Hitler's Angel (27 page)

‘What will he do, Frau Dachs?’ Fritz asked.

She stared at him as if he were insane. ‘He will be satisfied with nothing less than complete power. He will treat the country as he treated her. He says he loved her, and he killed her. He will kill us all.’ She raised her chin. ‘You must stop him. You must stop him now.’

Fritz stops. He cannot continue. He is breathing hard. Frau Dachs’s words are as painful today as they were then. The girl is watching him, that frown furrowing her forehead. He can’t even make an excuse.

‘But you didn’t stop him,’ she says. ‘You didn’t arrest him.’

‘No,’ he says. ‘I did not.’

She stands. ‘You could have saved millions of lives. You!’ She doesn’t seem to remember the tape player running. ‘Don’t you think of that?’

‘Every day,’ he says. His calm tone stops her. She sits, anguish on her face.

‘Did you even try?’ she asks.

He nods, gropes for the cigarette box, nearly knocking it off the table. He catches it with the other hand, and replaces it. She crouches, takes a cigarette out for him, and hold it out to him. His hands are shaking; he doesn’t want to take it. She turns it so that the filter faces him. He puts it in his mouth. She takes his lighter and lights the tip for him. They are so close he can smell the flowery shampoo she uses on her hair.

‘Are you all right?’ she asks, with more compassion than he deserves.

‘Yes,’ he says, holding the cigarette tightly between his lips. ‘Really.’

The cigarette adds to his light-headedness. She pats his knee, her hand warm, then returns to her chair, once again the prim and proper scholar.

Waiting. Waiting to hear his failure.

‘I told you,’ he says. ‘I told you that sometimes solving the case is not enough. I told you that.’

‘You did,’ she says.

‘We tried.’ His voice is soft. ‘Henrich came back with the Chief in two separate cars. Henrich took Frau Dachs to a safe place – I never knew where – and the Chief and I talked. He had to find a way around Franz Gürtner. Geli was a suicide. You can’t charge a man with murder on a case that’s already solved.’

‘He failed.’

‘Of course. Hitler owned Gürtner. He owned so many.’ Fritz set the cigarette on the ashtray. ‘But the Chief did take most of the evidence, although he left the paintings with me.’

‘Who sent those?’

‘We didn’t learn until much later. Gregor Strasser, working independently of his brother. They both apparently wanted to take advantage of the situation. Gregor figured that if the police had the paintings, we would investigate Hitler even more.’

‘It worked. You investigated.’ She is watching his hand as he taps his fingers on the chair. It is as if she is intent on his every movement, as if she is afraid something will happen to him unless she stares.

‘Yes,’ he says, hating the scrutiny. The room is too hot. A trickle of sweat runs down the back of his neck. His shirt reeks of cigarette smoke and his own body odour. He should have cleaned up before she arrived.

‘So it ended where it began, with the Minister of Justice?’ She asks the question with such an intensity, he knows she has asked it before. He wonders how long he was quiet. He cannot remember what he was thinking about.

He shakes his head. ‘The Chief tried everything he could think of. In a matter of days, he went to the Burgermeister, and the District Committee. None of them wanted to touch the case. Finally, he went to the Minister of the Interior.’

She frowns again. ‘The Criminal Police Law of 1922? I thought Bavaria didn’t follow it.’

‘We followed it, up to a point. We shared information just as we were supposed to, but the state branches remained separate. No state listened to the head of another state. The Minister of the Interior for all of Germany did not want to overturn a ruling by the Bavarian Minister of Justice.’

‘Was he corrupt too?’ she asks.

Fritz shakes his head. ‘Just very smart.’

‘So what did the Chief do?’

‘It is not what he did. It is what I did.’

H
is bruises were fading, but driving had been difficult with his injured ribs and elbow. Fortunately, Fritz knew the roads to Berlin. They brought with them memories – memories he hoped would stay buried.

He did not know why he pursued this. The case was closed. Everyone wanted the case to remain closed, except the Chief. He returned the evidence to Fritz and asked him – begged him – to use his fame and his military credentials to get a meeting with Field Marshall Paul von Hindenburg.

