If the Dead Rise Not (30 page)

“What about my stuff?”

“You’ll get it downstairs.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” I picked up my jacket and put it on.

“Aw, now you’ve hurt my feelings,” he said.

“You’ll grow new ones when you get back under your stone.”

He jerked his head down the corridor. “Get moving, Gunther, before we change our minds.”

I walked ahead of him, and it was just as well that I hadn’t eaten that morning—otherwise, it wouldn’t have been only my heart that was in my mouth. My scalp was crawling, as if I had one of the praesidium’s cockroaches in my hair. At any moment I expected to feel the cold barrel of a Luger pressed against my cranium and to hear the sound of a shot, abruptly curtailed as a hollow-point 9.5-gram round tunneled through my brain. For a second I recalled seeing a German officer in 1914 shooting a Belgian civilian suspected of leading an attack on our soldiers, and the way the bullet had left his head looking like a burst football.

My legs felt like jelly, but I forced them to march me along the corridor without stopping to look around and see if Leather Coat had a pistol in his hand. At the top of the stairs, the corridor kept on going and I paused awaiting his instructions.

“Downstairs,” said the voice behind me.

I turned and tramped down the steps, my leather soles slapping against the stones like my heart on the walls of my chest. It felt pleasantly cool on the stairwell. A great blast of fresh air was coming up from the ground floor like a sea breeze. And arriving there at last, I saw a door open onto the central courtyard, where several more police cars and vans were parked.

To my relief, Leather Coat marched ahead of me now and led the way into a little office where my coat and hat, my tie, my braces, and the contents of my pockets were returned to me. I put a cigarette into my face and lit it before following him along another corridor and into a room the size of an abattoir. The walls were covered with white bricks, and on one was a large wooden crucifix; for a moment I thought we were in some kind of chapel. We turned a corner, and I stopped in my tracks, for there, like a strange-looking table and chair, was a shiny new falling ax. Constructed of dark polished oak and dull-colored steel, the machine was about eight feet high—just a bit taller than an executioner wearing his customary top hat. For a moment it sent such a chill through my body that I actually shivered. And I had to remind myself that it was unlikely Leather Coat would have attempted to execute me by himself. The Nazis were hardly short-staffed when it came to carrying out judicial murder.

“I bet this is where you bring Hitler Youth in lieu of a bedtime story,” I said.

“We thought you’d like to see it.” Leather Coat uttered a dry little chuckle and stroked the wooden frame of the falling ax fondly. “Just in case you were ever tempted to come back.”

“Your hospitality overwhelms me. I suppose this is what they mean when they talk about the people who’ve lost their heads to Nazism. But it might be just as well to remember the fate of almost all the French revolutionaries who were so keen on their guillotine: Danton, Desmoulins, Robespierre, Saint-Just, Couthon. They ended up going for a ride on it themselves.”

He scraped the blade with the flat of his thumb and said, “As if I care what happened to a bunch of francies.”

“Maybe you should.” I flicked my half-smoked cigarette at the terrible machine and followed Leather Coat through another door and into a corridor. This time I was pleased to see that it led out onto the street.

“As a matter of idle curiosity, why are you releasing me? After all, I never signed your D-11. Was it the thought of having to spell ‘concentration camp’? Or was it something else? The law? Justice? Proper police procedure? I know that sounds unlikely, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”

“If I was you, friend, I’d count myself lucky just to be walking out of here.”

“Oh, I do. Only not as lucky as I count myself for the fact that you’re not me. That really would be depressing.”

I tipped my hat to him and walked out of there. A moment later I heard the door bang behind me. It sounded a lot better than a Luger, but it still made me jump all the same. It was raining, but the rain looked good because there was only the open sky above it. I took off my hat and lifted my unshaven face into the air. The rain felt even better than it looked, and I rubbed it across my chin and hair the same way I’d washed my face with it in the trenches. Rain: it was something clean and free that fell from the sky and wasn’t going to kill you. But even while I celebrated the moment of my liberation, I felt a tug at my sleeve and turned around to find a woman standing behind me. She was wearing a long, dark dress with a high belt; a fawn-colored raincoat; and a small, shell-like hat.

