A Murder in Auschwitz (31 page)

Fuchs looked up at Meyer but remained silent. Meyer had not expected a warm greeting, but since this Fuchs would be acting in Meyer’s absentia, he expected more than the fixed glare which he was receiving.

“Sit, Meyer. We have a lot to go over,” ordered Kolb.

Meyer took his seat as Fuchs continued to stare at him. “First of all,” started Meyer. “Where is my promise of seeing my family from the Commandant?”

Fuchs immediately interjected. “We ask the questions around here, Jew. Don’t forget it. I can easily put a bullet in your head.” He unclipped his holster and reached for his pistol. He wanted to pull it out and hold it against Meyer’s head to remind him of his place. But as soon as he had unclipped the holster, he remembered having to hand over any weapons in the adjutant's office while he was inside the stockade.

Kolb placed his hand on Fuchs’ arm. “Heinrich, please. Remember, Herr Meyer is here to assist us and in return he shall be rewarded.” Kolb’s voice was calm, but began to rise slightly as his temper revealed its frayed edges. “It is important that we all get along. Especially as I am the one with the most to lose. My life. In front of a Gestapo firing squad.”

Fuchs nodded. “Yes, Wolfgang, of course,” he said.

Meyer looked back at Kolb. “The Commandant’s word?” repeated Meyer.

Kolb returned Meyer’s stare, fury building inside him. He struggled to keep it under control. He wanted to reach over and strangle this Jew with his own hands. But he managed to keep his voice calm and, as he spoke, his mood followed it. “You will receive the Commandant’s word tomorrow. However, I have not forgotten our side agreement.”

Kolb managed a smile. It was important that he kept everything cordial during their meetings. He needed to share ideas and information with Meyer and he needed Fuchs to understand and relate Meyer’s thoughts and case plan at the court martial. Only he could keep everyone talking and to do so, he would need to control his own temper. “After our session is over tonight, I will tell you something which you didn’t know about the Pfeiffer case.”

This intrigued Meyer. As far as he was concerned, there could not be anything that Kolb could tell him about the case. He had already gone over everything with Kolb at the time. They had shared everything; after all, it would not have been in Kolb’s interest to hide information which would have helped in his defence.

“So, shall we get started?” said Kolb. “I suggest, Heinrich, that you take notes of our discussions and we formulate a defence from those notes. Are we all in agreement? Good.”

Kolb then turned to Meyer. “Perhaps you could start Herr Meyer. You are the lawyer after all.”

Meyer thought for a moment. “I am hungry,” he said.

“You’re hungry?” Fuchs asked, “What has that got to do with anything?”

“I have been in a freezing forest all day. I have had very little to eat or drink. Normally, I would have had soup and bread by now. So I am hungry,” replied Meyer.

Kolb slammed his fist down on the table in anger, making the two other men jump. “I will get you soup and bread,” he said through gritted teeth, before shouting, “Guard!”

A few moments passed before the cell door was opened by the adjutant.

“Can we have some food for this prisoner?” asked Kolb. The adjutant stared at the back of Meyer's head.

“The Jew?” he asked, obviously astounded.

“Yes. Please,” replied Kolb. The cell door closed, and Meyer was certain he could hear the disgruntled mutterings of the adjutant as he made his way down the corridor.

“So, Herr Meyer, you will have the Commandant’s word tomorrow and you will have some food very soon. Can we perhaps start examining the case?” said Kolb, the frustration evident in his voice.

Meyer nodded. “Okay, first of all I need to know what the charges are.”

Fuchs opened a cardboard folder, removed a sheet of paper and slid it over to Meyer. The top had the usual stamp of the Third Reich eagle and swastika, under which were the words ‘
Konzentrationslager Auschwitz, Silesia, Grosse Deutschland
’. Under this was typed the charge against Kolb.

‘
Murder charge against SS Hauptscharfuhrer Wolfgang Kolb for the murder of SS Sturmbannfuhrer Ernst Straus on 3rd February 1944’
.

