The City of Shadows (34 page)

‘Mr Gillespie!' He stopped and waited as Keller hurried towards him.

‘Let's have that drink.'

‘Why?'

‘One reason would be that Kriminaloberassistent Rothe told me to.'

‘So that we could talk about old times in Dublin?'

‘So that I could tell him whether I think you're lying about anything.'

‘But we're both lying, aren't we?'

Stefan smiled. There was no answering smile.

‘You've got no idea what you're sticking your nose into, Sergeant. But if you end up back in a Gestapo cell again, you just might not come out.'

The bar was dark and full of smoke. There was the smell of tobacco and beer and somewhere the sourness of the cured sausages that hung behind the counter. Steps led down to the cellar from Mattenbuden, the street that ran along the edge of the New Mottlau, looking across at the warehouses and granaries of the Speicherinsel and beyond that to the city. Barges were moored at the water's edge and the cellar bar belonged to the city's old docks. As Stefan Gillespie and Hugo Keller entered, the languages of the Baltic were there along with German and Polish. Stefan didn't need to recognise the snatches of Latvian, Lithuanian, Swedish and Estonian to know that this was a lot further from the police station in Weidengasse than the distance they had walked. It wasn't German Danzig and most of the customers weren't Danzigers. Keller had ordered in German, but oddly it was the fact that they were speaking in a language other than German that made them invisible. The waiter seemed to know the Austrian and as they talked he brought regular refills for the schnapps Keller was drinking with his beer. The abortionist hadn't struck Stefan as a drinker in Dublin but that had changed. He was conscious again how drained the man was, how much older he looked. It was a very long way from the Shelbourne Hotel.

Stefan was unsure what he could say and what he couldn't. There were things he knew about Hannah now that he wouldn't dream of telling Keller, yet it was pointless repeating the lies he had told in Weidengasse. He had to offer some reason for being in Danzig. It felt like anything they both knew already had to be safe, though this didn't seem like the time to accuse the abortionist of telling Jimmy Lynch to kill Susan Field. He had to use as much of the truth as he could. Half truths worked better than lies.

‘Hannah's father got wind she was coming to Danzig to find the priest, Father Byrne. She's still got it in her head somebody has to pay for Susan Field's death. Let's not pretend you don't know who Susan Field was, Hugo.'

Keller shrugged. It didn't really matter what Stefan knew about that, not here.

‘Byrne was the only candidate. In your absence. And as her old man didn't want her in a Danzig gaol for attempted murder, he paid me to bring her back before she got into trouble. I haven't done very well so far.'

‘No, it's a pity you didn't get here earlier, Sergeant.'

Keller downed a schnapps.

‘What the hell did you set the Gestapo on her for?' said Stefan.

‘I just wanted the police to put her on a train and get her out of Danzig.' The abortionist's lips tightened. Stefan sensed that it hadn't worked out the way it was meant to. ‘She made trouble for me in Dublin. I wasn't going to let her do it again. I didn't know the Gestapo would get involved.'

‘Why not? I'm sure the Nazis are very particular about the reputations of Catholic priests, at least the ones they're getting information out of.'

‘This isn't the place to show how clever you are, Mr Gillespie. If you think you know what's going on with Father Byrne, forget about it. You'd be better keeping your mouth shut. I am protecting you. Remember that.'

Stefan nodded; for whatever reason it was true.

‘I want to know where Hannah is. That's why I'm here.'

‘They didn't pick her up. They haven't got her.'

‘And I suppose you'd know.' He looked at Keller with distaste.

‘Yes, I'd know. I don't know why she was using a false passport though. That's why the Gestapo are looking for her. I gave the police one name, and when they went to the hotel the bitch was using another one.'

‘Does she know you're blackmailing the priest?'

‘I don't care what Hannah Rosen knows. I've got a job to do in Danzig. I can't let anything get in the way. I didn't ask to come here. They sent me. Because of the priest.' The words were simple enough, but they sounded bleak.

‘The only thing that matters to me is Hannah.'

