Half an hour later Sebastian Wolff was in an office on the first floor of the Brown House on Brienner Strasse, just to the east of Königsplatz. The window was wide open to allow in the warm summer air, but it also allowed the peace to be shattered by the incessant noise of heavy machinery and pneumatic drills digging up perfectly decent lawns and paving stones to make way for Adolf’s great parade ground.
The Brown House, an imposing hundred-year-old mansion, had become Nazi headquarters when the party outgrew its earlier premises. Adolf kept an office here for the times when he was not at the Chancellery in Berlin or at his mountain retreat at Obersalzberg. It was where the party was run and, Seb had to concede, they did it very efficiently.
The pill, whatever it was, had already kicked in and he was a great deal more awake and alert than he had been. A group of three men awaited him. He recognised two of them, though the only one of that pair that he actually knew was his boss, Deputy Police President Thomas Ruff.
He had always liked Ruff without exactly respecting him as a policeman. In fact, he had never been sure why the man had become a cop in the first place, because he simply wasn’t made for the job. He had a nervous disposition and his jitters had become a great deal worse following the death of his own chief, Munich Police President August Schneidhuber, during the so-called Night of the Long Knives a year earlier when Hitler and his black-clad SS boys disposed of the leadership of the Brownshirts and anyone else they considered disloyal. And so Ruff didn’t sleep well at nights. With reason – for if Schneidhuber could be liquidated, so could he. And anxiety was not a good quality in a senior police officer.
The other recognisable figure was another of Hitler’s old chums, the well-connected and urbane foreign press chief Ernst Hanfstaengl, known to one and all as Putzi. With an American mother, he had spent many years in the States, had studied at Harvard and had no shortage of money thanks to the family’s art publishing business and their art shop.
He was extremely tall at almost two metres, dressed well and had a reputation for schmoozing and bamboozling reporters from all over the world, protecting Hitler’s reputation and smoothing over the little bumps in the road when the Nazis quietly or not so quietly disposed of political enemies.
The third one wore a dark pinstripe suit and even before he opened his mouth Seb guessed he was English. Munich was full of upper-class English men and women these days, and they had a certain superior air about them that irritated the hell out of the Nazis. He doubted that this man would be an exception to that general rule.
Both Ruff and Hanfstaengl heiled Seb and he returned the greeting. The fact was he hadn’t voted for Adolf or his party in the elections two years earlier, so he wasn’t quite sure why he should use their salute, but the events of the past twenty-four hours had brought him to the conclusion that it really wasn’t worth arguing the toss. Sometimes in life you just had to go with the flow, and there were more important concerns than the holding up of an arm. It was just a friendly greeting, he reasoned. Wasn’t it?
Anyway, it wouldn’t last. Germany liked changing governments so there was every possibility this new regime would be consigned to the dustbin of history sooner rather than later. And then they’d all stop saying Heil Hitler and go back to Guten Tag and Grüss Gott. God, surely, would have to trump a mere mortal.
Police boss Ruff introduced him to the other two. ‘This is Herr Hanfstaengl, Inspector. He is foreign press chief in Berlin and has flown here today for this important meeting.’
Seb bowed his head dutifully and shook his hand. Of course, he knew of Hanfstaengl, one of the greatest stars in the National Socialist firmament. But, more recently, he had also heard rumours that Hanfstaengl had fallen foul of Hitler and that his job was hanging by a thread. Perhaps his life, too. Nothing firm, just whispers. It was hinted that he had spoken approvingly in public of the Night of the Long Knives murders, proclaiming that such drastic action was essential for the survival of Hitler’s revolution. But privately he had not been so certain of the action and was under the influence of friends in America who were appalled. Worse than that, word of his misgivings had seeped back to the man who had ordered the killings: Adolf Hitler. A man who did not take kindly to being challenged or contradicted.
So Putzi Hanfstaengl would probably be going the same way as SA chief Ernst Roehm and the other victims sooner or later. When you fly too close to the sun, you will get burnt.
In the meantime, while he was still alive and in post, it made sense to defer to him.
‘And this is Mr Gainer, the British consul-general in Munich,’ Hanfstaengl said in English, indicating the pinstriped one, a kindly looking, rather reserved man with smooth, healthy features and intelligent, civilised eyes. Seb guessed his age at mid-forties, but he could have been five years out either way.
‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ he said, also in English.
‘How do you do, Inspector,’ Gainer said, extending his hand to the detective. Seb took it in the English way, with a firm handshake and their eyes met. Seb knew that such things mattered a great deal to the English. Weak handshake, no character. No eye contact, no honesty. Gainer gave him the hint of a nod in return, but he looked grave.
‘I am well, thank you,’ Seb replied. It was the courteous thing to say. English people always said they were well, even when close to death.
‘I am told you are fluent in English. As a matter of interest, how did you learn my language, Herr Wolff?’
‘I worked on a British freighter, sir.’
‘Indeed. And how did that come about, may I ask?’
Was this really the time to be discussing his own history? Gainer was waiting for a reply, so Seb seemed to have no option but to plunge in head first. ‘Well, during the worst of the great inflation in 1923 I couldn’t feed my young child so I walked from Munich to Hamburg and from there I was able to find employment aboard the Eastern Star out of Tilbury. I worked on the ship for four years, sending money and food parcels home to my mother, who was caring for my boy. I picked up the language quite quickly.’
‘Were you well treated by your British crewmates?’
Seb was surprised by the question but managed to answer it diplomatically. ‘For the most part, yes. Of course, there were those who wouldn’t talk to me at first given that they had lost family and friends in the war. Probably some who wanted to throw me overboard. But I believe I won most of them around and showed that I was just a human being like them, and that we, too, had suffered great losses.’
In fact he had been given a hard time by almost everyone except the skipper, who was an unprejudiced good-natured man. The rest of the crew resented the fact that he had been given work at all. He was called Hun or Boche or Jerry. No one called him Wolff or Sebastian or Seb. He had stuck it out because he had to, so that Jurgen and his mother could eat. In the end he had been accepted, grudgingly, because he did not shirk and did not react to the taunts. And there were even those who, almost affectionately, began to call him Wolfie.
‘Well, good for you. Do you know why you are here?’
‘I am told I have been assigned a murder case and that my language skills, such as they are, are needed. I know nothing more as yet.’
‘Then I will let Deputy Police President Ruff explain what has happened.’ Gainer nodded to Wolff’s boss. ‘Feel free to speak German, Herr Ruff. I am quite at ease with your language.’
‘Thank you.’ He returned the nod then brought his nervous attention to bear on Seb. ‘In short, Inspector, the matter is this: a young Englishwoman was found dead yesterday in the Herzogpark, just across the river from the English garden. She had been murdered.’
For a moment, Seb wondered whether they might be referring to Hitler’s friend with the fat white sausage fingers, the Rhine maiden Miss Unity Mitford, the one who had been lunching with the Führer at the Osteria Bavaria yesterday.
The girl had certainly made enemies during her stay in Munich. The League of German girls hated her because she wore lipstick and smoked, and most senior party members loathed her because she had easy access to Adolf when they didn’t.
Her death would undoubtedly be an event with seismic repercussions.
Hanfstaengl took up the story in English with a strong American accent. ‘Her name was the Honourable Miss Rosie Palmer.’
Ah, so not the Mitford girl, well that was something of a relief.
‘Her mother is a lady-in-waiting to Queen Mary, the consort of King George V. Do you know what a lady-in-waiting is, Wolff?’
‘No, sir.’
‘She is an attendant in the British royal palaces, but far more than a mere servant. She is a close friend and companion of the queen consort and is an aristocrat in her own right, widow of a viscount. The royal family are said to be devastated by the terrible news and wish very much to know how such a thing could have happened. It is a bad look for the Third Reich. And so the murderer must be discovered without delay. A day or two at the very most. The Führer will expect regular bulletins regarding progress.’
Had he considered this case a poisoned chalice? It was suicide. Seb groaned inside. Why not just give me the arsenic and kill me now, Herr Hanfstaengl? He did not show his feelings. ‘How did the young woman die?’ he asked.
‘The body is with the pathology department at the university. I believe there were extensive injuries but some uncertainty about the actual cause of death,’ Ruff said. ‘I suggest you go and talk to them in the first instance and then take it from there. You will need to speak to her English and German friends to determine her movements. They shouldn’t be difficult to find. And she was lodging at Karolinenplatz in the home of Herr Regensdorf, who will give you all the help you need.’
Seb nodded. Of course, he knew the great name of Walter Regensdorf and he had passed his palatial house on many occasions. As had everyone else in this city.
