The Children's War (170 page)

“What did you say to her?” Peter asked as they awaited the maid from the inn. He and Jenny sat in a tearoom not far from the inn, sipping their drinks, waiting nervously to see if the girl would appear.

Jenny laughed. “I told her you were my husband and I knew you were a good man. I gave her a sob story about how we rarely got to see each other because you were on the run from the authorities and how you were hoping to get some information that would let you come home.”

“And why should she believe you?” Peter asked, astonished that it had been something so simple.

“I’m a mother,” Jenny giggled. “I have that motherly, trustworthy glow about me.”

“Ah, well, I guess you impressed her enough to even convince her friend, because there’s the girl we’re looking for.”

A girl of about sixteen wearing a maid’s uniform stood in the doorway, castinga look around the tearoom. Her eyes settled on Peter and Jenny and she approached their table. “Are you Jenny?”

“Yes, you must be Louise.”

Peter stood to pull out a chair for Louise. She seemed surprised by the gesture and it took her a moment to gather herself enough to accept the seat.

“I know someone who was working that night,” she began without preamble, “and I’ll introduce you, but it’s going to cost.” She paused as if gathering her courage. “One thousand marks!”

Peter bit his lips to suppress a smile. He had never thought he could get off
that cheaply. His hesitation confused the girl and she amended quickly, “We’ll take eight hundred.”

“If you really do have information,” he said, “we’ll pay a thousand. Can we go there now?”

The girl shook her head. “We’ll come to your room tonight. After the day manager has left.”

They spent the afternoon perusing the local bookstores, and Peter bought a crate of English-language books from a used-book shop for the store in London. He thought the books might sell well, and it also provided him with a good excuse for his journey in case anyone ever questioned him. That evening they ate a meal in a mixed-race pub, and then returned to the inn to await their visitors. Jenny nervously smoked one cigarette after another, while Peter stood impatiently by the window and watched as the street grew increasingly deserted.

There was a light tapping at the door, and when bidden, a young woman entered with Louise. She introduced herself as Tess and explained that she was the night manager, which meant she opened the door to late-returning guests and carried out some overnight chores such as polishing boots and removing room trays.

Peter asked if she remembered a Dutch guest, Wim van Wije.

“Let me see the money,” Tess answered almost belligerently.

He pulled out twelve hundred marks and gave them to her. “I trust you. You can keep it.”

Jenny’s eyes opened wide with surprise, but Tess and Louise reacted exactly as he had expected. Their mouths dropped open, they glanced at each other, then they threw away their caution and relaxed. After that they were like trusted old conspirators. Tess explained how the night van Wije had stayed at the inn, there was another young man there, who had been registered for almost a week.

“Things were slow, so I did a round early that night to get started on the boots, and as I turned into the hallway with van Wije’s room, I saw the other fellow fussing with his boots. I politely interrupted him and told him I was responsible for the guest’s possessions and I could not allow them to be tampered with. I figured he was planning on stealing them, but I didn’t want to say that. Anyway, he skulked off, and I took the boots downstairs to be polished, but I decided not to return them until morning. About five in the morning the same fellow showed up at my desk, put down three hundred marks, and asked about van Wije’s boots. I said I could not return them to anyone but their owner. He put down another three and asked if he could just look at them for a few minutes. I refused. I figured he would have shown some government ID if he was with the police. Finally, he laid down another three and asked if I would do him a small favor.”

“Did you?” Jenny asked.

“Yes. I was a bit afraid he would get violent if I didn’t do as he asked.”

“What did he want?” Peter prompted.

“He had me remove one of the clasps. He said the topmost one on the left
side of the right boot would snap off easily, and inside I would find a small device which, he said, belonged to him. I should remove it, put the clasp back on, and bring him the device. I went into the back and did as he asked and gave him the object.”

“What did it look like?”

“Small, gray, about this big.” Tess held her fingers about a centimeter apart. “Really tiny. I couldn’t figure out what it contained. It didn’t rattle or anything, like it was solid.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“No, except not to say a word to anyone—especially the guy who owned the boots.”

Peter nodded. “Do you have his name?”

“Yeah, it’s in the register. I can show you.”

When they were at the desk, Tess pointed out the name. “He checked out the morning after.”

“Schindler,” Peter muttered, surprised to see that name. “Wolf-Dietrich Schindler. You said he was young?”

“Yes, well, not old anyway. His papers said he was from Berlin. His accent was consistent with that.”

Peter and Jenny exchanged amused glances.

“Can you describe him?” Jenny asked.

“Of course,” Tess agreed cheerily, and did just that in great detail.