There was nothing else. No more detail, nothing about a court martial, no list of witnesses.

Meyer sighed. “This is not very informative, but it is straight to the point. I need to make some notes; may I have a pencil and a sheet of paper?”

Fuchs looked to Kolb for permission, and when Kolb nodded, he slid a single sheet of lined paper and a pencil over the table to Meyer.

Meyer thanked him and then started to make his list of everyone involved in this case. His ‘list of players’, as Deschler used to call them.

“Who was Sturmbannfuhrer Straus?” asked Meyer.

“He was part of the administrative department in the camp. He was involved in the ordering of some of the stores for the SS and some of the chemical elements used in the camp,” replied Kolb.

“Chemical elements? You mean the Zyklon-B?” asked Meyer.

Kolb faltered, somewhat surprised by Meyer’s question. “Yes, as well as the disinfectant for the clothing and the latrines, soap, paint, etcetera. He would have rarely been in the camp proper; I would be surprised if he was ever in close contact with any of the prisoners.”

“Do we know what time he was killed at?” asked Meyer.

Kolb leaned forward on the table. “It would have been just before I found him. Around seven in the evening.”

“You found him?” asked Meyer, not waiting for an answer. “We will need to come back to that later. Did he work alone?”

Kolb shook his head. “No, he had an assistant, Untersturmfuhrer Dietrich Ritter.”

Meyer made a note of his name further down the page from Straus’. “What do you know about Untersturmfuhrer Ritter?”

Kolb shrugged. “I don’t know much about him. He was his assistant. He assisted.”

“Scharfuhrer Fuchs, do you know anything about Untersturmfuhrer Ritter?” asked Meyer.

Fuchs shook his head. “I don’t know anything more than Hauptscharfuhrer Kolb. Except that I think he had been posted to a camp in Germany before coming here.”

“Thank you, Scharfuhrer Fuchs, would it be possible for you to find out some details about Untersturmfuhrer Ritter?” asked Meyer. “We need to know when he came to the camp, where he came from, what work he did for Sturmbannfuhrer Straus, what kind of relationship he had with him, was he on shift at the time Sturmbannfuhrer Straus was found, and any other detail, no matter how small.”

Fuchs started noting down the questions that Meyer wanted answered. He did not like taking instructions from a Jew, but it was obvious that he had a systematic approach and as long as this system produced results then it would be unwise of him to complain.

“We also need to know what relationships Sturmbannfuhrer Straus had. Was he liked? Was he a man with a temper? Was he privy to information on other members of the SS? What possible reason could someone have for killing him?” continued Meyer.

Fuchs kept scribbling down the questions, wondering how he would be able to get this information before the court martial, never mind by the next meeting, which would take place at the same time the next day.

“Hauptscharfuhrer Kolb, you said that you found the body. Can you tell me how you came to be in his office and what you found when you arrived there, please?” asked Meyer.

Kolb took a deep breath and started his explanation of what had happened that night. “I had some business to conclude with Sturmbannfuhrer Straus, nothing important, just about some supplies that were required, so I took the chance to visit him in his office that evening. I crossed the camp towards his office, and when I was close enough, I saw the light from a door open and close again. It looked like Straus’ office and I thought I would have missed him until the next day. But as I wasn’t entirely sure and I was almost there already, I thought I would try anyway.

“When I got to the office door, I could see some light spilling out from under the door, so I knew that he was still in his office. When I opened the door, Straus was sitting in his chair, a bullet wound to his head. His Luger lay on the floor in front of me. I am not sure why I picked it up, but I did. I must have, I don’t know, maybe it was the way I picked it up, but the pistol went off. The next thing, there are two guards pushing in through the door, pointing their rifles at me. Then one of them goes and gets Kramer, who arrests me. You know the rest.”

As Kolb finished, the door to the cell opened and the adjutant entered with a bowl of soup and a piece of bread, which he dropped in front of Meyer, some of the soup spilling onto the table.

