Fourteen

I CHARGED UP THE STAIRS to Major Membre’s office, burst through the door, and kicked a chair from my path—and stopped in shock.

Major Membre had his back to me. He stood before a short, frail man who was holding a paint palette and more narrow brushes than he had fingers. Next to him stood a canvas on an easel, the canvas so wide it blocked the windows and so tall it touched the ceiling beams.

I had to blink. Was this real?

The major turned to me, but trying to keep his pose—feet planted far apart, one out forcefully before the other and one arm outstretched, the fingers gesticulating as if ready to bestow mercy or pronounce sentence. He had on a red cape with white fur fringe, a gold brocade vest, a jeweled sword, and gold chain with more jewels hanging from that. It was a papal court costume, the same getup I’d seen in the town museum. The major’s other arm cradled a gold brocade headpiece that matched the vest. On his fat head, balancing atop his thick boy-hair, tottered a spiked Prussian helmet with plumes.

The bastard was having a portrait painted? I snorted a laugh at him.

Membre laughed back. “Well, if it ain’t ole Harry Kaspar, the town drunk. How can I—”

“Shut your yap. Just listen.”

Membre looked both ways, as if many others were there. Portrait painter already had his coat on; the major waved him out the door. “Well? What’s this about?”

“I know what you’re doing. I’m not going to put up with it.”

Membre smirked. Jewels jangling, he moved before his desk and met me face to face. The fur and brocade smelled sour, like wet dog fur. “Captain, you are well out of line. This is your commanding officer you’re talking to.”

“Me out of line? Strictness is one thing. Germans are one thing. But threatening harmless women, kicking refugees onto the streets is another. Who are you to make things worse for those people? Don’t you think they’ve seen enough?”

Membre chuckled, his potbelly shimmying. “Fancy yourself the expert, eh? After little over a month. Still, you can’t deny that Fräulein Buchholz has a past.”

“This is about far more than her. You know it.”

“I know that a relief team is coming.” The major glanced at his inbox. “Just got the memo. First it’s a Red Cross truck, now it’s a real team. Yes, fortune does smile on our Heimgau.”

Colonel Spanner must have made it happen. And this blowhard thought it was his doing. He would only take that morphine on top of the rest. He was probably stoned right now, and who knew what sick things he did when good and hopped up? I never liked the way he gathered those stray children around him like all those shiny treasures he coveted. He had the whole castle to himself for it . . .

“I’m simply clearing houses in preparation,” the major added. “They’ll be heading to the camp outside of town. And from there? Repatriation. It’s the policy now. Send the foreigners home.”

“Is it? Whose policy? Camp’s already bulging, crowded like the ones we liberated them from. You could’ve left them where they were. But you want what’s inside those houses, furniture, art, the goods in them. You need what’s inside them. Don’t you, Major? You promised your new partners a hell of a lot last night.”

The major shook his head, clucking his tongue. “I feel sorry for you. I do. I’ve given you all manner of opportunity. Complete freedom. Yet you continue to box yourself in.”

“Freedom? Opportunity? Why don’t you call it what it really is?”

“Ah, now look who talks. Don’t think I don’t know.”

“Know what?”

“The sulfas, the morphine. Good god, man!” Membre was shouting now.

I pulled back. Of course he had found out. Nothing got by the man. “I returned the sulfas,” I said. “The morphine helped a woman. She had tuberculosis.”

“So put her in a sanatorium.” Membre forced out a laugh. “You don’t give a good nickel for some woman. Not even when it is someone’s mother. Truth is, she tempted you in just the right way. Isn’t that so? She being that Katarina Buchholz. So don’t kid yourself. You took the fastest route to that Gretchen’s gash.”

“She’s not a Gretchen,” I sputtered.

Membre shrugged again. “That all? You finished?” I said nothing. “Good. Now I do have some interesting news if you care to know. It’s about my investigation. I might be getting much closer to figuring out who did their dirty deeds on those corpses.”

“You bastard,” I muttered. The black heat boiling away in my brain. I lunged and pinned the major to the desk, grasping at the fur of his cape. The helmet tumbled to the floor. I released my grip, stepping back.

Membre’s eyes shined, like black marbles.

“You talk some fine talk about morphine,” I said. “You’re stoned. I see it.”

“Go to hell. You don’t know what you see.” Membre stepped forward and produced his riding crop from his cape. Slowly, he rested the tip of the crop on my shoulder.

My fists had balled up. I snorted again. “Why don’t you just use your sword?”

“How far you think you can take this? Eh? Think about it. You have no idea.”

I said nothing. Heard nothing. My thoughts spun and my chest heaved, red-hot. I clenched the riding crop. Membre held the other end. I said: “Major, I should really knock you down so you don’t get up. I should . . .”

“How far?” Membre repeated.

And this time I heard him. I gazed around, stupidly, at all those golden crucifixes and jeweled relic chests lining the shelves behind his desk. I let go.

Membre lowered the crop. “Wise move.”

“I’ll come back. We will. Maybe next time you won’t be standing so well.”

“We?” Membre shook his head, snickering. He smoothed his hair. He went behind his desk and settled back in the leather chair, which squeaked like a fart. “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, Captain. You see, I always want to know everything about the officers in my detachment and I know all about you. Your family. Suspect Aliens, that’s what they are, right? They could catch one merry wrath of hell.”

“Then I got nothing to lose, do I?” I wanted to charge him again, but the room reeked of sweat and the major’s sweet cologne and I needed fresh air. I was drooling. I wiped it away. I stepped back. I was backing out.

“You want it both ways, don’t you? The all-American. The kraut. But both ways doesn’t work in life, does it?”

I bounded down the hallway, found the stairs.

Membre laughed. He shouted after me: “Tread lightly from now on! Very lightly! Think about it. I’m untouchable, and you? My God, I’m as untouchable as you are to a local krauthead!”