‘You are to conduct this case at speed but also with discretion. The Führer does not want the whole Munich police corps swarming over the city causing panic. In particular, he does not want our young English and American guests to be made to feel uncomfortable or scared or treated with anything but the utmost courtesy. Very little will be made of the story in our own papers, but we won’t be able to keep it out of the foreign press, and I personally will liaise with them. If approached by a foreign reporter, you will say nothing but refer them to my office. You will not even acknowledge your name or that you are in any way associated with the case. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Herr Hanfstaengl.’
‘Good. And you should know that I am deeply shocked that such an event should have happened so close to my own home in Herzogpark. Now, one or more members of Miss Palmer’s family will fly into Oberwiesenfeld tomorrow afternoon, probably her brother, Viscount Braybury. They will be staying at the Vier Jahreszeiten Hotel. They will certainly want to meet you so you will be expected to deal with them and keep them informed. I will introduce you as soon as it is convenient. Oh, and you will not be working alone on this, but given your language skills and your seniority, you will be expected to take the lead.’
Seb nodded. He had no option but to accept the case.
‘And please keep me informed, too,’ Gainer added. ‘My door at the consulate in Prannerstrasse will always be open to you, Inspector.’
‘Thank you, sir. I will do my utmost to solve this case to your satisfaction.’
Hanfstaengl, a big man with an easy-to-like way, allowed himself a half-smile. ‘In the meantime I will be staying in Munich until this matter is brought to a satisfactory conclusion. You can contact me at any time of day or night on my home number at Pienzenauerstrasse 52, or here at the Brown House. This room is my private office. If I am not here one of my secretaries will get a message to me. It is essential that I hear from you at regular intervals. The importance of this affair cannot be overstated. Clearly you should feel honoured that you have been entrusted with such a matter. The Führer’s gratitude for a successful outcome will be boundless.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And I reiterate – be prepared for intrusion by the international press. They will be all over this story. Keep them at arm’s length, but be polite. It is important that the world knows that the Third Reich is a safe haven for the young people of the world.’
‘Of course.’
‘There is one other thing, a matter of utmost delicacy which cannot be repeated beyond these four walls,’ Hanfstaengl continued, his eyes drifting towards the Englishman. ‘The Führer wishes very much to be friends with the English, whom he greatly admires. Negotiations concerning a proposed naval agreement between our two countries are at a critical stage. It is Herr Hitler’s fondest desire that this will bring warm and lasting friendship between Berlin and London. It would be a great tragedy for both our nations if this case were to impinge on that fine ambition in any way.’
Seb nodded again. Beads of sweat dampened his collar.
‘Do you wish to add anything, Mr Gainer?’ Hanfstaengl said.
‘No, no, I’m sure that I echo everything you have said.’
Seb’s eyes now met those of the British consul whose subtly raised eyebrows seemed to tell a story of their own. Perhaps he was less interested in the propaganda aspect of the murder and more with the human emotions of horror and grief. In which case, Seb could only agree with him.
‘Now then,’ Thomas Ruff said. ‘I want you to get down to work immediately. Your assistant will be a junior officer from the political police whom I have not met, but I am informed is very sharp and will be extremely helpful. Proceed to Ettstrasse and he will be awaiting your arrival. His name is Sergeant Winter.’
This was a demand too far. ‘Could I not choose my own man from among my Kripo colleagues – a man with investigative experience?’
‘Your point is well made, Wolff, but this decision was taken at a higher level. I’m sure you will understand why the political office might have certain concerns regarding your assignment to this case.’
Because they put me in that damned concentration camp, thought Seb, and they’re furious that I have been released and are not about to let me off the hook. And who might the ‘higher level’ person be, the one who took the decision? Given the Führer’s personal interest in this case, two names came to mind: Heydrich or Himmler. Both had their fingers in the political police pie and neither was a man to be denied.
As he was leaving, Ruff took him aside and handed him a sheet of paper with the details ascertained about the girl – the place where the body was discovered and the name and address of the man who found it. He was also given back his Walther PPK. ‘The political boys weren’t keen to return it, but I insisted,’ Ruff said. ‘And by the way, Wolff, you should note that I could not have effected your release without the intervention of your uncle. You owe him a drink.’
Seb was pretty sure The Pig could afford his own booze.