Seb sat down opposite his son. ‘Tell me more, Jurgen.’
‘I realised we couldn’t make it in time for the Frankentag. We had told my Hitler Youth troop and Silke’s League of German Girls group that we would meet them there and it all seemed like a bit of an adventure. Silke and I just needed to get away on our own. It all went fine but we were getting behind and we realised we’d miss all the fun, so we decided to hitch a lift. This big Maybach came along, whizzed past us, but then braked and waited for us. It was too good to be true. Who wouldn’t want a ride in a Maybach?’
‘Carry on.’
‘Well, I’m not a fool, I knew it was the sight of Silke that made them stop. They weren’t going to stop for me, were they?’
‘They? So there was more than one person in the car?’
‘Yes, a man driving and a woman in the front passenger seat.’
‘Can you describe them?’
‘He was a big strong guy, older than you, maybe fifty, I don’t know. A big face, small beard.’
Walter Regensdorf. It had to be him. ‘And the woman?’
‘Stiff, quite tall and slim. Not so talkative.’
Mutti always kept newspapers, often for weeks on end. She twisted them up and used them as firelighters in the wood-burning stove that warmed the kitchen. Seb was sure he had seen a picture of the Regensdorfs in one of the papers in the past few weeks; they frequently adorned the culture pages. The old papers lay in a tidy pile in a deep wooden box by the window. Seb quickly worked his way through them and came across the one he was thinking of, from late April. He smoothed it down on the table in front of Jurgen. The Regensdorfs were on the front page, pictured outside the theatre, both smiling for the camera.
‘Was it these people?’
He didn’t need to look closely. ‘The man definitely, not the woman. Who is he? Why’s he in the paper?’
As Seb thought, the woman must have been Irmgard Huber. ‘His name is Walter Regensdorf. He’s extremely wealthy.’
‘And you think it might have been them – in the hoods and robes?’
‘It’s possible,’ he said, all the while thinking it was certain. ‘But think back, Jurgen – was there anything about them that troubled you when you met them?’
‘Not at the time, but seeing those words there on your sheet of paper, it suddenly seemed sinister. Now I come to think of it, the man did keep looking at Silke in the rear-view mirror, so much so that she slid over towards me. But she just laughs about things like that; she’s used to men looking at her. Everyone in my troop fancies her.’
‘Did she say anything after the attack, anything to suggest she thought her assailants were the people from the car?’
‘No. She won’t talk to me about it. She won’t even talk to her parents. I wanted to comfort her but I couldn’t get close. That’s why I couldn’t stay at the Stutz house any longer.’
‘In the car, did either of you reveal anything about yourself?’
‘Well, they did ask her a few things. She just mentioned that her dad was a doctor and they asked his name, nothing more than that.’
‘And she gave them his name?’
‘Just Dr Stutz, that’s all. Didn’t give her address or where he worked.’
So they knew her father was Dr Stutz of Munich. That was plenty. With Regensdorf’s contacts, that was more than enough to track someone down.
*
Dr Helmut Stutz answered the telephone and Seb quickly explained to him what had happened and what he had learnt.
‘And you think they might come for Silke again?’
‘Hopefully not, but it has to be a fear. There was obviously something about her that caught their eye.’
‘But I can protect my house against this man and woman. I have an old pistol from the war – I’m sure my family is safe with me here.’
‘It’s not just them we have to worry about. This man has some unpleasant friends. Professional killers. They believe they are beyond the law, that they could break down your door in full sight of the police and nothing would happen to them. And they are probably right because they have BPP badges. Is there anywhere you could take Silke for a day or two? Somewhere secure and known only to you?’
‘My mother-in-law, I suppose. She lives in a village near Rosenheim. But I need to stay here – I have my patients to look after. How long would this be for?’
‘I don’t know, Dr Stutz. But I promise I am not going to rest until it’s sorted out.’
*
Putzi Hanfstaengl wasn’t at the Brown House, but the night officer there told Seb that he was in Munich, probably at his home address, which they could not give out. They could put a call through to him, however.
‘Don’t worry, I know it. It’s just over the river – I’ll drive there.’
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled up outside Hanfstaengl’s luxuriously appointed new-build in Pienzenauerstrasse, not far from the place where Rosie Palmer’s body was discovered.
Hanfstaengl was at home. He didn’t seem pleased to see Seb.
‘Inspector Wolff, have you any idea what the time is? I have just finished my dinner and was enjoying a glass of bourbon and a few gramophone recordings with my wife. It is a rare treat for us to have some time together away from the cares of state.’
‘Forgive me, sir. I would not have come unless I believed you were the only person who might help me.’
‘Come in, man, come in.’
