Chapter 26

1927

The next morning, I secured the last seat on a new, twin-engine Albatross L 73 biplane. Sanctions imposed by the Treaty of Versailles were recently lifted that allowed commercial aviation in Germany to expand. As a result German Air (Deutsche Luft) merged with Hansa, named for the medieval trading association: the Hanseatic League. The new airline—Deutsche Luft Hansa—boasted a fleet of one hundred and sixty planes that flew to most European cities. Compared to the plane Wolf and I took to Berlin during the Kapp Putsch seven years before, this flight was luxurious. The enclosed cabin accommodated eight travelers in addition to the pilot, co-pilot, and engineer!

As our wheels touched the dirt runway at Oberwiesenfeld, Frick and Hess stood like sentries on either side of an Adler Standard 6 sedan. Frick motioned me to sit in the back with him while Rudy drove.

“Friedrich, you have some catching up to do,” Frick began, once we were underway. It was true. The four years I rode the boat limited my contact with Wolf and the party leadership. I did know that Hess, released from Landsberg ten days after Wolf, now served as Wolf’s secretary. Frick, arrested for his role in the putsch, stood trial with Hitler and received a suspended sentence. He was then reinstated in the Munich police.

“Before I explain why we need you here,” Frick began, “Have you ever heard of the USCHLA? It represents the Untersuchungsund Schlictung—Ausschuss. We set it up as a court to discipline party members. Walter Buch is the chief judge.”

“I remember Walter Buch as stiff and pompous.”

“You’re right on that score. And time has not softened Buch,” Frick said.

Hess leaned across the seat and rifled through a bag. The car swerved. “Rudy, are you trying to kill us? Sit up when you’re driving. And for God’s sake, face forward.”

Hess waved a Brötchen mit Eiweiß glasiert. “You know I like egg whites on a glazed roll. I was hungry.”

“We’re on our way to lunch. Can’t you wait?”

“You know my diet is restricted.”

“Just the same,” Frick said, “concentrate on the road.”

Hess tossed the roll down and muttered something under this breath.

Frick shook his head. Over the years, we learned that Rudy Hess defied stereotyping. He brought his own food wherever he went and had odd mannerisms that made him . . . well . . . different.

“Where were we?” Frick asked.

“We were talking about Buch.”

Walter Buch retired from the war as a major. He was with us during the Munich Putsch. His anti-Semitism eclipsed even Wolf’s. Worse, he was a sour stick of a man, always inveighing against the lack of morality in Munich and the infidelities of various party members. But he was a faithful party member . . . I had to give him that much. After the putsch, while the wounded Göring fled to Austria and Röhm was taken into custody, Walter Buch took temporary command of the SA.

“Before you explain the rest, where are we going?”

“We have reservations at Café Victoria in Munich. It’s on Maximilianstrasse, close to the Jahreszeiten Hotel,” answered Frick.

“Where I first met both of you.”

“There’s time for nostalgia later, Friedrich. For now, we have to concentrate on the problem at hand.”

“Which is?”

“Chief Judge Buch has received eight anonymous letters claiming Hitler had sex with young girls. Some may have been minors.”

“Are they named in the letters?”

“Some are named. If not, their physical descriptions could lead to their identification. If you can believe this, the blackmailer even provided the addresses where these rendezvous occurred.”

“Do you know who did this?”

He shook his head. “It could only be someone close enough to the Führer to lay out the details well enough for Buch.”

“Buch must be wild with rage trying to find the culprit who sent the letters?”

“On the contrary. He is not concerned about the author’s identity. He wants to determine the truth of the charges. When it comes to issues of morality, the man is a self-righteous ass. He’s not even a lawyer. But because his father was a judge, he judges all who come before him. Even the Führer.”

“How can anyone judge the Führer?”

Frick’s usually placid face turned sour as he explained that Buch did have that right. “This court was our doing. We set it up so the party could control what its members did before the official authorities got hold of them. In this way we could divert proceedings from government tribunals to ours and its decisions would be recognized as valid. Now it has come back to bite us.”

“Why would the municipalities agree to this?”

“Most people around here believe in the Führer, so they bend to accommodate him.”

