JULIA VON GENCHLER HAD WORKED the archive desk for as long as anyone in the building remembered. (Ruder members of the staff joked that she’d predated the building.) No one quite knew how she’d managed to elude the forced retirements and layoffs, but while others whispered of her dark connections to high officials, Rolf assumed that the reason she was retained was that she, like file clerks everywhere, had guaranteed her job security by making the filing system impossible for anyone besides her to understand. There was another filing clerk, Alois, who worked here and subbed for her; but everyone in the building knew that he was as useless as an asshole on an elbow. If Julia were ever shot, imprisoned, or struck by a bolt of lightning, the Munich police would have been forced to disband within the hour. Julia von Genchler had not managed to grow into a well employed, hunched, gruff, bottle-blonde old mare by being stupid.
Rolf handed her the old file. “Ms. Von Genchler, could you tell me how this managed to get into my office?”
Julia held the file out at arm’s length to read it. She despised wearing her glasses, which dangled from a silver chain around her neck. “A mistake, Kommissar. I’ll put it away.”
“No.” Rolf said. “Not yet. The file is incomplete. Is there, by any chance, a more complete copy?”
“That would be at central archives in City Hall. It would take me two weeks to get a hold of it for you.”
“Two weeks?”
“At minimum. They’re going through a file system changeover. The clerk there is having all files renumbered according to a seven digit coding system that will allow them to cross-reference their files more efficiently. Once they’re finished, we’ll start mirroring their work here.”
“But there is a duplicate of this file?”
Julia shrugged. “I can’t say. It’s possible. But this file is an older one, and as you know, things do get lost from time to time. It’s possible that the central file is even less well kept than this one is, so even if you do find it, it may be of little use to you, Kommissar. Central files are not as renowned for completeness. They often remove material, or even whole files, just to save space.”
Rolf knew better than to argue or question. He changed tack. “Is the evidence box connected to this file still here?”
“Possibly,” Julia said. “Come with me.”
Julia pressed a small buzzer beneath her counter, opening a door at its end with a loud click. Rolf passed through the door to find the two desks the archivists used; Alois was seated at one of them, reading a travel magazine. When he saw Rolf, Alois dropped the magazine onto his desk and said, “Do you need me for anything?”
Julia stepped over. “No, Alois. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Kommissar, follow me.”
Julia led Rolf through the stacks. The room smelled of disinfectant and old paper and dust. Past row on row of boxes they went, Julia leading the way like a sherpa. Finally she made a quick and decisive turn between two rows of shelving, pointed up to the high shelf and said, “You’ll have to take it down yourself. I’m too short.”
“You could have asked Alois.”
“He’s much more valuable where he is.”
Rolf pulled the box down off the shelf. The heft comforted him. After the skimpy file, he'd feared finding either nothing or a box filled with packing material (or broken down old boxes). “Where’s the nearest table?”
“This way.”
Julia led Rolf to the far end of the archive, where a metal table sat next to a metal door that had long ago been sealed. Rolf dropped the box onto the table, where it made a satisfying bang. He noticed that Julia was walking away. “Wait, please. Where are you going?”
“I assume you don’t need me anymore, Kommissar. I have work to do.”
“Please stay,” Rolf said. “I may have some questions for you.”
“What could I tell you? I’ve never seen the inside of that box.”
“Well, maybe you should bring over Alois.”
“Why?”
“Because the main body of this box is old, but the top is new, and not dusty.” Rolf said. “Unless Alois did that, and I don’t think he did because he doesn’t know where anything is in this room, I’d like you to stay.”
Julia grimaced, but, like a naughty schoolchild who’d been caught, she slinked back to the table, beside Rolf, as he opened the box. At the top of the box was a paper, containing the inventory. It was sitting on a folded green blanket. Rolf took the paper out and picked the blanket up. He let it unfold and saw both the massive black bloodstain on it, and a number of desiccated pine needles sticking out of it. A torn tag attached to one corner marked the blanket as evidence, but the portion that the investigating officer would have signed was missing. Rolf put the blanket aside and examined a bloodstained blouse, ripped down the front and middle, also tagged, also with the officer’s name torn off. A blue blouse was there, also ripped down the front, also with the evidence tag missing. The same was true of other bits and pieces. Either the tag was missing or the etched initials of the detective, used to mark the chain of evidence, were scratched off. Soon, Rolf had emptied the box. He dropped the last bit of evidence, a small blue burette, and turned to Julia, “Would you care to explain?”
“What?”
“What happened to all the evidence tags and markers?”
“I have no idea what you mean. Maybe you should ask Alois.”
