Hitler's Angel (15 page)

‘Thank you, sir, but it would be no trouble.’

‘Ah,’ Fritz said quietly. ‘But it might, if you understand my meaning.’

The boy did. He was clearly used to secret meetings and discussions that clerks were not privy to. In clear, precise language accompanied by a flurry of hand signals, the boy gave Fritz directions to Strasser’s office. Fritz thanked the boy, and went upstairs.

The Brown House still had some of the palace’s former glory, but it had been lessened somehow. Even though the House was spotless, it had a tawdry air. Some of the change was the decorations: the blood flags flown during the 1923 putsch hung from the walls, the desks, and the phones (which had started ringing shortly after Fritz arrived, and never seemed to stop), and the party members themselves, who marched in as if they were part of a military regime.

When he reached the second floor, the sound of the phones grew fainter. The air was chill and smelled of leather. The ancient marble covering the floor was cloudy white, like ice on a wind-shrouded lake. Even though the large windows let in a lot of light, the glass diffused it, making it as cold as the rest of the place.

He checked in the other offices. They were empty, the doors surprisingly unlocked, although nothing sat on desktops except telephones, pen holders and calendars. Hitler’s office was the largest and the most obvious. The marble floor had been covered with a reddish-brown carpet, with furniture to match. The windows overlooked
Königsplaz. A large bust of Mussolini stood against one wall, along with a series of framed photographs.

Fritz went inside and stood before the row of photographs. Among them was one of a World War I unit, with Hitler in the centre, looking thinner and tired. Another was a studio portrait of a beautiful woman. She had black hair combed into a subtle marcel. Her eyebrows were plucked to single curved lines, and she wore only a slight tinge of make-up. A fur wrap warmed her shoulders, leaving her neck and collar bare. But those details were not the ones that made her stunning: it was her expression. Her eyes held a proud warmth, her chin was jutted forward, suggesting confidence, and her near-smile was just enough to make her appear mysterious and inviting at the same time.

It took him a moment to recognise the face. Geli. The photograph made her look older and more sophisticated than her years suggested.

But she had no cunning, like Gisela had had.

None at all.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He was being watched. He whirled. A man peered in the door. He was not wearing the uniform of the clerks, nor was he dressed as a Brownshirt. He wore a suit, and wire-framed glasses that enlarged his eyes. He was balding, his features soft, his mouth in a straight line. He clearly had not expected Fritz to be in Hitler’s office.

‘I’m looking for Gregor Strasser,’ Fritz said.

The man studied him for a moment, as if Fritz had spoken
a completely foreign language. Then the man said, ‘Gregor Strasser’s office is down the hall, to the right.’

‘Thank you,’ Fritz said, and pushed past the man. The man did not follow him, nor did he say anything else. When Fritz finally arrived at Strasser’s office, he turned, and the strange man was gone.

Strasser’s door was open as well. His office lacked the opulence of Hitler’s. The polished desk was clear, the single window had its curtains drawn back. It did not look as if anyone had been in the office all morning.

Fritz sighed. He didn’t want to make an appointment, didn’t want his name known more than it was. But he also knew his time was limited. He simply could not be everywhere. He had to choose his meetings, and choose them well.

‘Who let you up here?’ The voice boomed in the marble hallway. Fritz turned. The man facing him was bowed with middle age. His round face suggested his stout build came from too much beer rather than too much exercise. He had the sharp-eyed look of a man with no sense of humour.

‘I was told I would find Herr Strasser here.’

The man assessed Fritz. ‘You are a reporter?’

‘No.’

‘Then what are you to see Herr Strasser for?’

Fritz returned the stare. He was taller than the other man and more athletic, both of which he could use to his advantage if he had to. ‘I do not routinely tell one man another’s business.’

A smile touched the other man’s lips. He apparently
enjoyed jousting. ‘You can tell me. I am the party treasurer. I know all the secrets.’

‘I bet you do, Herr Schwarz,’ Fritz said, keeping his own glee from his face. Finally someone he did need to see. ‘I am Detective Inspector Stecher. I am here about Geli Raubal.’

Herr Schwarz clasped his hands behind his back. ‘Such a tragedy. The poor child.’

‘Yes.’ Fritz took a step toward him. ‘Is there a place where we can talk?’

‘We’re the only ones on the floor, Inspector.’

