Spoils of Victory (25 page)

K
essel had all the confidence and composure of a businessman ready to negotiate a delicate transaction. He sat with his forearms on the long table and greeted Mason and Abrams with a “Gentlemen” when they entered a windowless room at the Sheridan barracks. The MP guard acknowledged their presence with a nod then exited. The two investigators sat opposite of Kessel. Kessel's attitude puzzled Mason, but at least the “untouchable” confidence was gone and replaced by what Mason could best describe as relief, like someone ready to lay it all out on the table.

“Let's get started with the charges,” Mason said.

Abrams opened a file folder. “Narcotics trafficking, black marketeering, grand theft, obstruction of justice, interfering with military police investigators in the course of an investigation, murder, conspiracy to commit murder—”

“Murder?” Kessel said in surprise. “I've not murdered anyone.”

Abrams peered at him over the file folder. “You deny taking part in the murders of John Winstone, Hilda Schmidt, Yaakov Lubetkin, Edward Kantos—”

“I had nothing to do with any of those.”

Though Kessel said it adamantly, Mason noticed him blink as if
in a brief internal struggle. “Whether you actually pulled the trigger or not, you were part of the gang that did. That makes you at the least accessory to murder. Did you order the murders, Herr Kessel?”

“No, I did not.”

“Do you know who murdered them, and did you willingly withhold that information from us?”

“Yes.”

The directness took Mason by surprise. He took a beat to collect his thoughts. “Who are the murderers?”

“I have no direct proof—”

“That's hard for us to believe,” Abrams cut in. “You worked closely with the gang responsible.”

“I was, how do you say . . . the front man. The fall guy. I was kept in the dark on all the inner workings of the organization.”

Abrams pointed to an unseen spot in the open folder. “We have witnesses stating that it was you who called in the shipment orders, organized pickups and deliveries.”

“I was given written instructions as to what to do when, whom to call, et cetera. The source of these instructions was never revealed to me.”

“You had to get them from someone,” Abrams said.

“They were left in a box in the back of the club. Each evening I was to check the box and carry out the instructions to the letter.”

Mason slapped the table. “Come on, Frieder, you're Schaeffer's right-hand man. We're not buying any of this, so stop wasting our time.”

“Difficult as it may be for you to believe, I'm telling you the truth.”

“Who do you
suspect
are the murderers, then?”

“My guess is Major Schaeffer, Lester Abbott, and Ernst Volker. I also believe that some of the club's staff participated in some of the murders.”

“Mr. Abrams shot one of the club's staff. One of your Polish tough guys.”

Kessel inclined his head in agreement.

“We keep hearing about a Lester Abbott, but no one seems to have ever seen him.”

“Neither have I.”

“Then what makes you think he's one of the murderers?” Abrams asked.

“Overheard conversations, mostly. I believe he is one of the leaders of the organization.”

“There's nothing you can give us to help locate him?” Mason asked.

“I'm afraid not.”

“What about Ernst Volker?”

“Now, there's a despicable man.” Kessel looked directly at Mason. “I understand you had some dealings with Volker when you were a POW.”

“Maybe one day we'll get into my personal history, but right now, I want you to tell us where we can find him.”

“Am I to get nothing out of my information?”

“That depends on what you have.”

Kessel smiled. “That is like asking me to reveal my hand before you place your bet.”

“We hold all the cards, Herr Kessel. Even if we can come to some sort of arrangement, there's still the German police. They'll want a piece of you.”

“What I demand in return is not for myself. I want you to promise me that no harm or criminal charges will come to Adelle.”

Mason felt his face turn hot with anger. Or was it embarrassment? He became aware of his own silence when Abrams stirred in his seat.

“I see you have feelings for her,” Kessel said. “She does for you, as well. She said she saw the same qualities in you that she does in me.”

At that moment, Mason was tempted to jump across the table and throttle Kessel.

Abrams spoke up. “We will do everything in our power to protect her.”