“But going after the Führer? Wilhelm, you’re a lawyer. There must be something we can do?”

“Our hands are tied. Any which way we turn, we open ourselves to criticism. If we try to influence Buch, it could backfire. If we remove him from his position, the backlash against us from the authorities would be worse. Imagine if the Munich police arrested Hitler for having sex with minors?”

“There must be a way out of this,” I said. “There always is.”

“We think so,” Hess said.

“Rudy, please just drive.” Frick turned back to me. “I haven’t gotten to the worst part.”

My head was spinning. “What can be worse than blackmailing the party and the Führer?”

“The answer to that question is in a name: Maria Reiter. The Boss was seeing her for many months. When the anonymous letters identified her, he sent Emil to tell Maria that she and the Boss were finished.”

“Well, then it’s over,” I said, relieved. “What’s the problem?”

“If only it stopped there. What did distraught little Maria do? Tried to kill herself.”

Hearing that conjured up the memory of Suzi Liptauer and her failed attempt to commit suicide a few years back. “Did she . . .?”

“Her brother-in-law found her in time. Cut her down. That’s the only ray of light.”

“If the press gets hold of all this—numerous young girls and a suicide attempt—Hitler is finished,” I said.

“And so is the party. We would not survive his disgrace.”

“What are our options?”

“We thought about stealing the letters from Judge Buch, but he would know it was us,” Hess said.

Frick made a sour face. “Rudy, let me handle this.” Like others, Frick tolerated Hess because he had endeared himself to Wolf. None of us could figure out why. Then Frick said, “Our saving grace is that Hans Frank is one of the two others that serve on the court with Buch.”

“Couldn’t Hans convince Buch to make this go away?”

Frick shook his head. “Buch sticks to the letter of the law. There is no convincing him of anything. Our only leverage is that Hans made a list of the named girls or their descriptions when there were no names. He was able to obtain the dates and places where these assignations took place and managed to copy the results of Buch’s inquiries to date. Having these gives us the opportunity to do damage control wherever possible.

“That’s a good start,” I said. “What’s the next step?”

“To sit down with you and Hermann Esser. You two know more about the Boss’s personal life than anyone else. You both ran with him. We’ve always known there were women, but not much else. We’ll scour the material together, try to identify the remaining girls, and plot a course of action.”

The thought of being in the same room with Esser infuriated me. “Don’t bring Esser into this. He’s a rat. He ducked out of the putsch. Said he was sick in bed . . . but we all know he ran to Austria. He turns my stomach.”

“You’re overlooking that he came back and did jail time. More importantly, the Führer forgave him.”

“I didn’t forget anything. We don’t need Esser. There are three others who know plenty: Max Amann and Emil Maurice, not to mention Hitler’s adjutant, Julius Schaub. Schaub probably knows the most. Not only did he drive the girls, but he handled the money for the flowers, gifts, and rooms when needed.”

“Schaub is out of the question. Hitler forbids him from speaking to us. Amann is off limits because, as we will explain, he was involved in the Maria Reiter business. Besides, you know more than he does. That’s why we need you,” he hesitated, “and Esser.”

“There’s Emil. What about him?”

Hearing Emil’s name, Hess turned back to us. “He’s the root of this crisis.”

“Rudy,” pointed Frick, “the road.”

“What about Emil?” I asked.

“We were waiting to tell you. We’ve established—don’t ask how—that the author of the blackmail letters is Ida Arnold. She’s a doctor.”

“Emil dated her,” Rudy called out.

“Why would she threaten Hitler?” I asked.

Frick corrected me. “She’s not the threat, Emil is . . . through her.”

How could Emil be at the root of this? Then it occurred to me. “The only thing I can figure is that this has something to do with Hitler’s niece.”

Frick connected the dots. “A couple of years ago, the Boss’s half-sister, Angela Raubal, came to live with him as his housekeeper. She brought her seventeen-year-old daughter, Geli, with her.”

“I met both when I visited him at Berteschgaden,” I recalled. “My first impression was that this could be a recipe for disaster. Geli was his type: voluptuous, pretty, and young. But I never thought he would be interested in his own niece in that way.”

“As far as I know he hasn’t . . . you know . . .”