‘Look, I talked to the Schutzpolizei about her, that's all. They don't know anything about anything. All they had to do was deport her. But Kriminaloberassistent Rothe got hold of it, because of the passports. They found two fucking passports. Rothe's the man I work for. The last thing I can afford is the priest going off the rails. Byrne's not easy to control as it is. He's a clever man, but underneath it he's a coward. He's weak. But he's got a conscience and it's not going to help me or him or anybody if he finds it. I can't let that happen. I had to get Hannah Rosen away from him. He's not far off a breakdown.'

Stefan didn't say how much closer to a breakdown Francis Byrne was now. He didn't care. Hugo Keller was saying more than he intended to. The schnapps helped, but it was his own anxiety that was making him talk. There was never anyone to talk to in the job he did. There were always too many lies to remember to make it safe.

‘Are you going to tell me what you know about Hannah?'

‘They went to the hotel to pick her up. She didn't go back there. They couldn't find her.'

‘And that's it?' Stefan watched Keller's face.

‘That's it. If I were you I'd be pleased that's it.'

‘And they're still looking for her?'

‘So she must have got out, right? Maybe somebody helped her.'

‘Like who?' Stefan asked.

‘Look, Sergeant, I don't why Hannah Rosen had a false passport, but I've been doing this for a very long time. Tourists don't have two passports in different names, even tourists with dead friends. I don't know who she is, or what she is, but someone does. In fact, you wouldn't want the Gestapo to question you about that for real, would you? They're not exactly the Garda Síochána.'

The Austrian was reminding him who was doing the favours.

‘All right. But where did she go? Could she have got out of Danzig?'

‘It's not that hard if you know what to do. If they had her I would know. I'd know because they'd be questioning me too. They'd want to know what damage she'd done. It wouldn't take much to send Klaus Rothe off the deep end. She's made for it. You've got to understand these people believe all this stuff, about Jewish conspiracies and Jews trying to destroy Germany and take over the world. It's not a game for them. One false passport and a Jewish woman from Palestine and there's a Zionist spy. Not only that, she's got some hold on a man who's a valuable informant. It doesn't have to make sense. When they doubt, they doubt everybody. And that means me too.'

As Keller spoke the last words there was real fear in his eyes again.

‘So all this is about Francis Byrne?'

‘There are two ways to stay safe, Sergeant. Either you've got to know everything or nothing at all. You've managed to persuade the Gestapo the only thing you were doing with Hannah Rosen was screwing her. That's no mean achievement. Go back to your hotel. Get the train out in the morning.'

‘And Hannah?'

‘I give you my word, she wasn't arrested.'

‘I'm sorry,' Stefan laughed, ‘did you just give me your word?'

The Austrian smiled; he still had a sense of humour.

‘I've kept my mouth shut about who you are, and about the lies you've told the Gestapo. I might have my own reasons for that, but you need to know the shit you'd be in if I changed my mind. I don't have to help you.'

‘Then why are you?'

‘Does it matter?'

‘No, I suppose not.'

Keller said nothing for a moment. He wasn't looking at Stefan now. He was gazing into the mid distance, as if he was remembering something, or regretting something. The waiter brought another schnapps. He drank it.

‘I have a lot of friends in Ireland.' He smiled, and very briefly he looked more like the man Stefan had seen at the house in Merrion Square.

‘Is friends the right word?' said Stefan.

‘People I can rely on. I'd like to go back. I still think of it as home.'

‘And I thought you were home now.'

‘Germany? You're joking!'

‘They must owe you a pension by now.'

The sarcasm washed over Hugo Keller; he was entirely serious.

‘I don't want enemies in Ireland. I've done you a favour, Sergeant. I hope you'll remember it when you get home.'

It was an uncomfortable feeling for Stefan Gillespie, but it was true.

‘Why would you worry about me, Hugo? Like you said, you've got friends. No one's waiting to arrest you. Whatever happened in Merrion Square no one even wants to talk to you.'

That seemed to please Keller. For a moment he smiled; but he couldn't keep the present at bay.

‘There's nothing to stay here for. Not just Danzig, Germany, Austria.'

He lowered his voice, shaking his head as he spoke.

‘If you want to know what's coming, Mr Gillespie, you only have to listen. But nobody is. Nobody wants to hear. You're close enough to it in Danzig though. Use your ears. Walk through the streets and fucking listen.'

He drained his glass of beer and stood up. ‘If Miss Rosen isn't here, be grateful for it. Just forget what you know and what you think you know and fuck off.' He walked out.

