He parked outside the Haus Gertrud hostel. All the lights were on inside, which caught his attention but perhaps wasn’t unusual in a group of young students. He was here because he had had a thought. It was a long shot, but better than nothing perhaps. He recalled when he first met Frances de Pole that she mentioned her mother being an old friend of Maria Regensdorf. Was it possible – just possible – that the person who put Frances up to writing in lipstick on Hexie’s shirt when they went swimming was that very same friend? Maria Regensdorf was certainly there that night.
And if so, were the words – sex magic – supposed to be some sort of message that the tragic woman was trying to get to Seb, as a police officer? Less a warning, more a clue.
So he needed to talk to Frances de Pole, try to prise more information out of her. Now that Maria was dead, perhaps the young woman might realise the potential gravity involved in an action she had considered no more than a playful prank.
The main room of the hostel was bustling with activity. He spotted Clarice Goodall and approached her.
‘Something up, Miss Goodall? I was looking for Frances de Pole.’
‘She’s gone missing. We aren’t sure what to do.’
The evening was warm, but Seb went cold. ‘You’d better explain.’
‘Well, we were all supposed to be going out, but there’s no sign of her. She’s not in her room and she hasn’t left a message. It’s most unlike her.’
‘Could she be with a boyfriend?’
‘That’s possible, but unlikely given that she was here this afternoon when we were arranging it. In fact it was all her idea. We were going to go off to the Sterneckerbrau, then a club or two. Probably one of those SS places – they always let us in. It’s just rather strange, Inspector.’
‘And no one here knows anything?’
‘No. I suppose we’ll just have to go without her and leave a note in case she can catch us up.’
‘Has she said anything else to you about recent events?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, the murder of Rosie Palmer, of course, but also you might have heard today’s news of the death of Frau Regensdorf, where Rosie was lodging.’
‘I did hear something about that. Didn’t she fall down the stairs?’
‘That’s what the police are trying to establish. I just know that Frances had a family connection to Maria Regensdorf. Did she say anything to you? Did she have any theories?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Who is close to Frances here?’
‘Bobo is closest, I suppose.’
‘And is she here now?’
‘In her room moping. Adolf won’t be back in Munich until Saturday or Sunday for the House of German Art topping out ceremony. By then, Bobo will have worked herself into a fever of excitement but for now she won’t leave her room. She really is a sad creature.’
*
Seb found Unity Mitford in her room. Her pet rat was running down her left arm, then up her right arm. She turned to Seb with an insincere smile.
‘Would you like a go? Ratular is very friendly.’
‘Perhaps not just now. The other students are worried that Frances de Pole seems to be missing. I wondered if you had any idea where she might be.’
‘Not a clue. None of my business.’
‘There was something else I wanted to ask you, something that has been nagging at me for a few days now.’
Unity bent down and replaced Ratular in his cage with great care, then stood to her full impressive height, which was not far off Seb’s. ‘Go on.’
‘What is your relationship to the Regensdorf household?’
Unity’s curiously bland face contorted momentarily, as though trying to make sense of the question. ‘You had better explain, Inspector.’
For the first time, Seb noticed how poor her teeth were; yellow and uneven. ‘You are friendly with them, yes? With Walter Regensdorf and his family?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, you know everyone who’s anyone in Munich, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I know them. Walter is a good National Socialist, an important member of the movement. I admire him greatly. Where is this going?’
‘You were very quick to come to me with your suspicions about Karl Friedlander after the murder of Rosie Palmer.’
‘I knew he was guilty.’
‘Did Herr Regensdorf discuss the matter with you?’
‘Why would he have done something like that?’
‘He must have wanted the case solved. Miss Palmer was under his care. He was a friend of her late father, I believe. Did he perhaps suggest to you that it would be your duty to bring Karl Friedlander to my attention?’
Unity didn’t pause in her reply. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I am quite capable of thinking things through for myself.’
‘But perhaps you discussed your suspicions with him. Perhaps he suggested that Sergeant Winter and I were the people to contact?’
Seb smiled but she didn’t reply and he realised that he was going to get no more out of her. She was telling the truth, however: Walter Regensdorf had not made the suggestion that Friedlander was the guilty party, but that did not mean that someone else in his household was not responsible. Very convenient to have a ready-made suspect for the police to investigate, thus shifting their attention away from the true killer.
‘Heil Hitler, Miss Mitford,’ he said, snapping a salute. ‘My compliments to your rat.’
*
He was desperately worried about the disappearance of Frances de Pole. He was sure that in some way she was a witness to what had happened inside the Villa Saphir, just as Maria Regensdorf had been. Had Maria said something to her? Or did they merely fear that she might have done, given the closeness of Maria to Frances’s family. The killers were covering their traces.
Putzi Hanfstaengl wanted to sleep on it. But this was happening now. The morning would be too late.
*
The warmth of the day had given way to a light summer shower. To the south in the far distance, lightning broke over the Alps. Seb had parked the car in a side street and was waiting at the corner of Brienner Strasse and Maximilianplatz.
‘Good evening, Inspector.’
Seb nodded at Sergeant Winter. ‘We have a decision to make. I believe they have taken another of the English girls. Her name is Frances de Pole. It’s possible she’s alive, but where is she and what are they planning?’
‘Do you think they’ve gone to Hesselberg?’
‘That was my first thought, in which case we are certainly too late. It’s close to a three-hour drive in a fast, reliable car, and my borrowed Opel is neither of those.’
‘What then?’
‘That’s what I’m asking you.’
‘Could she be at the Villa Saphir?’
‘Yes, she could. But knocking on the door and asking about her isn’t going to get us very far.’
‘No. I see that.’
‘So we need to find another way in.’