Frick couldn’t bring himself to say that Wolf might have had sex with his niece.

“A year-and-a-half ago,” Frick picked up the story, “he was more interested in rebuilding the party. He paid Geli no mind. Then twelve months ago, Hitler pursued Maria Reiter. That started in September of ’26.”

“What was she, seventeen? Eighteen? That’s how he likes them.”

“Sixteen.”

“That’s young even for Hitler,” I said.

“It doesn’t matter what any of us think. By this past March, after she was seventeen, they were sleeping together. Here’s where sticky turns to shit. A couple of months later, the Boss caught Emil Maurice in bed with Geli. He went wild. Almost shot Emil on the spot. Soon after, a letter about Hitler and young girls popped up at the party headquarters. By July, Party Judge Buch had eight letters in hand. Ever self-righteous, Buch viewed the Boss’s actions as immoral if true, and started to investigate. The Boss got scared and sent Emil to dump Maria Reiter. A few days later, in late July, Maria tried to hang herself.”

“Hitler can’t be blamed for that?”

“Had she died, the papers would have crucified him. Fortunately, that didn’t happen. Our issue is with Buch, not Maria. He holds Hitler’s fate in his hands. He’s such a moralist. The fool is capable of kicking him out of the party without any comprehension that the party would be crushed in Hitler’s fall. That’s why you’re here, Friedrich. To help us quiet things down, if possible.”

“I’m still not clear about Emil.”

“Don’t you get it? Hitler ordered Emil not to see Geli. After that, the letters started coming. Emil put Ida Arnold, his ex-girlfriend, up to it. Arnold met Maria on a double date: Maurice with her and Hitler with Maria. Maurice saw that Ida Arnold was indignant that the Boss was sleeping with the young girl. This gave Emil the opportunity to get his way. We believe that when Emil asked Ida Arnold for assistance, she was more than willing to stick it to Hitler. Like Buch, Ida Arnold is a bit of a moralist. That’s why we can’t go near Emil to put a defense together. Until we know more than we do now, we don’t know how best to defend the Boss.”

“Defend? Has Buch charged Hitler with anything yet?”

“That’s what we must prevent. If Buch accuses Hitler, the NSDAP is as good as finished. And if he doesn’t take action, there is nothing to stop the Ida Arnold/Emil Maurice team from sending the same stuff to the authorities. We must deflate this now, before it goes any further. Before we do that, we need you and Esser to flush out how much else there is in Wolf’s closet. We can’t afford any more surprises.”

I studied Frick. His wizened face and steel gray eyes were cold, calculating . . . and unreadable. He was one of the first men in the movement. Smart. Perhaps the smartest of the original men. One thing was certain: he could never be taken at face value.

“Wilhelm, you didn’t ask me to fly here for that. Esser knows as much as I do about Hitler’s personal life. If you wanted to, you could get all the information you needed from Hitler himself. Why me? And why so secret?”

Rudy turned to answer my question.

“Rudy, please.” Frick pointed forward; Rudy’s head whipped back to the road. Then Frick explained. “The Führer will not talk about this with anyone but you.”

We made our way to a private room in the rear of the restaurant. Esser rose to greet us.

“It’s about time,” he said. “I was getting lonely back here.” He extended his hand. “Friedrich, old comrade, it’s been forever. Must be nearly four years!”

I hesitated. Frick glared at me to be civil. I barely touched Esser’s hand.

A waiter appeared. Frick shooed him away. “We will eat later.”

Frick began. “First, let me thank Friedrich for getting here on such short notice. We’re charged with looking into the corners of the Boss’s past. As Buch moves forward in his investigation, we must be prepared. There can be no surprises. We’ll start with the named girls in the letters, and then try to figure out who the unnamed ones are.”

“You made me aware that Maria Reiter is mentioned,” Esser said. “I assume you did the same to Friedrich. Do you want to discuss her first?”

Frick adjusted his spectacles and consulted his notes. “No. Let’s start with Lotte Bechstein.”

Before I could mention the night Hitler presented Lotte with his watercolor and the time they spent together afterwards, Esser chimed in.

