Ernie Pope was leaning against the side wall of the Jesuit church smoking a cigarette when Seb emerged into the fresh air of Ettstrasse. His jacket was slung over his shoulder and his tie was loose. Bells were chiming the quarter hour. The reporter nodded almost imperceptibly and then turned away, walking south in the direction of Neuhauser Strasse. Seb followed him at a distance, and when Pope ducked into a cafe, he did likewise.
‘Sorry to be so bloody obvious, Seb,’ the American said. ‘But I wanted to see you and wasn’t sure the best way to get in touch.’
They ordered coffees. Seb no longer cared about being seen with a foreign journalist, even though the stricture against it had been severe. He knew his police career was up anyway. There was no way of getting back on track after this morning’s meeting with Thomas Ruff. He’d simply had enough and if he wasn’t dismissed from the service he’d quit anyway. Either he was there to investigate crime and uphold the law, or there was nothing for him in the police.
‘And I’m sorry, too, Ernie – sorry that I won’t be much help to you. I’m off the case and the matter is closed anyway. Friedlander is going to plead guilty tomorrow and he’ll get the death penalty. No witnesses called, no evidence required. One whisk of the guillotine blade and that’s that.’
‘He’s pleading guilty? Are you serious?’
‘Yes.’
The coffee came and they sipped. It was hot, too hot.
‘Anyway, you wanted to see me about something, Ernie.’
‘I’m not sure it matters now. I thought the guy was innocent, and I rather suspected that you did, too. I even get the feeling that the consul-general, Don Gainer, has his doubts, though he’s too diplomatic to say anything.’
‘The problem is you can’t very well argue with a guilty plea. And he has an expensive lawyer, too – I saw to it myself. But tell me anyway, what have you discovered?’
‘Oh, no silver bullet, I’m afraid. It’s just that one of the Fleet Street rags I work for went in search of Tobias Russell – Friedlander’s friend from Cambridge, the one you said took him to the house party where he met Rosie Palmer. They found him and talked to him and he spoke glowingly of his pal. Said he was the kindest, most wonderful young man he had ever met. The very thought of him killing Rosie – or anyone else for that matter – was preposterous. And he said he would happily come to Munich to say as much.’
‘That’s not going to help now.’
‘He also said that Rosie’s move to Munich was carefully planned by the two of them. Rosie went to great lengths to make her family believe that Karl Friedlander was a native of Berlin and, anyway, was migrating to New York after graduating. Friedlander was not the main reason she came here – he was the only reason. Before she came there were many letters between them, with Tobias as the conduit. Karl Friedlander and Rosie Palmer were deeply in love. There can be no doubt.’
Seb found himself wanting to tell Ernie about the markings on the body, but despite his anger he held back. Ruff had been clear that no word of the runes must be uttered outside his office. And if he, Seb, told the reporter what he knew, he would be for it, because there could be no other source for the information. He had to remember that Ernie, despite their friendship, was a journalist first and foremost – and a journalist’s loyalty was always to his newspaper. Seb understood that.
‘You don’t think . . .’ Pope began and didn’t bother to finish the question.
‘What?’ Seb lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘That he’s been tortured into a guilty plea? No, I’m certain not. Intimidated, perhaps, threatened even, but no physical torture. The presidium isn’t Wittelsbach Palace.’ He drew a short breath and held it, then breathed out. ‘Please, Ernie, forget I said that.’
‘Of course. I didn’t hear a thing, Seb. Silent as the grave, as always. Wouldn’t dream of accusing the political police of using torture in their basement cells.’
‘There are other things, things I would love to tell you, but I simply can’t.’
‘You don’t seem like the type to scare easily, Seb.’
‘It’s not me I’m worried about.’
*
He met up with Hexie at the Schelling-Salon in her lunch break. His initial inclination was not to mention the snide remarks of Hans Winter, but he quickly realised that if he didn’t address the matter it would simply prey on his mind.
‘I heard some salacious gossip this morning,’ he said as they tucked into beers and soup at a small side table.
‘Do tell, Seb, I love gossip.’
‘About you,’ he said. ‘The reptilian sergeant said he saw you in the arms of another man last night.’
Hexie laughed. ‘And did you believe him?’
‘What do you think?’
She pursed her lips. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I expect he made you wonder, otherwise you wouldn’t have mentioned it.’
‘He said you were in a bar and a man was all over you. I think those were his words.’
‘Well, he was right on both counts. I was in a bar – Ratzinger’s. I was there with my mother for a quiet glass of cherry schnapps and this hulking Brownshirt took a shine to me. Kept offering me drinks and wouldn’t take no for an answer. And then he got really unpleasant and started pawing me.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Oh, Seb, it’s the way of the world. What could I do? I would have kicked him in the balls or stabbed my fingers in his eyes, but then he might have lashed out and my mother would have been caught in the thick of it. I couldn’t do that to her. When he went off for a piss, we just upped and left. It ruined the evening, to be honest. And yes, I spotted the little slug who put you in Dachau. He was with a couple of other slugs. They looked like BPP and they were smirking at me and my predicament.’
‘I would very much like to do something unpleasant to Sergeant Winter.’
‘Can I watch?’
‘You’re a bad girl, Hexie Schuler.’
‘That’s why you love me, isn’t it?’
‘And that’s a loaded question.’
He had met her three years earlier during a straightforward investigation into a death in an apartment near Goetheplatz. An old man had been found hanging from a beam and it was assumed to be suicide but it had to be looked into anyway.