‘What about the cars? They must have a garage somewhere.’
‘Good thought. It’s behind the villa. Huber told us about it.’
Momentarily, a spurt of lightning cast electric shadows all down the street. Across the road, a group of SS men were laughing and talking as they made their way eastwards in the direction of the city centre. Seb and Winter clicked their heels and saluted them, a greeting which was returned in kind.
‘I don’t like lightning,’ Winter said.
‘How many people do you know have been struck?’
‘None.’
‘There you go then. By the way, there will be dogs. Guard dogs.’
‘I like dogs even less than I like lightning. What do we do, kill them?’
‘The dogs or Regensdorf?’
‘Once again, Inspector, you cannot resist making light of a matter that might be the death of us.’
‘Are you breathing? Can you feel the tips of your fingers?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Then you’re not dead, so stop complaining. In fact, just maintain utter silence from here on in.’ He put his hands into his jacket pockets and handed something to Winter, something he had collected at home on the way to his meeting with the sergeant, who now recoiled in horror.
‘My God, what is it?’
‘Pork belly. I have some, too. If a dog approaches, throw it in their direction. Much too good for them, but hopefully they’ll find it more appetising than our balls.’
‘Were you a burglar before you joined the police, Inspector?’
‘I have had one or two jobs, but not that.’
They walked along Brienner Strasse, watching all the while for anyone connected with Regensdorf, but the evening was quiet and the road deserted, save for the two sentries on guard outside the Brown House, neither of whom responded to their salutes.
Ahead of them, the obelisk on the circular open space of Karolinenplatz stood dark and sharp in the rain. Further beyond, the ghostly outlines of builders’ machines and vehicles blocked their view of Königsplatz and the Propyläen city gate.
Seb led the way, skirting the Villa Saphir looking for the path out of which cars must proceed. It was easily found and, beyond it, along a short roadway, the large garage was obvious. Two cars were parked outside, neither of them among the three that Stefan Huber had mentioned; they must be locked away being the most expensive and sought after.
‘You stay just by the gatepost. I’ll go to the garage. Keep still in the shade of the trees and you are unlikely to be seen. Don’t use your gun unless your life is in imminent danger. If we kill anyone in here, we’re unlikely to avoid the guillotine. Did you bring the torches?’
Winter handed him one from his pocket.
‘New batteries?’
‘Yes.’
Seb flicked the switch on and off. It had a good, bright beam.
*
The gate was padlocked, but it wasn’t high and Seb climbed over it with ease. The garage was a hundred metres from the house, the two buildings hidden from each other by tall hedging at the bottom of a long garden, which Seb knew to be planted very much in the English style with flower beds and lawns and a mature spreading cedar. He had seen it from the windows when examining Rosie Palmer’s room.
It occurred to him that Walter Regensdorf must have spent weekends and holidays at his friends’ houses while at public school in England to have developed a taste for such gardens.
Large barn-style doors enclosed the garage; there was a single smaller postern to the side. He pulled the handle down and it opened. He closed it behind him and switched on the torch.
The place was much as Stefan Huber, the chauffeur-cum-mechanic, had described it, having all the amenities of a professionally run garage. All three cars that he had mentioned were there: the Rolls-Royce Phantom, the Mercedes 770 – both black – and the massive cream-coloured Maybach Zeppelin. Seb put his hand on the engine compartment of each car; none seemed to have been driven particularly recently, though there was a little warmth under the bonnet of the eight-litre Maybach.
Which almost certainly meant that no one from the Villa Saphir had gone to Hesselberg. They were here, but was Frances here too?
*
Back at the gate, he signalled Winter to follow him. ‘The cars are accounted for and none of their engines are hot. Also, no dogs – so far,’ he whispered. ‘But we’re going into the back garden of the house itself. There will be dogs there.’
They found a gap in the hedge and slipped cautiously into the garden. Seb could sense Winter’s fear.
The back of the house was partially lit. The main downstairs room had a large window, curtained but still exuding a little light at the edges. Upstairs, two rooms had lights on, and Seb reckoned that one of them had been Rosie’s.
Winter stayed Seb with a hand to his elbow. ‘That door on the ground floor, on the right-hand side, goes into the kitchen. I made a note of it this morning when I spoke to the servants.’
The door was dark, as was the small window set into the wall next to it. It was late and the kitchen staff must surely have gone home or to their rooms if they had quarters in the villa itself.
‘We’ll split up. You go first, I’ll move to the side and follow.’ Seb pointed at the door. ‘Go.’
He was expecting the soft thud of paws on grass, the ferocious barking, the bared teeth and growls. The sheer power of a mastiff? The speed and ferocity of a Dobermann pinscher? The indomitable aggression of a Rottweiler? He was expecting this – and it came. From the far side of the house.
They were Rottweilers. Two of them. It was a breed he had always loved and knew well. Calm and placid at best, deadly at worst. These two were in full attack mode. This was their territory and they would defend it to the death.
But as they bounded forward, they weren’t barking. And both came towards him, not Winter.
Seb tossed the meat down for them when they were three metres away. He didn’t back off a centimetre. Their reaction to the meat was instant – they went for the food, as if that was what they had been hunting down all along.
Rottweilers were natural guards, but these ones hadn’t been trained further. Hadn’t been trained to ignore gifts of food or to attack an incomer who did not shy away.
His eyes turned towards Winter. He was now only an outline in the shadow of the house but Seb gave two short flashes of his torch as the sign that all was well. He then leant down and patted the two dogs, letting them know that he was the master and no threat to them. They were too busy tearing the meat apart to take any notice of him and, within seconds, he was at the kitchen door with Winter.
The door was unlocked and they stepped inside. Seb took out his pistol. He had no intention of using it, but one never knew.