“There’s no problem with her,” Esser reassured. “She and Wolf played with her mother’s consent. The old bitch drooled at the thought of Hitler as a son-in-law, but her plans were dashed when Adolf, Emil Maurice, and I rented rooms in student lodging at the University of Berlin. Lotte found out that we brought girls into our rooms. Alles Kaput. That ended the Bechstein son-in-law possibilities.”

Frick drew a line through Lotte’s name. “Domestic troubles aside, to Frau Bechstein’s credit, she remains a major contributor to the party.” He shuffled through the notes for the next name.

Esser rapped the table. “Let me make this easy for you, Wilhelm. We can save time if I run down my list. I’m sure it’s more complete than yours. Let’s get this out of the way so we can eat. My stomach is growling.”

Frick laid down his papers, removed his glasses, and motioned for Esser to start.

“The first was Suzi Liptauer. Remember her, Friedrich? Back in ’20? She was a beauty. Hitler screwed her in one of the party member’s apartments. There was also talk of Hitler meeting those musical twins in Berlin. If he was, he was doing all of them at the same time.”

“I do know that while he saw Suzi, Wolf went out with Emmi Marre,” I added. “When Suzi found out, she tried to hang herself in a hotel room using the belt of a bathrobe. Fortunately she failed.”

“She did it to gain his sympathy.” Esser shook his head. “She didn’t know that the Boss doesn’t fall for that stuff. When he’s finished, he’s finished. Anyway, she got married and lives in Vienna.”

Frick held up his hand. “The suicide business is too similar to the Reiter girl. But that was seven years ago, or thereabouts. I don’t think we have to worry about that one.”

Esser protested that every one of Hitler’s escapades was relevant, but Frick dismissed him. “Who was next?”

“Remember Hitler’s first driver?” Esser looked at me.

“Of course. Ernest Haug,” I recalled. “His sister was a beauty.”

“It was 1922 or 1923. Jenny Haug was eighteen. Hitler was smitten with her,” Esser’s eyes danced as he pictured Jenny. “She was built like an Amazon, and as tall as Adolf. She carried a gun. Said it was to protect him. They had a ‘rendezvous room’ above party headquarters on Corneliusstraße. Julius Schaub paid the landlord. Schaub’s fingerprints are on most every affair the Boss had.”

“So I understand,” said Frick. “When did Jenny Haug end?”

“Just before the putsch.”

“You mean just before your sudden illness?” Civil or not, I could not get past Esser leaving us to fight in the streets during the putsch. I wanted him to attack me. I intended to deck him.

Esser hopped out of his chair. Before he could take the next step, Frick growled, “Hermann, sit down. Stop this nonsense!” Then he turned to me. “Enough, Friedrich. Forget the playground antics. This is serious business.” Frick scanned his notes. “I haven’t heard anything so far that will present a problem, unless these women are angry or vindictive.”

Though he couldn’t look at me, Esser reveled being in the limelight. “There was one more in the summer of ’25. Adelaide Klein. She was another eighteen year old. Lived with her parents. Beautiful girl. Brunette with violet eyes. Maurice let them use his apartment whenever they wanted. That brings us to Maria Reiter. After her we have . . .”

Frick cut him off. “We know about Maria Reiter, Hermann. So before we excuse you, I need to know this: if these blackmail letters come to light, how would these women react?”

“That’s easy. They would all stand by Hitler.”

Frick laid down his pen. “What makes you so confident they would?”

“Because every time Adolf stopped seeing one of them, he remained in contact. He remembered their birthdays. He had Schaub send them chocolates. Every once in a while, Emil or Schaub would deliver an envelope with cash. He was good to all of them. I am convinced none bear him animus. For example, as you noted Mama Bechstein still supports the party . . . even after Lotte.”

Frick closed his notebook. “This is all very good news. There does not appear to be any surprises that might fuel Buch’s investigation against the Boss.”

Esser raised his hand. “I just remembered. There was one who could be trouble. Her name was Irene. Hitler called her Ina. One time, I came across the two of them in Café Heck. She was blond and beautiful. Definitely his type. When she demanded that Hitler marry her, he dumped her. She threatened to go to the press unless she got money.”

“How was it resolved?” asked Frick.