“That's not good enough. I want to see that she is under your protection. She's frightened, and now that you have arrested me, I can no longer ensure her safety.”

“Why was she so stupid as to go back to you in the first place?” Mason managed at last.

“She felt that I was the only person who could truly protect her. I told her she was foolish for thinking that way, but when people are afraid, they tend to do foolish things.”

“Where is she now?” Abrams asked.

“You will find her at Hans Weissenegger's place. Hans is in love with her, though she's never done anything to encourage this.”

Kessel wrote down Hans's address. “Hans is at the club, so she'll be alone. Knock three times, then twice. She'll know you've come for her. We arranged this when I heard you had raided the army depot.”

Mason turned to Abrams. “Take a few MPs and bring her back here. I want to spend some quality time with Herr Kessel.”

Abrams rose from his chair and leaned in to Mason. “Don't do anything crazy.”

When Abrams left, Mason offered Kessel a cigarette, which Kessel accepted. They both lit up and stared at each other through a growing haze of smoke.

Mason finally said, “Why didn't you run when you heard of the army depot bust?”

“It was inevitable that you would come for me, and at the time it seemed the best way to end my involvement. I've had enough, and had little desire to go on the run. I have yet to decide whether that decision was honorable or cowardly.”

“How did you get into this racket if you didn't have the stomach for it?”

“Don't get me wrong; the commercial aspects of the group didn't
bother me at all. We provided a service. The black market is really all the German people have to survive.”

“Diluted penicillin and baby formula, narcotics. Did that really help the German people?”

“I'm a realist, Herr Collins. I was penniless and destitute when Volker approached me about coming to work for them. They offered me outrageous sums of money to be their front man.”

“But then they started murdering people.”

Kessel inclined his head. “Yes . . . Killing Herr Giessen and Bachmann, I didn't mind so much. They were horrible men. But then they killed Winstone and Hilda, and I knew it wouldn't stop there. I was very fond of Hilda. A sweet girl, despite her minor flaws of character. She's the one who introduced Adelle to me.”

“How did you meet Volker?”

Kessel leaned back and regarded Mason for a moment. Mason could tell Kessel was calculating what to say.

Mason answered for him. “You were part of the group helping Nazi war criminals escape out of Germany.”

“War criminals,” Kessel said with bitterness. “Is it not your justice system that says innocent until proven guilty?”

“Oh, come on, Frieder. The evidence against most of them is overwhelming. Despite the horrible things they did, we didn't shoot them over open ditches like they did to the Jews. We've tried them in a court of law. And more than a few—too many, in my opinion—have been released due to weak cases or lack of evidence.”

“All SS men are automatically arrested, considered war criminals, regardless of their actions. How is that just? If a few Americans in Patton's Third Army committed atrocities, would that justify condemning the entire group?”

“The SS guarded the concentration camps and gassed the inmates. They slaughtered millions of people. Tried to eliminate the entire Jewish population in Europe.”

Kessel slapped the table. “But I did not. Nor anyone in my division. You cannot condemn us for what others did.”

“You got off, didn't you? A tribunal determined you'd done nothing, and they let you go.”

“I am not going to try to justify helping my comrades escape political trials. My loyalty is to my country and the men who fought and died at my side. You would do the same for the men you served with, if the circumstances were reversed.”

Mason stubbed out his cigarette. “I don't see what qualities Adelle thinks we share.”

They fell silent for a moment. Finally Kessel said, “I met Volker through the escape group. I despised the Gestapo, but I assumed, since he was free, he had been judged innocent of any war crimes. I didn't know what Volker really was until after I'd accepted the job at the club. I accept my fate, Herr Collins. I no longer want to be a puppet for the organization.”

“Very noble of you.”

“I don't pretend nobility. Those men are wanton killers and will stop at nothing.”

“So far, you've named Schaeffer, Abbott, and Volker as the leaders. Who else?”