They settled in Hanfstaengl’s book-lined study. A pile of the world’s newspapers had been thrown on the floor. A benefit of his work overseeing the foreign press was that he was able to read what other countries thought of the Third Reich, not a privilege afforded the common man.
Hanfstaengl poured himself another tumbler of American whiskey, and one for Seb.
‘Well, Inspector? This better be good.’
‘I take it you heard what happened to Maria Regensdorf today, sir?’
‘A great tragedy. She was one of my dearest friends.’
‘Indeed, she said the same about you when I met her at the start of the Rosie Palmer investigation. But, sir, please tell me, do your feelings of affection for Frau Regensdorf extend to her husband?’
‘That’s a very direct and strange question, Inspector. But also, as it happens, a very astute one. No, is my answer. I never warmed to Walter. In truth, I think Maria made the worst error of her life when she wed the man. I saw a hardness and cruelty in him. Forged in him, perhaps, by his years at an English boarding school. I have met other upper-class Englishmen with the same haughty disregard for their fellow man. What do you know about him, Inspector?’
‘I know that he is extremely rich and powerful, that he has funded the Party since the early twenties, that he is a Thulist and that he has published many tracts for both the party and the Völkisch movement.’
‘Ah yes, Thule and the Völkisch movement. He was into all that ridiculous shit. Fancied himself a Viking god, perhaps. In fact he is an insignificant, arrogant and odious man. Born into great wealth, he managed to avoid risking his neck in the war and came out of it even wealthier than he went in, having secured wartime contracts. There was always something sinister about him. Before the war, his first wife drowned in the Mediterranean when they were on his yacht. It was unexplained and no body was found. I don’t believe I am the only person who wondered . . .’
Seb took a good draught of the Bourbon. He understood what Hanfstaengl was saying and it gave him the impetus to have his own say, whatever the consequences. ‘I didn’t know he had a first wife, but I think he has now killed his second wife, Herr Hanfstaengl. I also believe he killed Rosie Palmer and another girl named Hildegard Heiden. In this he was aided and abetted by his secretary, Frau Irmgard Huber, and they have been protected by powerful forces within the political police and the SS.’
The words had tumbled out in a rush and had been precise, for these were his firm beliefs. There was no point in trying to soften the blow. If Hanfstaengl didn’t believe him or did not take his part, then his career, his freedom and probably his life would be over. It was a risk he had to take because there was no other way to proceed.
‘Carry on.’
‘That’s it, sir.’
‘You have some sort of evidence?’
‘Yes. Slender, perhaps, but it’s there, and I believe in it unreservedly.’
‘Are you going to share it with me?’
‘Of course.’ For the next ten minutes he went through the whole investigation. The car involved in the abduction of Hildegard Heiden, the similarity of her wounds and the marks on her body to those on Rosie Palmer, the attack on Silke Stutz and the car she travelled in to Hesselberg, his own abduction by Matthäus and Fuchs and their involvement in the murder of Caius Klammer, the hostility between Frau Huber and Rosie Palmer, the belief that Maria Regensdorf feared for her life.
‘And that’s it?’
‘Yes, that’s it.’
‘Well, I can see why you have come to your conclusion, Detective, but it’s all very circumstantial. My enthusiasm as a student was always for music and Goethe – the classics – but I know enough law to see the holes in your case.’
‘But do you believe me?’
‘If there is any suggestion my wonderful friend Maria was murdered, a price will be paid. But for the moment, let me sleep on it.’
‘I fear I cannot wait another night.’
‘If you want my help, then you have to.’
That wasn’t enough for Seb. ‘I’m sure you see my problem, sir. Given Herr Regensdorf’s standing with the most powerful figures in Munich and wider Germany, how can he be brought to book? He has an iron ring around him and I am on the outside, powerless. Even my boss, Thomas Ruff, is powerless, added to which he has no stomach for the fight. But if we do nothing the killer will continue his depraved, murderous ways and young girls will die at his hands. What can I do? Please tell me.’
‘As I said, I will give you my answer in due course. I have listened to you and you have given me much to consider, but I need time to work out the best course of action. You can see for yourself that this is not straightforward – it involves diplomacy and politics and has international implications.’
‘What would you advise me to do while you sleep?’
‘Don’t take that tone with me, Wolff. Simply wait. And keep yourself safe.’
Easier said than done, thought Seb. A great deal easier said than done when the outlaws were in charge of the city. Perhaps he should go and find Ernie Pope and give him the full story. But then again, perhaps not. That way could lie death and destruction, not just for Seb but Mutti and Jurgen, too. The Nazi hierarchy was not to be goaded. One did not poke a sleeping bear with a stick and hope to survive.
‘And find me another piece of evidence,’ Hanfstaengl said, his dark, glowering eyes piercing into Seb’s. ‘Something solid and conclusive. Something I might show to the Führer.’