“With a bundle of Reichsmarks from Party Treasurer Schwartz. To my knowledge, she has kept her mouth shut ever since.”

“Do you think she still poses a problem?” Frick asked.

“As far as I know, she has never resurfaced. If that means anything, then she won’t be a problem.”

“You’ve been a great help, Hermann. Thank you for coming today.”

Esser remained planted in his chair. “I’m not finished. There’s still one more.”

Frick looked to see if I knew whom he meant. I shrugged that I didn’t. “We don’t have any other names,” Frick said.

“Then you have not done your homework,” Esser answered in triumph. “His niece, Geli Raubal.”

“What about her?” Frick asked.

“She’s part of the triangle: Emil, Geli, and the Boss.”

“For now, these letters and Maria Reiter are the problem. We don’t need to stray from them. We appreciate your time and all that you’ve done to help, Hermann. That’s all for now.”

“What about lunch?”

“I’m sure you can find someplace to eat.”

Hess and I had all to do to stifle our laughter. After Esser stomped out, I asked, “Why make him leave? He still had useful information.”

“I didn’t want him to hear anymore. Esser tries to come off as one of us . . . but we all know there is a sleazy side to him. If Hermann Esser thought there is something in it for him, he is quite capable of blackmailing the Boss.”

“And his own mother, too,” I added.

“He was about to make a point about Geli Raubal,” Rudy said. “I would have liked to hear what he knows.”

Frick would not be distracted. “Maria Reiter is the issue. Let’s put this Reiter thing to bed—so to speak—before it blows up in our face. Anything to do with Geli doesn’t interest me at the moment. She’s his niece, and that’s all we need to know.”

I slapped the table as I stood.

“Where are you going?” Frick asked.

“Hermann had the right idea. I’m getting hungry, too.”

“Don’t be absurd, Friedrich.”

“Listen, Wilhelm. I told you in the car that you didn’t need me. This was a waste of my time. Hermann just gave you all the information you needed. I have an important woman waiting for me in Berlin.”

Frick slid his spectacles into a case. “What I didn’t tell you in the car, and didn’t want Esser to hear, is that Buch contacted Maria Reiter’s sister, Anni, for permission to question Maria. Hans tried to stop him, but Buch couldn’t be dissuaded.”

I slid back onto the chair. “Why bring the sister into this?”

“Because both parents are dead. Maria Reiter is still a minor and Anni is her legal guardian. Buch needs Anni’s consent to speak with Maria.”

“What did Anni have to say?” I asked.

“She talked plenty. Anni was furious—venomous was more like it—over the way Hitler treated her sister. It was a miracle that Anni’s husband found Maria in time and saved her. Anni laid out all she knew or thought she knew to Buch, starting with the first time Hitler saw the girl. The sisters were in the park. Maria was walking her German shepherd at the same time Hitler was there walking his.” Frick retrieved his spectacles and flipped through his notes, “Hers was ‘Marko’ and his, as you know, is ‘Prinz.’” He continued reading without affect. “Hitler was smitten the moment he saw the girl. He asked the sister for an introduction and permission to take her out. Anni refused. Told him he was too old.”

“What’s their age difference?”

“Twenty-one years. Maria was only sixteen.”

“That would never stop the Boss,” added Hess.

“How did he get around the sister?”

“Hitler sent Max Amann to the shop where both sisters worked—it’s owned by their family—with an invitation to hear Hitler speak at the hotel Deutsches Haus. When Maria refused to go alone, Max was quick to invite both sisters. They went, of course. From the moment Adolf opened his mouth, the girl was star struck. By the end of the evening, Amann and Emil had separated Mimi or Mimchen—that’s what Hitler called Maria—from her sister. That gave Adolf the chance to be alone with her. He told her to call him ‘Wolf,’ and made his first move pressing his knee against hers under the table.”

“How does Anni know these details?”

Frick gave a languid smile. “From our point of view she knows nothing because we deny any of it is true. But to answer your question, more than being her older sister, Anni is Maria’s confidant. Maria told her everything. She never had a boyfriend before Adolf. Never been kissed. The girl gushed with puppy love.”

