They walked away slowly. The pneumatic hammering from the building work at Königsplatz receding as they went. Seb told Winter to give him every detail about the domestic staff he had met.
‘They get paid well, the job is secure, but no one actually likes working for Walter Regensdorf.’
‘His secretary Frau Huber doesn’t seem to mind.’
‘She’s part of the problem. She’s not just a secretary, she runs the whole household. Even the wife, Maria, didn’t seem to be able to overrule her.’
‘And they told you all this? Not a very discreet lot.’
‘They’ve kept their mouths shut until now, but I think they’ve all had enough and will be handing in their notice at the end of the week. En masse.’
‘Very wise. It’s not a healthy house. How many staff did you talk to?’
‘The cook, her assistant, two maids, the gardener. They were all clustered in the kitchen, horrified and bewildered. There were five of them in all. I’ve made a note of their names.’
‘Don’t worry about that for the moment. What about the chauffeur – was he there?’
‘I was about to come to him. He wasn’t there, but they talked about him. Surprise, surprise, Herr Wolff, his name is Huber. Stefan Huber.’
‘Now that is interesting. Related to Frau Huber by any chance?’
‘Her husband. They both live in so they can be on hand at a moment’s notice, but they also have a property of their own in Schleissheimerstrasse, an apartment which they use on their days off and where they will one day retire.’
‘And where was Herr Huber if he wasn’t in the kitchen with the others? Did they say where he was?’
‘They didn’t know. Apparently they don’t have a lot to do with him. But I got his address off them, so maybe he’s there now.’
‘Sergeant Winter, you really do have the makings of a detective.’
‘Thank you, Inspector. That means a great deal to me.’
‘But you still have plenty more to learn. And get someone to launder your clothes. You’re a disgrace to the service. Now, let’s go and see if we can find Herr Huber.’
*
The Hubers’ apartment was in a pleasant street a little way to the east of the Dachau Road, but still very central.
He answered the door in his underpants and vest, scratched his belly and looked at them blankly.
‘Herr Huber?’
‘Yes, who are you?’
‘My name is Inspector Wolff, Kripo. This is Sergeant Winter. We would like a few words with you.’
‘Better come in then, I suppose.’
Stefan Huber had a toothbrush moustache not dissimilar to the Führer’s, but there the similarity ended. He had a heavy build and protruding stomach that spoke of a liking for beer and fried food. It was difficult for Seb to understand the attraction between this rather slovenly man and the brisk, austere Frau Irmgard Huber.
‘Do you want something to drink? A bottle of Augustiner?’
‘No thank you.’
He took them through to their front parlour with a view from the window onto the street. It was a well-furnished though rather unwelcoming room. The wood surfaces were polished and cold.
‘So what’s this all about, gentlemen?’
‘You drive for Walter Regensdorf?’
‘Of course, but it’s my day off.’
‘Then perhaps you won’t have heard . . .’
‘Heard what?’
‘About the death of Frau Regensdorf.’
His brow knitted. ‘What do you mean? Why would she have died?’
‘Fell down the stairs. Probably broke her neck.’
‘Well, I don’t know what to say, Inspector. That’s awful. Dreadful. When did this happen?’
‘Within the past couple of hours. Your wife found her body. No one saw it happen.’
‘Irmgard found her? Dear God.’
Seb was not surprised by Stefan Huber’s Hitler moustache, but he was surprised by the rest of him; he had expected someone small and mouse-like and timid, under the thumb of the frosty mother superior Irmgard. This man looked anything but timid, he looked as though he could hold his own in a brawl.
‘That isn’t the main reason we’re here,’ Seb said. ‘Actually, we’re very interested in your work as Regensdorf’s chauffeur and the cars you drive. There are several cars, I believe.’