“Please, sir,” she said quietly, “were you a prisoner in there, perhaps?”

I rubbed my chin again. “Is it that obvious?”

“Did you by chance come across another man by the name of Dettmann, Ludwig Dettmann? I’m his wife.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Frau Dettmann, no, I didn’t see anyone at all. But what makes you think he’s in there?”

She shook her head, sadly. “I don’t. Not anymore. But when they arrested him, this is where he was taken. I’m sure of that, at least.” She shrugged. “But afterward, who knows? No one thinks to tell his family anything. He could be anywhere for all I know. But no one thinks to tell his family anything. Several times I’ve been in that police station asking for information about my Ludwig, but they won’t tell me what’s happened to him. They’ve even threatened to arrest me if I go in there again.”

“Might be one way of finding out,” I said glibly.

“You don’t understand. I have three children. And what’s to become of them, eh? What is to become of them if I’m arrested, too?” She shook her head. “Nobody understands. Nobody wants to understand.”

I nodded. She was right, of course. I didn’t understand. No more than I understood what had persuaded von Helldorf to order my release.

I walked through the Lustgarten. In front of the state castle was a bridge that led across the Havel and over an island to the Teltower Tor Station, where I caught a train back to Berlin.

 

 

W
ASHED AND SHAVED and wearing a change of clothes, I walked back into the Adlon, encountering both surprise and delight, not to mention a certain amount of suspicion. It wasn’t unknown for staff to pull a sicky for a few days and then return with the same explanation as me. Sometimes it was even true. Behlert greeted me much as he might have greeted a tomcat returning home after an absence of several days and nights: with a mixture of amusement and contempt.

“Where have you been?” he said, scolding. “We’ve been worried about you, Herr Gunther. Thank goodness your friend, Detective Sergeant Stahlecker, has been able to take on some of your duties.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“But even he was unable to find out what had happened to you. No one at the police praesidium at Alexanderplatz seemed to know anything. It’s not at all like you to disappear like that. What happened?”

“I’ve been staying at another hotel, Georg,” I told him. “The one run by the police in Potsdam. And I didn’t enjoy it. Not one bit. I’m thinking of walking around to that MER travel bureau on Unter den Linden and telling them not to recommend it any longer as a place to stay when you’re in Potsdam. You can sleep much more comfortably in the river. In fact, I very nearly did.”

Behlert glanced uncomfortably around the mausoleumlike entrance hall. “Please, Herr Gunther, keep your voice down or else someone will overhear, and then we’ll both be in trouble with the police.”

“I wouldn’t be in trouble if it wasn’t for the help of one of our guests, Georg.”

“Who can you mean?”

I might have mentioned the name of Max Reles. But I saw no point in explaining exactly what had happened. Like the majority of law-abiding Berliners, Behlert preferred to know as little as possible about those things that might get him into trouble. And, in a way, I respected that. Given my own recent experiences, it was probably the more sensible way to be. So instead I said, “Frau Charalambides, of course. You know I’ve been working for her. Helping her write this article.”

“Yes, I did know. And I can’t say that I approved. In my opinion, it was wrong of Frau Adlon to ask you. It put you in a very difficult position.”

I shrugged. “That can’t be helped. Not now. Is she in the hotel?”

“No.” He looked awkward. “I think perhaps you had better speak to Frau Adlon. As a matter of fact, she inquired about you only this morning. I believe she’s in her apartment, upstairs.”

“Has something happened to Frau Charalambides?”

“She’s fine, I can assure you. Shall I telephone Frau Adlon and suggest an appointment for you?”

But sensing something was wrong, I was already running upstairs.

Outside Hedda’s apartment I knocked and, hearing her voice, turned the handle and opened the door. She was sitting on the sofa, smoking a cigarette and reading a copy of
Fortune
magazine, which, given she had one, seemed only appropriate. Seeing me, she threw
Fortune
aside and stood up. She looked relieved to see me.

“Thank goodness you’re all right,” she said. “I’ve been worried about you.”