“I’d have more luck asking a dust bunny and you know it. Ms. Von Genchler, I need to know what’s going on here.”
“I can’t tell you, Kommissar.”
“But could you tell me?”
“Of course not.”
Simply accusing Julia of lying would gain him nothing. Rolf picked up one of the blouses again and said, “Perhaps you could offer some insight, instead. Why would someone want to conceal who the investigating officer was in this case?”
“I can’t imagine. Perhaps because he doesn’t want to be found, Kommissar.”
“And why would you help him?”
“If I were to help such a person. I would assume it was because he was my friend.”
Rolf looked back inside the box just to see if he’d missed anything. The box was empty, but there was an indentation. Rolf flipped the box over and ripped apart the flaps that formed the bottom. Onto the floor clattered a copper novelty coin, the kind given away at carnivals. It rolled around for a second, tipped over, and fell flat. Rolf tossed the ruined box aside and picked up the coin. He looked over at Julia, whose eyes were wide with surprise or fear.
Holding the coin up to the light, Rolf noticed that on the heads side were scratched the initials “J.G.E.” Rolf handed the coin to Julia. “Do you see the initials?”
“Yes, Kommissar. J.G.E.” Julia’s shoulders sunk, as if great weights had been suddenly chained to her wrists.
“Do I need to look over payroll records for the period?”
“You needn’t bother.” Julia handed Rolf the coin. “The investigator on this case was Kommissar Joachim Gerhard Epp.” Julia turned away.
“Where are you going?”
Julia snorted. “To get you a stapler so that you can put that box back together. If you plan to take it out, I’ll need you to sign for it.” Down she walked past the rows of shelving, until she made a turn and left Rolf’s view.
Rolf held the coin up again. Joachim Epp… the feeling of surprise was muted by the sudden sensation of so many pieces of this case tumbling out of their assigned slots, spinning about, then clicking into places where they fit so much better. It was a bit dizzying, and Rolf would have to go over this with Klara to work out its meaning. He pictured Epp, in a uniform with a rifle in the Odeonsplatz, sighting down Theodor von der Pfordten at the corner of the Feldherrnhalle and pulling the trigger. He pictured Epp in a field, looking down at a body, just as Rolf had done at Epp’s farm. No wonder Epp had refused to come to the window. He’d seen this before. He knew what it meant. He knew who had done it. Rolf thought he was going to faint, and put his hand on the metal table to steady himself. The cold of the tabletop calmed his nerves, but so many questions remained, and Rolf wasn’t at that moment even sure how to phrase them, much less who to address them to.
By the time Rolf got home that night, he’d at least figured out the who.
“So what do you think, Klara?”
Klara, whiskey and water in hand and sitting in the easy chair by their living room window, paused for a moment to think. “It does explain a great deal, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Rolf sipped his own drink. “Quite a lot.”
“You should look for someone released from a mental hospital or prison shortly before the Hofstengl murder. Preferably someone with local ties, not a drifter.”
“Why?”
“The Hofstengl murder was a message to Epp. It was other things as well. He probably wanted to get the Jews too, but the main message was to Epp. It’s saying ‘I’m back. You thought you’d stopped me but I’m back.’”
“You’re assuming that Gretl’s was his first murder upon getting out.”
“You don’t think so?”
“It might be. I just wouldn’t assume it. I think he might have needed a few just to get the scent back, especially if he’s been away eight years. I think he’d need to build up confidence, get ready to re-enter his life, before he’d feel ready to make an announcement. Besides which, there may be something else.”
“What?”
“I did some checking on Epp. He’s only been out of Dachau about three months.”
“So you’re saying that our killer found out about Epp, and that was the trigger event for the Hofstengl killing.”
“Not that killing specifically. I’m sure anybody would have done as well.” Rolf said. “But I’m sure that’s what led him to go out to Epp farm with the Hofstengl girl once he’d finished with her.”
“Darling,” Klara put her sweating drink down on the sill and leaned forward, elbows on knees, in her chair. “We need to get out of Germany.”
“I know.”
“And you know that we can’t afford to become a liability to the people who want to help us. They could easily decide that we’re too risky to be associated with.”
“They could. I’ve been thinking about this, Klara. It’s been on my mind all day.”
“So?”
Rolf swallowed the rest of his drink and put the glass down on an end table. “If you think you’d be better off leaving, get out. Get to France. I’ll catch up.”
“That’s what you want?”
“No. That’s what I think might be best.”
“Suppose they don’t let you out, Rolf. Suppose they decide to throw you into prison. In France I’d have even less leverage than I’ve got here. The last I see of you might be on the train platform.”
The image made Rolf dizzy. “It might be.”