“Then the Boss went for the kill?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” said Frick. “The crux is that the night of his speech, the Boss learned that the girl’s mother died ten days before she met him. When the Boss learned of her mother’s recent death, he asked for the ‘privilege’ of visiting the grave site with Maria—by then, he was already calling her Mimi—so he could share in her grief.”

“Let me guess what happened next,” I said. “They stood there, side-by-side, in front of Maria’s mother’s grave. Hitler spoke about his own mother’s death. Then, in a moment of shared grief, he whipped out the poem he wrote about his mother, read it to her, and they both wept.”

“How did you know?”

I was not about to report that Wolf plagiarized the poem nor ever bring up how his fixation on his mother’s death contributed to his hysterical blindness. “Let’s just say that I know the different ways the Boss can inveigle his way into a girl’s heart. Sharing the poem about his mother dying is ‘vintage Wolf.’ Is that when they consummated the deal?”

“Not according to Anni,” said Frick. “She reported that Adolf and Emil showed up unexpectedly in Munich this past March, when the girl was practicing for an ice skating competition. By the way, she’s a top skater. Adolf convinced her to leave practice. Maurice drove them to Adolf’s apartment. That’s when Adolf screwed her. Afterwards the four of them met, went to dinner and then to a show.” Frick consulted his notes. “They saw Zirkusprinzessi at the Gaertner Platz.”

“Two things don’t make sense. You said Emil took them to Wolf’s apartment? Wolf would never bring a girl to that dump.”

“The sister had the right address: 41 Thierschstrasse.”

“You also said the ‘four’ of them. There was Emil, Maria, and Hitler. Who was the fourth?”

“That is the coup de grace. Dr. Ida Arnold.”

“The blackmailer?”

“The one and only. Anni reported that it was too late and too far to drive back to Berteschgaden that night, so Maria stayed in Arnold’s apartment. That was only after Hitler told her it would be too dangerous if they were discovered in his. When they were alone, Ida asked Maria how old she was.”

“And?”

“Maria told the truth: seventeen. According to Anni, this upset the Arnold woman. She asked her to repeat it, that maybe she hadn’t heard Maria right.”

“How much did the Boss see Maria after that?”

“A lot. He set her up in an apartment in Munich.” Frick consulted his notes. “He would see her in the daytime. Not at night.”

“Does she—I mean Maria—have any physical evidence to support her story?”

“Hitler sent her many postcards, letters, and small gifts. He gave her a watch. He gave her a signed leather-bound copy of Mein Kampf for her seventeenth birthday . . . which happens to be two days before Christmas.”

“What did Buch do when all of this came to light?”

“That’s just it. Buch doesn’t have Hitler’s letters to the girl or know about the gifts. He wants to interview the girl. To date, Anni has staunchly denied access to her sister.”

“I suspect the party has played a role in that. Am I right?”

Frick hesitated. “I promised Hans Frank that I would not answer that.”

I put both hands on the table and looked from one to the other. “Look, Wilhelm, I have a better sense of what’s happened, but I still have no idea what you want with me.”

“For Christ’s sake, Wilhelm,” Hess said, “Tell him already.”

Frick nodded. “You’re right, Rudy. It boils down to this: in spite of Buch’s high and mighty morality, Hans Frank believes that he doesn’t want to hurt Hitler or kill the party. We need to give Buch an excuse he can live with so he won’t clamp down on the Boss.”

“After listening to all of this, what could possibly alter his stance?”

Frick raised his index finger. “One thing. Get the girl to sign an oath that there was never a sexual relationship . . . only friendship. Adolf signs a similar statement. Then all that exists are anonymous letters and the sister’s hearsay. We give the sworn affidavits to Buch, and none of the other stuff matters. He shuts down the whole business and the Boss is in the clear.”

I took a moment to digest that. “You brought me here to coerce a false confession out of a seventeen-year-old? Wilhelm, you are far more important and experienced than I am. Why didn’t you do it? Why me?”

Rather than answer my first question, he answered the second. “I would have gone to see her, but the Führer insists it has to be you. When you meet her, Friedrich, also see if you can get the letters and postcards Adolf sent her. We don’t need them hanging around. They are all signed ‘Wolf.’”