The next morning they left their luggage at the inn and took a day trip to Dover just to see the ocean. They walked along the beach, totally alone in the bitter December wind. Peter stopped to stare from a safe distance at the western docks, where he had embarked so long ago into an unknown fate. Jenny huddled next to him and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. She followed his gaze and then, leaning into him, asked, “What are you thinking?”

“Oh, I was thinking how my escape cost Geoff his life.”

“You weren’t to know.”

“I know. Still, if I had told the truth at my interrogation, maybe that would have saved him.”

“How so?”

“After my recapture, I lied about the extortion we had used against the
Kommandant.
I didn’t want to get my accomplices in trouble, so I just made up a story that the
Kommandant
had freed me out of love, that he had planned to meet up with me after some time.”

“But how does that change anything?”

“Well, when Geoff killed the
Kommandant,
he claimed it was self-defense. He claimed the
Kommandant
had attacked him. If I had admitted that the
Kommandant
had attacked me as well, maybe they would have believed him.”

“He was hanged so soon after you left, your words couldn’t have affected his trial.”

“I only spent four days out of the Reich and, let’s say, a day or two in transit. Geoff was hanged nine days after I left. There was plenty of time for me to corroborate his story. It might have saved him if they knew the
Kommandant
was a psychopath . . .”

Jenny shook her head. “You know better than that. We’re
Nichtdeutsch,
the justice system doesn’t work like that for us.”

They padded along the heavy, damp sand in silence. The sea threw up dark waves onto the shore, then greedily sucked them back with a loud roaring sound through the pebbly beach. Clouds scudded across the sky, gathering on the horizon with a portent of rain. The wind whipped at them so much they had to lean into it to stay upright. Jenny huddled closer and Peter hugged her. “So much waste,” he muttered at the sea.

“This trip?”

“Oh, no! I think we’ve got everything we could hope for, and that description was terrific.”

“Yeah. She’d make a great recruit.”

Peter nodded. “Thanks for your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“My pleasure.” Jenny sighed into the wind. “Anything for old times.”

Upon returning to London, Peter relayed the information to Ryszard. Ryszard promised to call on him again if need be, but had pressing business in Berlin and had to abandon the hunt for the time being. He left Peter with strict instructions not to pursue anything on his own and then, upon seeing Peter’s face, added, “I mean it!”

Despite the obvious temptation to spite Ryszard, Peter decided not to do anything so foolish as to play sleuth, and so he settled back into a routine with the bookstore and into preparing for the extra sales that were inevitable during the
Winterfest
season. For that he got little help from Barbara, for she and Mark threw themselves into the
Winterfest
activities that dominated the city. There were street markets and theater productions, sporting events and parades. The weather was uncooperative, but then, it always was, and nobody was surprised that they had to sip their
Glóhwein
under the sodden awning of a street booth during the
Winterfestmarkt.

Peter ventured out with them once or twice after closing up shop; the outings reminded him of some happy times in his youth, but even though the markets had grown richer and the entertainment was more elaborate, he found no real joy in the occasions. There was an ever-present fear that even in the huge, anonymous crowds he would be recognized from his wanted poster or by an old acquaintance, and though he told no one, he was also afraid of a bomb or other unforeseen event blowing his cover, the way it had done in Neu Sandez.

So he usually stayed at home in the evenings, enjoying his privacy and tendingthe books. He spent several evenings filling out the necessary papers to reapplyfor the bookstore’s license to sell English-language books. The forms were
tedious, requiring signatures and testimonials from several government offices, but since they had received approval in the past, it seemed likely they would be granted the license for another year.

Theirs was a dual-language store; that is, they sold both German and English books. The German books required no special license, but the English books did—ostensibly to prevent their shop from becoming a low-class establishment and thus destroying the character of the neighborhood. It was true that many of the shops that sold English books were located in the English parts of town and were therefore quite run-down, and it was this association that the Neighborhood Committee wanted to prevent. Peter knew, though, that it had little to do with the integrity of the neighborhood: the government simply wanted to keep an eye on all establishments that might become focal points for resistance. For that reason, they were careful to keep an extremely proper shop, and for that reason as well, he was careful to have all the forms filled out with due care and attention.

He tracked down signatures and testimonials during the day; assurances from the bank that they had credit, from neighbors that there had been no incidences, from the local police that there had been no complaints. The district security police certified that they had not been implicated in holding or selling any illegal books, the Neighborhood Committee confirmed that the shop window displays had been acceptable, and the Workers’ Committee indicated that the bookstore had satisfactory hiring practices, though indeed there were no employees other than Barbara and Peter. In the evening, he collated the statements for paid taxes and bills, organized the list of books bought and sold throughout the year, indicated the typical customer profile, and included the necessary proof of his and Barbara’s acceptable racial credentials and their approved marriage certificate.