestured at the newspaper on the seat next to him. It was an exaggeration to say he had actually read it. He had made an effort to wade through the propaganda, but he’d given up.

‘It’s been hard work, what with the Poles and the League of Nations, interfering in everything. But we’ll sweep away the opposition this time.’

‘I’m afraid I’m not too well up on all that.’

‘Where are you from? You’re hard to place.’

‘I’m an Irishman.’

The man looked at him suspiciously, for no reason Stefan understood.

‘Ah, that explains it. I’m usually very good on accents.’

‘My mother’s family was originally from Stuttgart.’

‘We have an Irishman at our helm, so to speak. In Danzig. Herr Lester.’ The contempt was ill-disguised. ‘The League of Nations Commissioner.’

‘I’ve heard of him.’ Stefan had talked about him only the day before. If there was trouble, real trouble, Robert Briscoe had said he was to go to Sean Lester as a last resort.

‘He’s a man who likes to be in the news. For what, who knows? Who cares?’ The German laughed, quite loudly. Stefan sensed that that laughter would have been accompanied by a gob of spit if he hadn’t been sitting on a plane. Briscoe was right. Danzig’s Nazis didn’t like their High Commissioner. The man stretched across the aisle towards him. ‘Arthur Greiser.’ They shook.

‘Stefan Gillespie.’

‘You don’t know our Mr Lester then?’ There was a hint of suspicion in Greiser’s face again. He wasn’t trying to hide his dislike for Sean Lester.

‘We’re a small country, Herr Greiser, but not that small.’

‘Danzig is smaller. We know everyone. Warts and all! Such warts too!’

He turned abruptly and shouted along the aisle of the plane. ‘Schnapps!’ He looked back. ‘You’ll have a drink?’

Stefan didn’t want any more to drink, but he already knew Greiser would insist. He wasn’t a difficult man to read. It was easier to say yes.

‘We’ve left Germany now,’ reflected Greiser, looking out at the dark. ‘We’re over what was Germany before the end of the war, and what will be Germany again. We’re supposed to call it the Polish Corridor. German towns with Polish names. As for our Danzig Free State, it will be free again only when it is part of Germany. We all know it. The world knows it. Even the Poles must know. But you’re Irish. I don’t need to tell you. You know all about fighting for freedom, my friend?’ He raised his glass. ‘To freedom!’

As Stefan raised his glass, Greiser’s was already empty. He called out. ‘Another schnapps!’

The steward returned with the bottle. The German took it off him.

‘We have a guest to entertain!’

‘Jawohl, Herr Senatsprasident!’ The answer was delivered with a heel click, and Stefan was now aware that this was a man of some importance.

‘Where are you staying, Herr Gillespie?’

‘The Danziger Hof.’

‘Not bad. We have better. Busy but discreet, very discreet.’

He smirked and Stefan returned the man-of-the-world smile that was required. Greiser leant across and topped up Stefan’s glass. He filled his own and drained it again. The bottle would be going back to the Luft Hansa steward empty.

‘If there’s anything I can do during your stay, Herr Gillespie, I’d be delighted. Mention my name at your hotel, in a restaurant, wherever. My name is enough.’ He puffed himself up as he spoke the last words. He poured himself a third schnapps and then settled back in his seat again.

‘We have things in common after all. A common struggle, and even, one is not encouraged to say it too loudly just now, a common enemy.’ Arthur Greiser tapped his nose, then carried on, unconcerned whether his travelling companion was interested in what he was saying or not. ‘Germany had no choice about leaving the League of Nations. It’s a farce. Run by the English and paid for by the Americans. Look at Lester, our so-called High Commissioner. Everyone knows he’s too close to the English. Can’t have made him too popular in Ireland, eh? We’ll see the back of him after the elections. He’s going to find Danzig just a little too hot. And when we call on him with his train ticket to Geneva, he will be well advised to take it.’