‘I saw another man only a moment ago. I prefer some privacy.’

Herr Schwarz brought his chin up with unfeigned surprise. He hadn’t known about the other man.

‘There is my office,’ he said. He led Fritz farther down the opulent hallway to an office no bigger than a walk-in closet. A goose-necked lamp was on the desk, illuminating some papers scattered on top. Files stood under the window. This looked like a place where someone worked.

Herr Schwarz pulled out a chair for Fritz, then sat behind his desk. He slid the papers in a drawer with an easy movement that appeared to be born of habit. Then he folded his hands on the empty desktop. The round pool of light from the lamp spotlighted his clasped fingers. ‘How may I help you, Inspector?’

‘I understand you were on site when Geli Raubal’s body was discovered.’

Herr Schwarz smiled tightly. ‘Not quite. Frau Reichert called me, quite upset, and I came as quickly as I could.’

‘Why did she call you, Herr Schwarz?’

‘Is this an official interrogation, Inspector?’

Fritz crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. ‘It’s not an interrogation. It is an inquiry. We need to finish our paperwork before we can close the file.’

‘The girl is dead and buried, a suicide. It would seem the file is already closed.’

Fritz smiled. ‘Would that it were so easy.’

‘It sounds as if the Kripo has more paperwork than Reichstag.’

‘New bureaucracies only seem to create litters of paper.’

‘But I thought the Bavarian government did not follow all of the policies of Berlin.’

‘No,’ Fritz said. ‘It only follows the most inconvenient ones.’

Both men laughed, but the sound was polite – more a requirement of the kind of conversation they were having than any real enjoyment they felt.

‘Well, then,’ Herr Schwarz said, ‘I will help you in any way I can.’

‘Then tell me why Frau Reichert called you.’

Herr Schwarz unclasped his hands and pushed his chair away from his desk. ‘Herr Hitler was out of town and –’ again the tiny smile ‘– Frau Reichert is the type of woman who cannot make decisions for herself. I probably would not have come if Frau Winter had been there.’

‘Frau Winter can make decisions for herself?’

Herr Schwarz raised his eyebrows. ‘Have you met Frau Winter?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you already know. I arrived, took one look at the poor girl, and knew we had to take some action.’

‘Action, Herr Schwarz?’

‘We could not leave her in such a sorry position in the Führer’s apartment.’

Führer. Leader. Fritz had heard the word used in reference to Hitler before but had not thought about it until that moment. He had assumed it only natural that members of the party would call Hitler their leader, but not in a casual sentence, and in such a reverential tone.

‘Why couldn’t you leave her in such a position?’Fritz asked. ‘Most people allow the authorities to deal with the dead.’

‘Most people are not prominent members of Munich society,’ Herr Schwarz snapped. ‘Most people do not have the press trailing them like dogs.’

‘So you took it upon yourself to dispose of Geli’s body.’

‘I disposed of nothing.’ Herr Schwarz sat upright in his chair. His cheeks were flushed. ‘I sent her to Vienna, as her mother wished.’

‘After contacting the Minister of Justice.’

‘We needed papers to get her out of the country.’

‘You would have had papers if you had waited for the Kripo.’

‘What are you accusing me of, Inspector?’

Fritz studied Herr Schwarz for a moment. His face was such a deep red that he appeared to be overheating. ‘I am accusing you of nothing, Herr Schwarz. I am merely curious why you and your friends created more work for me.’

‘For you, sir?’

Fritz nodded. ‘If you had gone through the normal channels, I would not be here now. You would be at your day’s work, and I would be pursuing paperwork on another case. Instead, I sit here, and quite frankly, Herr Schwarz, I do not enjoy it. I find each member of the NSDAP that I deal with to be belligerent and defensive which is beginning to make me think you all have something to hide.’

‘We have nothing to hide.’

Fritz smiled. ‘See? You are defensive, sir. Tell me, why did Frau Reichert call you?’

‘Because she did not know what to do.’

‘She said it was because Geli’s door was locked and she did not know how to open it.’

‘The door was locked,’ Herr Schwarz said quickly. ‘It was.’

‘And you forgot that detail?’

‘It seemed unimportant. We told Franz Gürtner of it.’

‘You forgot that you kicked in a door?’

‘I didn’t kick it.’