I closed the door. “Where is she?”

“Gone home to New York,” said Hedda. “She left on yesterday’s boat from Hamburg.”

“Then I guess she wasn’t as worried as you.”

“There’s no need to be like that, Bernie. It’s not how it is at all. Her leaving Germany and promising not to write about the Olympics was the price she paid to get you out of jail. And quite possibly to keep you out of jail as well.”

“I see.” I walked over to the sideboard and picked up one of her decanters. “Do you mind? It’s been one of those—weeks.”

“Please. Help yourself.” Hedda went over to her desk and opened the lid.

I poured one out—quite a large one of whatever it was, I didn’t much care—and sucked it down like it was a medicine I’d prescribed for myself. It tasted horrible, so I prescribed myself another and brought it back to the sofa.

“She left you this.” Hedda handed me an Adlon envelope.

I slipped it into my pocket.

“It’s my fault for getting you into this in the first place.”

I shook my head. “I knew what I was doing. Even when I knew that what I was doing was, perhaps, ill advised.”

“Noreen always did have that effect on people,” said Hedda. “When we were both girls, it was nearly always I who got caught for some infraction of the school rules, and Noreen who got away with it. But I was never deterred by that. I was always up for our next escapade. Perhaps I should have warned you about her. I don’t know. Maybe. Even now it feels like I’m the one who has to stay behind and make up her grades and offer an apology.”

“I knew what I was doing,” I repeated dully.

“She drinks too much,” said Hedda, by way of an explanation. “She and Nick, her husband. I assume she told you all about him.”

“Some.”

“She drinks, and it doesn’t seem to affect her in the least. Everyone who’s around her drinks, and it affects them a great deal. That’s what happened to poor Nick. Goodness, he never drank at all until he met Noreen.”

“She’s very intoxicating.” I tried a smile, but it didn’t come out right. “I expect I’ll have a hangover before I get over it.”

Hedda nodded. “Take a few days off, why don’t you? The rest of the week, if you like. After five nights in jail you could probably use a break. Your friend Herr Stahlecker will cover for you.” She nodded. “It’s worked out very well with him. He doesn’t have your experience, but—”

“Perhaps I will take some time off. Thanks.” I finished my second drink. It didn’t taste any better than the first. “Incidentally, is Max Reles still staying in the hotel?”

“Yes, I think so. Why?”

“No reason.”

“He told me you got his property back for him. He was very pleased.”

I nodded. “Maybe I’ll go away somewhere. Würzburg, perhaps.”

“Have you got family in Würzburg?”

“No. But I’ve always wanted to go there. It’s the capital of Franconia, you know. Besides, it’s the opposite end of Germany from Hamburg.”

I didn’t mention Dr. Rubusch, or the fact that the only reason I was going there was that he was from Würzburg.

“Stay at the Palace Hotel Russia House,” she said. “I believe it’s the best hotel in the state. Have a rest. Catch up on some sleep. You look tired. Put your feet up. If you like, I’ll telephone the hotel manager and get you a special rate.”

“Thanks. I will.” But I didn’t tell her that the last thing I intended to do was put my feet up. Not now that Noreen was gone out of my life for good.

 

 

L
EAVING THE ADLON, I walked east to the Alex. The railway station was bristling with SS, and yet another military band was getting ready to welcome some self-important government bonzo. There are times when I swear I think we have more military bands than the French and the English put together. Maybe it’s just a lot of Germans playing it safe. No one ever accused you of being unpatriotic when you were playing a flugelhorn or a tuba. Not in Germany.

Tearing myself away from the palpable excitement in the air around the station, I walked into the Alex. Seldte, the smart young fellow from SCHUPO, was still on duty at the front desk.

“I see your career is leaping ahead.”

“Isn’t it?” he said. “If I stay here for much longer, I’ll turn into one of these freaks myself. If you’re looking for Herr Trettin, I saw him head out of here about twenty minutes ago.”

“Thanks, but I was hoping to see Liebermann von Sonnenberg.”

“Would you like me to call his office?”