Herr Greiser shook his head and chuckled, clearly expecting Stefan to understand. He didn’t, but he smiled politely anyway. The Free City’s Senate President poured another schnapps; he had forgotten about his guest’s glass now. These weren’t the first glasses of schnapps he’d had that day. Moments later Stefan was relieved to see the balding head thrown back in the seat. There was a faint snore too. The schnapps bottle was about to fall from Greiser’s hand. Stefan started to reach over but another hand was there first. The steward caught the bottle as he moved through the plane, with a deft assurance that made it look as if he had been waiting there for it to fall.

The plane had flown over the lights of the Free City for only minutes, out of the darkness of surrounding fields and forests. As the Junkers turned to descend, Stefan Gillespie saw where the lights of Danzig and its harbour ended abruptly. He knew that beyond it was the Baltic Sea, now just a deeper blackness in the blackness of the night. Danzig-Langfuhr Aerodrome was little more than a collection of hangars in a field. The other passengers headed for the small brick terminal building, but the Senate President’s big Mercedes-Benz was standing on the tarmac as they stepped out of the plane. A small shield on the radiator grille showed the crown and two white crosses on red of the Free City of Danzig, but the pennants that flew from each wing were swastikas. Arthur Greiser thrust his arm through Stefan’s and pulled him into the black limousine while the chauffeur held the door open for them.

The effects of the schnapps were evident on Greiser’s breath and in his behaviour. Stefan, for this short journey at least, was a new friend, a best friend. There would be no taxi for the Senate President’s friend! Arthur Greiser’s arrival home had brought the election back to the front of his mind. It was only days away now. He filled the first half of the drive to the city with scatological references to the socialists and Jews who would be swept away by the election, and the sham democracy that would be swept away by the election, and the Poles and their fucking priests who would be swept away by the election, and the need for any further elections that would be swept away by the election. And when everything that had to be swept away had been swept away, there would be a golden future. It would bring the city of Danzig back into the arms of the fatherland, which was sometimes the motherland, depending on whether Greiser’s feelings were martial or sentimental.

By the time they reached the outskirts of the city, the Senatsprasident was, thankfully, asleep again. The chauffeur, who seemed almost as pleased about that as Stefan, delivered him to the door of the Hotel Danziger Hof.

Greiser was right about one thing; his name, or in this case his car, with the sight of him snoring in the back seat, was enough. It was enough to bring the hotel manager out of his office to promise Stefan the best room he had available, and his personal attention at any time of the day or night. His expression changed when Stefan asked if Frau Anna Harvey was there. That was the name Hannah had been using, Mrs Anna Harvey, of Blackrock, Dublin. The manager looked puzzled, then angry, then puzzled again, as if he couldn’t relate the man who had got out of the Senate President’s car to the question he had just been asked. No, she wasn’t there. She certainly wasn’t there. In fact Frau Harvey had walked out of the hotel after only one night, one night when she’d booked a room for two, without a word to anyone. She had left her belongings in the room. And she hadn’t paid her bill.

Stefan stood in the luggage store behind the concierge’s desk at the Hotel Danziger Hof. Hannah Rosen’s small case, bearing a label with the name Mrs Anna Harvey, contained very little. There was not much more than a change of clothes and some underwear; a bag with soap, a flannel, toothpaste; make-up and a bottle of Chanel No. 11; a bracelet, a brush. He had seen her take off that bracelet and put it beside his bed. There were strands of her dark hair in the brush. He smelt the scent of her perfume. The porter who showed him the case had spoken to her before she left the hotel, the morning after she’d arrived. It was two days ago now. She had asked him for directions to the cathedral in Oliva. That was all. The man seemed slightly nervous, as if he had something more to say. When Stefan turned to leave he pushed a banknote into the porter’s hand. It was a five dollar bill. Adam Rosen had given him a roll of dollars at Baldonnel that morning. It was a lot more than the man expected. It was enough. He stepped in front of Stefan and pushed the door back into the lobby firmly shut. Stefan waited.

‘The police were here that night looking for her.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘They said she hadn’t registered her passport.’

‘You don’t think that was it though?’

‘They don’t send the Gestapo to check your passport.’