“Enjoy your ham soup,” he laughed, then turned and left, locking the door behind him again.

Meyer looked into the bowl. This was not the same thin soup that the camp inmates received, this was obviously the usual fare for the SS. It was thick, full of vegetables and even pieces of ham.

Eating pork had never been an issue for Meyer. Ever since he had been a child, ham had been a staple in his home. And of course, as an adult, the bierwurst sausages that he and Klara enjoyed on their nights out to the dancehall were mostly pork.

Kolb and Fuchs watched in amazement at the speed with which Meyer devoured the soup, scooping up the last drops from the bottom of the bowl with the bread. Even the spilled drops on the table-top were spooned up with his fingers. Afterwards, Meyer sat back in his chair. He could not remember the last time he had eaten and felt so satisfied afterwards.

“I need time to think about what you have told me about your movements that night,” said Meyer. “There are details missing that I need to know, but I have to run the events through in my mind first. So it is probably best that I go back to my hut so I can think this through.”

Kolb agreed; he wanted Fuchs to start straight away in finding the information that Meyer had requested. As Fuchs packed up his folder and got ready to leave, Meyer held up his finger, indicating that he wanted to ask him something else.

“What is it?” asked Fuchs, his impatience showing.

“Witness statements,” said Meyer. “If there are any statements, we need copies.”

Fuchs shouted to the adjutant to open the door.

As they waited for the sound of the key in the door, Meyer turned to Kolb and said, “You promised to tell me something about the Pfeiffer case. Something which you say I don’t know.”

Kolb smiled and leaned in to Meyer’s ear, his voice no more than a whisper. “You may wonder why I have such faith in your abilities, Meyer. It is because of one simple fact. You didn’t prove the innocence of an honest man that day; you proved the innocence of a guilty man. I killed Josef Pfeiffer.”

Berlin, 7th November, 1941

THE bombs had been dropping again throughout the night. Hitler had said that no bombs would ever fall on the capital. It was another of his lies.

As a precaution, Meyer and Klara decided that it would be a good idea to leave the apartment and go to their secret shelter. As they were not allowed in the public shelters, Meyer and Klara had taken the children to the park, where there was an old, arched, abandoned coal bunker which had been used for the steam engines of the Berlin Municipal Authority during the 1880’s. It had a broken iron gate which was open enough for them to squeeze through, and once they were inside, the bunker dropped down to left, which would shield them from any blasts from outside in the park.

Klara had brought bread and cheese and a flask of hot milk for the children, while Meyer had a flask of coffee and some biscuits for them all. Anna carried blankets and Greta brought two storm lamps.

Klara made sure that everyone was comfortable, and warm, and that the children each had a cup of milk and a biscuit. The storm lamps gave off a warm glow, and Meyer and Klara leaned in against each other, sharing a biscuit.

“Will the British try to blow up our home again tonight, Papa?” asked Greta.

Meyer laughed. “I don’t know, Greta. I don’t think that they are trying to blow up our apartment on purpose, I think that they are trying to blow up the soldiers.”

“Are they our soldiers, Papa?” asked Anna.

“They are German soldiers, and we are German, aren’t we?” said Meyer.

“But they wear swastikas on their uniforms and you said that those people don’t like us very much,” replied Greta.

Meyer looked at his girls in the warm light of the lamps, at their dark eyes sparkling in the yellow glow, and wondered how to explain that the country that they had been born in, the country that their grandfather and uncle had died for, now saw them as something unwanted. Something less than human. Untermenschen.

It was just after nine when Meyer first heard the engines of the enemy bombers. It was easy to tell the difference between the sound of the British planes and the Luftwaffe; the German engines had a comforting throb as they passed overhead to bomb the enemy, while the RAF were heralded by a monotonous hum which sent shivers of fear down Meyer’s spine. The first bombs began to fall shortly afterwards. Anna and Greta cuddled into their mother and father and listened to the crump of the explosions outside, as the world shook around them.