‘Who did?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Well, it was either you or Max Amann, wasn’t it? Or was someone else there?’

‘No one else was there.’

‘Then Max kicked in the door. That is, if it was locked in the first place.’

Herr Schwarz took a ‘kerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. ‘This feels like an interrogation, Inspector.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Fritz said. ‘It’s just that I am trying to resolve
this case and I am being thwarted at every turn. Be honest with me, Herr Schwarz. Who smashed Geli’s face?’

‘Her face?’A drop of sweat ran down his cheek. ‘No one.’

‘But her nose was broken.’

‘The
Münchner Post
lies.’

‘I saw her myself, Herr Schwarz.’

Herr Schwarz caught his breath. The room was hot. The goose-neck lamp gave off heat as well as light. Faint sounds of ringing phones travelled up from the floor below. Otherwise the building was silent.

‘Didn’t Herr Hess tell you? I was certain he would. Since he was at your side when you came to Hitler’s apartment on Saturday. He kicked down the door, didn’t he? He’s the one who took charge of Geli’s body. He’s the one who accompanied her to Vienna.’

‘She hurt her face when she fell,’ Herr Schwarz said in a strangled voice.

‘How does a woman hurt her face when she falls on her back?’

Another bead of sweat ran down Herr Schwarz’s cheek. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I am not a doctor.’

‘Clearly,’ Fritz said. ‘Now, why don’t you tell me what really happened?’

Herr Schwarz took a deep breath, then patted at his face daintily with the handkerchief. He cleared his throat. ‘Frau Reichert called me to help her. She was afraid for Geli who had not come out of her room since the day before. The door was locked, and she could not get in. I brought Max who apparently called Rudolph. Rudolph kicked in
the door, as you said, and there was Geli, dead. We hadn’t thought she would be dead. She was willful. We thought she was being difficult because Herr Hitler had left her alone again.’

He took another breath, and closed his eyes. ‘She had the gun in her hand. She was clearly dead. We panicked, Inspector. Max mentioned headlines, and we knew that we had to get her out before the newspaper photographers arrived. But by then Frau Winter had arrived, and when she saw Geli, she went for the police. Once the police knew, the reporters would know, so we carried Geli to Max’s car and got her away from the apartment.’

‘Just like that?’

‘No. It was difficult. We had to use the back stairs. For a such a thin girl, she was heavy.’

All the stories were different enough to make Fritz worry. Most witnesses did not alter the chain of events, only the details of those events – what the victim wore, what was in the room. ‘So Frau Reichert was afraid for Geli. Why?’

‘She did not come to her door after repeated knocks.’

‘But you thought Geli was willful.’

‘Frau Reichert tends to over dramatise.’

‘So she thought something had happened to Geli?’

‘She thought Geli had left through her window and run away.’

‘From the second floor? It’s a twelve-foot drop. Surely the girl wasn’t that foolish.’

‘No one knew how foolish Geli was.’

‘Meaning?’

‘It is more logical for the girl to jump than to shoot herself because she cannot go to Vienna.’

‘I suppose it is,’ Fritz said. He kept his voice even, neutral. ‘But perhaps there was another reason for her death?’

‘Such as?’

‘I did not know her, Herr Schwarz. You did.’

Herr Schwarz opened his eyes and leaned forward. ‘There was talk that morning of her being despondent over her first public singing engagement. She was going to go to Vienna to see her coach, but when Herr Hitler demanded that she stay in Munich, she grew even more depressed. She could not face performing without the help. So she died.’

Fritz’s clothes felt too tight. The heat in the room was growing. ‘It seems such a trivial thing to die over.’

Herr Schwarz shrugged. ‘We cannot know what is important to someone else.’

‘No, we can’t,’Fritz said. ‘But it seems odd to me that no one spoke of Geli’s upcoming performance or of her fear of it until now. I thought she wanted to go to Vienna to get engaged.’

‘The
Münchner Post
again. Inspector, you must not believe all that you read.’

‘I don’t.’ Fritz resisted the urge to loosen his collar. ‘I merely get curious when everything I hear contradicts. I didn’t even know that Geli was a singer.’

‘She wasn’t much of one,’ Herr Schwarz said. ‘It is probably good for Munich that she did not perform.’

‘Why is it that everyone I speak to did not like Geli?’