Hexie lived in the next apartment and Seb had interviewed her about the old man. She had liked him and sometimes cooked for him, but she hadn’t been surprised that he would take his own life, because he had never got over the death of his wife; he often told her how he longed to join her.
There was a spark between Seb and Hexie straightaway. Nor was it just her slender body, her ridiculously long legs and wondrous breasts that attracted him. He liked her company, her laughter, her outrageous gossiping about everyone at work, her irreverent sense of fun and the joy she took from food, from dancing, from alcohol and from love-making. Hexie the hedonist.
Soon after they took up, she got the job on the counter at Heinrich Hoffmann’s photographic studio. Now that was the best place in the world for a girl who adored gossip. She loved it there, liked Evie Braun and Henriette von Schirach – even got on with Henriette’s father Heinrich Hoffmann, Adolf’s best friend.
It was a bright, modern office, one of the most pleasant places in Munich, a good place to hang out with friends and do a little light office work. Hoffmann was becoming ridiculously rich through his monopoly on photographs of Adolf, and liked to decorate his studio with pretty girls, which is why Hexie and Evie fitted the bill so well. It didn’t much matter whether they actually did any work or not.
She heard all the gossip from Henriette because Henriette knew everything. Not only did her father travel everywhere with Hitler, but her husband, Baldur von Schirach, was right at the heart of the party as leader of the Hitler Youth. No one knew more than Henriette about the petty jealousies, the affairs and the intrigue involving the men and women surrounding the Führer.
And so perhaps he should marry Hexie. Do the decent thing. He was confident she’d have him, but she wouldn’t wait forever, because she wanted children. She had made that obvious enough these past three years. And, yes, she would make a fine mother. One day soon, he’d do it. Ask the question. Perhaps.
He finished his soup and pushed the bowl away. He was still thinking about her confrontation at the bar last night and the fact that Sergeant Winter and his friends were present, watching her. ‘Interesting that they were there, though, the BPP men,’ he said. ‘You don’t think Winter was following you, do you?’
‘It hadn’t occurred to me. Why?’
‘Because the BPP have been following me. For all I know, they’re here now. They’re not going to rest until I’m back where they want me, and we both know where that is. It’s just possible they might try to get at me through you. I don’t think Winter remembers you fondly after the names you called him outside the osteria.’
‘Probably not. But don’t worry, Seb, I’m a big girl. I can look after myself.’
He shrugged. ‘You’re probably right.’ Yet even as he uttered the words, it occurred to him that the Bavarian Political Police might just be the least of his worries. He had to keep these matters separate in his mind: the two murders on one side, his run-in with the political police on the other.
‘Oh, and Evie Braun called in to say hello this morning,’ Hexie said. ‘She’s changed, you know. Used to be such fun – now, well, she’s taking herself very seriously. I got the feeling she was expecting us to curtsy to her.’
‘Maybe you should. She might be Frau Hitler one day.’
‘A very pregnant Henriette von Schirach was there with her toddler. She had a big grin on her face and whispered in my ear that Evie very much wanted to kill the Mitford girl.’
‘You hear extemely dangerous gossip, Hexie.’
‘Henriette is so indiscreet and Evie is so emotional all the time that you can almost read what’s going on in her face. Oh and Henriette said that Hitler actually tried it on with her once, when she was seventeen. He wasn’t at all happy when she said a polite no to his advances.’
‘As I said, very dangerous.’
*
Back at his office, there was no Sergeant Winter, which was a blessing, but there was a crate of bottled beer on the floor with a note from Putzi Hanfstaengl, the international press chief, thanking him for his work on the Rosie Palmer inquiry.
On his desk, there was an envelope which he immediately opened. An invitation card slid out. Printed in gothic script it was decorated with Uncle Christian Weber’s smart new official insignia – his address at the royal palace along with an elegant line drawing of the building topped with a red swastika. Below this was a heading: NIGHT OF THE PAGANS. The card was inviting him and Hexie to a solstice party the next day and, scrawled in Uncle Christian’s almost childlike writing, was a note apologising for not having invited him sooner. Weber insisted it was going to be the event of the season and Seb and his girl simply must attend. There would be dancing all night and marvellous entertainment, all at one of his newly acquired properties on a lake to the south of the city.
Seb was astounded. Uncle Christian had never invited him to anything in his life.
A secretary knocked at the door so he signalled her to enter.
‘A Frau Stutz telephoned and asked you to call her.’ She handed him a slip of paper with the woman’s telephone number. He called immediately and Silke’s mother picked up straightaway, as though she had been waiting by the phone.
‘Thank you for calling, Herr Wolff.’
‘What has happened? Is Jurgen all right?’
‘I’m afraid he and Silke have disappeared. They left for school this morning, but it was only later that I found a note in my daughter’s room. It simply said that they had gone and that we should not look for them. She said she would call in due course to let us know where they were and that all was well.’
Just left. Like the boy’s mother sixteen years ago.
‘I’m sorry, Frau Stutz. I think this is my son’s doing.’ It was all he could think of to say.
‘Oh, Silke has a mind of her own, Inspector. She may be impulsive, but she’s not stupid. I’m sure they will be all right. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything. All I can tell you is that I did notice that she had taken her BDM uniform, and I think that Jurgen might have had his Hitler Youth outfit. I’m not really sure what that means, though.’
He took the crate of beer out into the main room and offered the beer bottles around to everyone who was there, then walked out of his office, perhaps for the last time.