“And you think I’d like to chance that?”
“I’m afraid for you.”
“Then quit, and we’ll leave. All you have to do is give this case up, which should be an easy thing to do. The Reich has already tried and executed people for this crime. You’re the only one in Germany who gives a damn who the guilty party is, so all you have to do is stop giving a damn. Can you do that?”
Rolf stammered, “I—”
“Even if saying no means that you’ll risk your life and mine, can you say that you don’t give a damn? Answer.”
Rolf choked on his answer, then said, “Why do you need to stay? Why are you necessary? We can correspond. There are telephones. It’s not as if you couldn’t advise me. It’s pointless for you to share the risks.”
“No. There’s a point. If I leave it becomes easy for you to stay. And you’ll take stupid chances thinking it only affects you.”
“I know it affects you too.”
Klara pointed at Rolf. “But you won’t feel that way. And you won’t act that way. I’ve seen this with you, Rolf! It’ll be the Vampire case all over again. You’ll drive yourself straight into the abyss secure in the knowledge that I’m safe in France. You’ll put yourself in a Dachau cell, and you won’t think of me, frantic and powerless, trying to get you out. The only way you’ll think of me, of my interest in your having a whole skin, is if I’m here. Knowing that just might keep you from doing anything too stupid. It might even make you able to finally say that you don’t give a damn.”
“I can’t say that.”
“Then I can’t leave you here.”
“That’s the situation?”
“That’s it,” Klara said. “Besides, who would you be able to trust in this city except for me? Why are you so eager to be without friends, Rolf? Is it guilt over Anika, dredged up again? Is that it?”
“Why bring that up, Klara?”
“Because it matters, doesn’t it? Don’t you think about it?”
“Don’t you?”
“Yeah. For a long time.”
“And what did you think?”
Klara looked down at her knees, her hair hanging in her face. “It made me think about why I value what we have, what it is that makes me care. I didn’t stay because I’m pathetic...”
“I never thought...”
“I know. I stayed because of the books on these walls, the paintings.” Klara gestured to the shelves and frames with a great sweep of her arm. “We both care about them. We both like sharing them. We’re an intellectual match. You can be excellent company. You’re smart, you’re decent, and you’re honest.”
“I cheated on you.”
“I didn’t need you to be honest in that area. I figured that out.”
“Then why don’t we have sex very much? If that’s never bothered you, then why...”
Klara sat straight up, eyebrows raised in surprise. Apparently she wasn’t prepared for that issue. Quickly, she recovered. “I... I don’t think my feelings have had much to do with it. Last time, I had to coax you. Remember?”
“You’re saying it’s my feelings, then?”
“I implied it. You said it.”
Laughing, Rolf rose from his seat. “How can you win an argument with a psychiatrist?” He went to the bar to fix himself another drink. “They can turn everything you say into evidence of secret guilt.”
“Is your guilt really that much of a secret, dear?”
Rolf stuck his hand in the ice bucket. “No. But we’re veering off course.”
“What’s our course?”
“Your staying.” Rolf dropped the ice from his numbed fingers into the glass.
“That’s right. The choice is yours. Continue on this case and risk both our necks, or give up and leave with me to France. What will you do?” Klara crossed the living room to the bar. Rolf reached for a bottle of bourbon. She seized it and held it down. “Rolf, decide.”
Rolf wasn’t sure what to do. There was no way for him to say he didn’t give a damn about this case. It shouldn’t have been hard. Fuck it, I’m out. Four simple, economical words, with the convenience of a contraction right in the middle. If it weren’t for obscenity laws, it could appear on an autobahn billboard and every speeding motorist would get the message. But saying it and meaning it, Rolf knew, was beyond his powers. That he’d made a promise to the Hofstengls was part of it, but that he knew that he was right and Weissengel was wrong meant more. Rapacious, predatory stupidity was winning everywhere, but it was vital to Rolf to carve out just one little exception, one last one. He could leave the rest of the injustices, but he had to fix this one.
“I give a damn.”
Klara didn’t look surprised. She exhaled her tension and said, “Then there it is. What’s next?”
“I wish I could talk to Epp.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Why should he trust me? I’ve never known anyone who’s been in prison to trust. Besides, I could always be followed. Or maybe he’s still under surveillance.”
“But isn’t he trying to speak to you with this file?”
“Sure. But he’s also saying he’s not going to risk direct involvement. He gave me a list of witnesses and the rest is up to me. That’s what he’s saying. Thing is though, I don’t know how much better I’ll do with these witnesses.”
“Why?”
“They’re all Jews. And I just helped kill eight of their neighbors.”