24 |

Medical Examiner’s Office
Berlin, Nazi Germany
January 31, 1945

 

Detective Inspector Vogel stared at the almost unrecognizable face of the beating victim spoken of by the two officers at his office. Despite the injuries, there could be no doubt as to who it was.

Dieter Maier.

Whoever had done this—and he had a pretty good idea who—hadn’t wanted the man to be recognizable. While his entire body had sustained significant injuries, and those were likely the cause of death, particular attention had been paid to the face, mostly by shoes and boots.

“So, do you know him?”

Vogel glanced at the Medical Examiner, Hans Naumann. “No, not with that face. He loosely matches a missing persons case I’m working on, but it’s the wrong color hair. Any idea who did this?”

Naumann shook his head. “The officers who brought him in said it was most likely Jews. I don’t believe that nonsense for a second. Even if there were any left in the city, they wouldn’t be targeting innocent people. Not like this.” He frowned, staring down at the face. “Somebody didn’t want us recognizing this man. The question is why.”

“You’ll figure it out eventually.”

Naumann grunted then covered the body. “Perhaps, but if I don’t within the next few months, I think it might be some Russian’s job.”

Vogel glanced around to make sure they were alone as Naumann sat at his desk, pulling out a lunchbox. He unwrapped a meager looking sandwich and held up half. “Hungry?”

Vogel shook his head. “I don’t know how you can eat in here.”

Naumann shrugged. “If a little blood and guts got me upset, I’d never eat.”

Vogel frowned, gesturing at him. “It looks like you barely do, regardless.”

Naumann pulled at his loose clothing. “My wife had to take in my pants a third time just last week. I think I’m down at least ten kilos.”

Vogel absentmindedly ran a finger over his chest, his ribcage a little more prominent than it used to be, the rations not enough. “Yet you offer me half your sandwich.”

Naumann grinned. “Only because I knew you wouldn’t accept!”

Vogel laughed then headed for the door. “I’ll see you too soon, my friend.”

A mumbled reply was offered, Naumann’s mouth full. As Vogel headed for his car, he weaved this new factor into the overall mosaic confronting him. A railway engineer, likely Hermann Lang, was dead, officially shot by partisans, though Vogel had his doubts. If it were the case, then Erika Lang would have been notified. The fact she hadn’t been, told him that either it wasn’t her husband that was killed, or he wasn’t killed by partisans, but by somebody that didn’t want questions asked. The fact Hermann Lang was missing, and she was under surveillance by the Gestapo, was proof enough to him that he was indeed the dead engineer that Dieter Maier had referred to.

And now Maier was dead.

There was only one reason he was dead, and that was because he knew something the Gestapo didn’t want him knowing. Likely it was linked to the death of Hermann Lang. Maier had been sent to collect a locomotive after its engineer was killed. Whoever was behind this, obviously needed the locomotive returned, and not just anyone could operate one of the massive vehicles.

They needed an engineer.

That would explain why Maier had been exposed to some bit of information that they didn’t want out there. Perhaps they had hoped he could be trusted to keep his mouth shut, but the combination of Frau Lang and himself showing up within 24 hours of his return, probably raised alarm bells with those watching them. Or, perhaps they had always intended on killing him, and had simply waited for him to return to Berlin, where it was more plausible for him to be beaten to death in the back alleys of a desperate city, rather than a tightly controlled railyard in Poland.

Either way, one was dead, and he was quite certain so was the other, leaving two widows behind who were likely in danger too. One had already been under surveillance, probably waiting for her to do something that they could pick her up for, thus preventing uncomfortable questions about her missing husband. The other was probably still under surveillance despite the beating death of her husband, as he was certain the Gestapo would be concerned she had been told something by him.

The bottom line was that both were now in trouble.

And he was sick of innocent lives constantly being destroyed in the final days of a failed empire.

They have to leave Berlin.

The answer was obvious, though not the solution. How could two women escape Berlin? Where would they go? He knew the Langs had sent their child out of the city. Perhaps if Frau Lang were to join her daughter, she would be safe, though it would be the first place the Gestapo would look.

And that was another problem. With the Gestapo watching both, their departures would have to be coordinated, and even if he were inclined to help, he was but one man, and couldn’t ask anyone else to risk their lives helping him.

A smile crept up the side of his face as he pulled out onto the street.

Gruber!

Gruber was the exact type of vermin he needed for this situation. The man was a parasite, his father so well connected in the Nazi Party that he was untouchable, despite the fact every law enforcement officer in the city knew he was into human smuggling. Whether it was Jews, homosexuals, or the mentally handicapped, he could move them.

For a price.

A price unaffordable on a detective inspector’s salary.

But leverage was valuable. And if Gruber agreed, they would both have leverage over each other, leverage that was only important until the war was over.

Which couldn’t come soon enough.