‘Three fine ones, four workhorses. The nice ones are very nice. Mercedes-Benz 770 supercharged, Rolls-Royce Phantom and a lovely Maybach Zeppelin, my favourite. The king of cars – three tonnes of pure German artistry and precision engineering. Twelve cylinders, eight gears. Goes like a dream on a good road but will pull your arms out on difficult corners.’ He flexed his upper arms. ‘Still got my weightlifter’s muscles, even if the rest of me has gone to sausage and beer.’
‘Are you always the driver?’
‘Of course. Also the mechanic and polisher. I love those cars like mothers love babies.’
‘So no one else drives them?’
‘Wouldn’t let anyone else near them. Save the boss, of course. Couldn’t really stop him now, could I? Anyway, he’s got some muscle, too.’
‘So you drove your master to Hesselberg at the weekend?’
‘Hesselberg? What’s that?’
‘Oh come on, Herr Huber. You know what Hesselberg is – the site of the Frankentag.’
‘You’ve lost me. I don’t know what Hesselberg is and I don’t know what the Frankentag is, though from the name it’s obviously something to do with Franconia – up Nuremberg way.’
‘Are you serious about this? You didn’t go there?’
‘I didn’t go there. Why would I lie about something like that?’
‘One more question. Excuse me if I seem rude, but you’re a shambling wreck, Herr Huber, and yet your home is clean and tidy and polished.’
Huber laughed. ‘That’s my wife’s doing. She sends one of the maids over three times a week.’
Seb turned to Winter. ‘Sergeant, what do you think? Any more questions?’
‘Yes, where are the cars kept?’
‘We have a garage behind the house in Karolinenplatz. Big workshop place with its own pit and fuel storage. As good as any commercial set-up.’
‘Just you?’
‘Just me. I know cars inside and out. I used to work at Mercedes in Stuttgart.’
‘And were you at your workshop at the weekend?’
‘No, I was here. I’ve had a touch of flu. Had a few days off.’
‘Did anyone see you over the weekend?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, could anyone vouch for the fact that you were here, at home.’
‘Like who?’
‘Neighbours, friends, relatives.’
‘I didn’t see anyone.’
‘Not even your wife?’
‘Irmgard? No. We don’t see a lot of each other at the best of times. She’s kept busy, usually stays at the Villa Saphir – he likes her to be on call twenty-four hours a day.’
‘So you have no evidence that you were here, not at Hesselberg?’
‘What is this? What’s this all about. I don’t much like these questions.’
‘Are you stupid, Herr Huber? I think you would have to be stupid not to have any idea what this is about. Perhaps the influenza has damaged your brain.’
‘Now you are insulting me again. First you call me a shambling wreck, now you call me stupid. Do I have to put up with this?’
‘You know very well what this is about. This is about the death of Miss Rosie Palmer, the English girl who lodged at the Villa Saphir.’
Seb simply listened to Winter’s questions and the driver’s answers. As a detective and interrogator of several years standing he might not himself have used the second insult, but he knew that sometimes it could be effective to incense a suspect or witness. Their reaction when angry could be revealing. In this case, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t quite work out Stefan Huber.
‘The murdered girl? What has that to do with me?’
Seb and Winter remained silent. Simply stood and looked at him. Waited.
Huber let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘Come on fellers, this is all finished. The killer’s already been for the chop.’
‘What if he had an accomplice?’ Seb said. ‘Or what if he was innocent after all? What if Frau Regensdorf knew something and paid the ultimate price for that knowledge?’
‘This is ridiculous. I don’t know why you’ve come to me.’
‘Because of the car, Herr Huber. The cream-coloured Maybach. If you didn’t drive it to Nuremberg or Hesselberg, who did?’
‘I didn’t know anyone had.’
Seb looked at Winter. ‘Should we take him in, Sergeant? I don’t believe he’s being entirely honest with us.’
‘I think you’re right, Inspector.’
Seb saw panic in the chauffeur’s eyes. ‘Take me in where? I’ve done nothing.’
‘Perhaps a few nights in Dachau.’
‘No, this is madness.’