When Stefan left the bar, the street outside was quiet. The water of the New Mottlau lapped gently against the barges moored on the Speicherinsel side. He didn't know how much faith to put in anything Hugo Keller had said. What he did know, because it was in every line of the Austrian's now thin and sallow face, was that fear was driving everything he did. Hannah was a part of that fear; anything that threatened him was a part of that fear. If the Gestapo had arrested her, Keller would have known. It wasn't much, but it was something. He took his bearings, trying to work out where he was as he walked towards the Mattenbuden Bridge. It would take him over the canal to the Granary Island. The island was a maze of old, crumbling warehouses, but if he kept to the lane called Münchengasse it would bring him across the island to the Cow Bridge and the Mottlau River itself. Hundegasse would lead him to the other end of the old town, and back to the Danziger Hof.

As he stepped off the bridge into Münchengasse the high, gabled fronts of its medieval granaries rose up on either side of the narrow lane. They were shuttered and barred; there were no lights anywhere. He could hear a rumbling sound from the other side of the city. It came and went. It was the Goebbels rally. He could make out the sound of people cheering and shouting; it was like a distant football match. He was conscious of footsteps behind him. He looked round. The footsteps stopped. He could see no one, but he was sure there had been movement in the dark street. And innocent footsteps didn't stop that quickly. He walked on. There were lights ahead, along the Lange Brücke on the other side of the Mottlau; he could hear the traffic now. And still the ominous roar of voices rose and fell over the Free City. The footsteps were behind him again. He looked back, not stopping this time. There was a man following him. As he turned his head the man's footsteps slowed. When he turned back towards the river there were headlights. A car had pulled into the narrow street in front of him. It was moving quite slowly. Then it stopped. The headlights went off. The doors opened and two men got out. They stood where they were, just waiting.

He had seconds to make a decision. The best bet seemed to be the man behind him. If he could get past him he had a chance. In the Granary Island's maze of alleyways he didn't have to know where he was going; he only had to get lost. He turned and ran. He could hear the two men from the car chasing him. Ahead he saw the third man waiting – a youth – barely out of his teens. The boy was terrified, but he stepped forward to block Stefan's way. Stefan flung out his hand to push him off. The youth threw himself across the street, bringing Stefan crashing down on to the cobbles on top of him. As he pulled himself up the boy clung to his coat, then to his leg, holding him back. Stefan kicked him away, but stronger arms held him from behind. He tried to hit out. He felt another arm round his throat. A hand holding a white cloth clamped itself over his face. He could hear the roaring voices on the night air. ‘Back to Germany! Danzig, back to Germany!' There was the sweet, sharp smell of chloroform. And then he blacked out.

As Stefan Gillespie came to he was in complete darkness and the darkness was in motion. He was dizzy. He tried to move but he could push his legs only a few inches before they came up against some kind of wall. There was a smell of oil and leather and something sweet. The disorientation was clearing; he recognised the sweetness. It was chloroform, quite faint now, but enough to bring what had just happened into focus. He was in the boot of a car, doubled up and barely able to move, but not tied. He could make no sense of why he was there. If the Gestapo wanted to teach him a lesson, surely a few broken ribs would have done. This was something else. He didn't know the Nazis but he had grown up in a civil war. When they came for you, whichever side it was, they didn't need to take you away for a thrashing; they only took you away when they intended to kill you.

Occasionally he heard faint voices over the sound of the engine. Nothing he could make out, but he thought there were two of them in the car. He couldn't tell how long they'd been driving. The jolting was worse now. The car had to be off the road on some kind of track. His thoughts were all of Tom now. It couldn't end here. He had to do something. He reached out with his left hand. He could feel something on the floor. He stretched his fingers along it. It was a wrench or a tyre lever. He gripped it. When the boot opened he might have his opportunity. If he feigned unconsciousness they'd pull him out. There would be a moment, maybe the only one, to take them off guard and run. The car stopped. He heard dogs barking. The doors opened. The sound of feet. They were at the back of the car now. As the boot lifted he saw darkness and trees. That was good. If he could get into the trees he would have some chance at least. Torchlight shone down on to his face. He closed his eyes.