“Only rumors, innuendos, speculation . . .”

“I'll help you along a little. For instance, I'm sure there are high-ranking officers involved. Generals even. This operation couldn't work without them. Come on, give it a shot. Give me some names, even if you just suspect them.”

“I don't have any names. No facts. But, as you say, there seems no doubt that there are American officers, in very high places in Frankfurt, Berlin, Munich, who, while they are not part of the operation, profit from its existence. In fact, I am surprised that you are still alive. If you get too close to the kings, you will have a fatal accident of some kind. Or a crazed person will gun you down. I urge you, for
Adelle's sake, for your sake, stop this investigation now with my arrest.”

“If you want to help Adelle, then help me stop them. That's the only way. And unless we do, all this—your confession and trying to protect Adelle—is going to be pointless.”

“And if I indicated to you where to stand on the tracks in front of an oncoming train, would you do it? Could you stop it? That's the power these people have.”

“You don't have to stand in front of a speeding train to stop it. Just remove some of the rails and it will self-destruct.”

Kessel reached for his pack of cigarettes and discovered it was empty.

Mason stood. “I'll get you another pack. Lucky Strikes, right?”

Kessel nodded.

Mason needed to clear his head anyway. He felt conflicted about Adelle, about Kessel. He stepped out into the cold evening and took in the fresh air. On rare occasions, during his years as a detective and investigator, Mason had experienced that antithetical bond that sometimes developed between cop and criminal, like priest and confessor. He was always fascinated by intelligent and compassionate men whose moral compass deviated to the polar opposite of his own. Mason had fervently wanted to bring Kessel down, but now that he'd accomplished that, he found himself resolving to do what he could for the man.

That brought him to Adelle. Battered and bruised, pushed and pulled by forces beyond her control, she had still maintained her dignity. She felt deeply, but, like Kessel, her morality had deviated off course. Yet Mason felt affection for her. The empathy he felt for both of them, actually, left him confused and made him wonder what that said about
him
. Perhaps some darker part of himself could emerge, given the right circumstances.

Ten minutes later, Mason came back to the interview room with the pack of Lucky Strikes and two cups of coffee. They shared a few
stories about the war, and, as Kessel recounted some of his experiences, Mason began to recognize at least one quality they had in common: a sense of duty and honor. And by the time Abrams returned with Adelle, the barrier between them as enemy combatants had eroded.

Mason and Kessel stood when Abrams led Adelle into the room. Adelle only glanced at Mason. She tried to smile, but it never made it. Rather than run into either man's arms, she stopped at the far end of the table between them. Abrams pulled out a chair for her and she sat.

“Herr Collins has agreed to our arrangement,” Kessel said.

“There's a man I know in Munich,” Mason said. “A German police inspector. He's a good man and a good cop.”

“I'm not going to Munich,” Adelle said.

“You want to be safe?” Mason said.

Kessel leaned toward her. “Adelle, you can't stay in Garmisch. At least not until this is all over.”

“And when will that be?”

“Maybe not for a long time,” Mason said. “You should get used to the idea that you can't stay here.”

Adelle finally looked into Mason's eyes. “Again I am sent away. For years men have sent me here or there, always ruling my life. Dictating who I see, what I think. I'm sick of it.”

“We both want you safe,” Kessel said. “And Munich is not so far away.”

Adelle said nothing.

“It may take me a day or two to arrange,” Mason said. “In the meantime, you can stay with a friend of mine here in Garmisch.”

“You have no friends,” Adelle said.

“She'd probably agree with you.”

“She? A friend
and
a woman? That surprises me even more.”

“She's a correspondent. She's smart, resourceful, and we no longer have any connection. They'll have a hard time tracing her back to me. Not in the few days it will take for me to get you to Munich.”

“Your former lover?” Adelle asked.

Mason ignored the question and turned to Kessel. “Are you satisfied with this arrangement? It's the best we can do. I can't trust the hotels, or even our headquarters.”