‘Easiest thing in the world to put you in protective custody, Herr Huber. If necessary, you could stay there six months. Free board and lodging, a little light physical work to keep you fit and healthy.’ Winter took out his BPP badge. ‘No hearing needed. My word alone will give you all that. But if you want to start giving us some interesting answers here and now, that might be avoidable.’
‘What do you want to know, for God’s sake? Don’t send me to Dachau, please. It would kill me.’
‘We’ll see. Well for a start, why don’t you tell us why the other domestic staff – your wife excluded – believe Maria Regensdorf’s death might not have been an accident.’
‘They hate Regensdorf and they don’t much like my wife.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, you’ve met them, haven’t you?’
‘Is there something between them – your wife and her master?’
‘Of course. It’s obvious, isn’t it? The cold bitch. He’s welcome to her.’
*
Seb and Winter stopped at a cafe on the way back to the Presidium. ‘I think we have our killer or killers, Sergeant. But what we don’t have is hard evidence or clear motive – and we certainly do not have proof.’
‘And if we did have proof, sir, what then?’
‘That’s an even better point.’ Seb lowered his voice. ‘When a murderer has the protection of his very good friends Heinrich Himmler and Adolf Hitler we are stuck, and the only heads likely to roll are our own. This is the world you and your political police friends have been working for, Herr Winter. A world in which the rich and powerful and the Party members are beyond the reach of the law. Congratulations.’
‘Perhaps I have made mistakes, but I still maintain that the movement has been correct in bringing back employment and pride to the nation. The enemies of the state are many.’
‘You mean the Jews, the Reds and the 175s?’
‘Do we need this conversation now, Inspector Wolff?’
‘No. And certainly not here in a public place.’
*
Seb needed some sanity and time to think. He was sealed in an airless box with no way out. He believed now that Walter Regensdorf and Frau Irmgard Huber were directly involved in the murder of two young women and Frau Regensdorf and complicit in the killing of Caius Klammer. Also the attempted murders of Silke Stutz and himself. Their motive was obscure, but that did not mean they weren’t guilty.
What now? How to proceed?
The day had gone, he had barely eaten and he was still aching from his night in the woods with Matthäus and Fuchs. His instinct was to go and see Hexie, but he was pretty sure he had missed the strict visiting times, so he went home instead.
Mutti immediately offered him a bowl of soup and went off to the kitchen. He followed her and found Jurgen there at the table, studying his schoolbooks, still dressed in his Hitler Youth outfit having been out on some sort of manoeuvres with his troop.
‘Don’t say anything.’
Seb groaned. ‘I wouldn’t dare.’
‘And why have you been writing about a cream-coloured Maybach?’
‘I’m sorry, what are you talking about?’
‘Here, this.’ He picked up a sheet of paper. ‘You left this. Loads of names and weird stuff – words like lipstick and runes and rugs. It says “cream-coloured Maybach”. Why?’
Seb took the paper off him. ‘It’s the way I work when I’m trying to solve a case. I write down the names of witnesses and suspects and everything even vaguely relevant to the investigation and try to make connections between them. It’s an effective method.’
‘But the Maybach, that’s what I want to know about.’
‘All right. Well a girl in Nuremberg, name of Hildegard Heiden, was last seen getting into a cream-coloured car, probably a Maybach. Her body was found at Hesselberg at the same place where Silke was taken. I didn’t want to mention it – I thought you were both distraught enough as it was, without mentioning it.’
‘My God, so you thought Silke was abducted by the killers of this other girl?’
‘I did think that, yes. I still do.’
‘So they were going to kill Silke, too! You should have told me!’
‘But, Jurgen, I was trying to protect you both. I saw how distressed you both were. I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.’
‘You should have said something.’
Seb threw up his hands. What could he say?
Jurgen seemed wound up like a clock. Finally he came out with it. ‘There’s something I have to tell you. Silke and I were given a lift to Hesselberg in such a car.’
‘I thought you walked there.’
‘Well, of course, I wanted you to think that. Thumbing a lift seemed like cheating.’