‘I thought Hindenburg collaborated with Hitler.’

Fritz shakes his head. ‘It is not as simple as that. Hindenburg was afraid of the Communists. He saw Hitler’s people as a buffer, a way to keep the Communists from gaining control of the government. It was logical, given our proximity to Russia, given the fear raised by their revolution. He did not like Hitler, but Hitler was proving himself. And Hindenburg was facing re-election, without a majority. He needed help.’

‘You sound sympathetic.’

Fritz sighs. ‘Because I understand does not mean I sympathise. I simply know how he thought.’

It had been nearly a decade since Fritz had come to Berlin, and then he had been in search of Gisela. This time he stayed away from the cabarets and the hookers, not wanting to see the time-ravaged faces of people he once knew.

Geli had been dead almost a month. The NSDAP stopped harassing Fritz once they thought he was going to leave Hitler alone. Frau Dachs was in her hiding place, and Fritz had his papers in safe storage. The Chief’s work had come to nothing. For the first, and only, time in his career, Fritz used his fame to open doors.

And not a moment too soon.

Hitler was due in Berlin the following day. General Kurt von Schleicher, one of Hindenburg’s closest advisors, had set up a meeting between Hitler and the President.

Fritz would see Hindenburg first.

Photographers greeted Fritz outside Hindenburg’s office. As the bulbs snapped, Fritz suddenly understood why the meeting had been granted. Hindenburg needed the support of a hero, even a press-anointed hero like Fritz. The photographers called Fritz’s name, their flashbulbs blinding him and the receptionist so badly that at first he did not see Hindenburg approach.

Hindenburg looked older in person, his face filled with lines and swollen with too much good food and drink. He was shorter than Fritz and stockier, a man for whom middle age was a distant memory. He still moved with power,
though, as if years of discipline could not disappear despite the body’s deterioration.

Then Hindenburg grabbed Fritz’s hand and shook it. He said a few words drowned in the din, and was about to wave good-bye when Fritz grabbed his hand tightly.

Hindenburg’s jaw jutted out, given some strength to his elderly beefy face.

‘Please, sir,’ Fritz said loudly enough for the reporters to hear. ‘I would like a moment of your time – in private.’

Hindenburg could not say no to a man whom he had just pretended to be close friends with. He opened the double mahogany doors to his office and let Fritz inside. The doors closed on the photographers, still snapping pictures.

The office was not the one that Hindenburg used for state photographs or official business. It looked like one in which he actually got work done. Photographs from the war years hung on his walls, along with a framed portrait of the Kaiser on his desk. Even though he was president of Germany, Hindenburg was a monarchist at heart.

Hindenburg did not go behind his desk. He stood near the door, forcing Fritz to do the same.

‘Forgive me, sir, for taking your time,’ Fritz said, ‘but I believe this to be very important. I understand you’re meeting with Adolf Hitler tomorrow.’

Hindenburg shrugged. ‘It is at the request of one of my friends.’

‘Sir, I have personal knowledge that Hitler plans to run for election in January, either for your job as President or, more likely, as Chancellor. I mean to stop that.’

Hindenburg smiled and clapped Fritz on the shoulder. ‘This is the new Germany. Anyone can run, even a Bohemian corporal.’

‘Sir, this Bohemian corporal murdered his own niece.’

Hindenburg’s grip on Fritz’s shoulder loosened. ‘Then you should arrest him.’

‘I cannot, sir. The Bavarian Minister of Justice ruled the death a suicide, and no one is willing to overrule him.’

‘Then you have wasted your time. I do not get involved in police matters.’ Hindenburg took his hand off Fritz’s shoulder, and reached for the door.

Fritz pulled the folder he had been carrying out from under his cast. ‘The NSDAP bought off the Minister of Justice before the girl’s body was cold. When I got too close, they tried to beat me to death. We have a witness who saw Hitler kill the girl, and we have this.’

He opened the folder to show the photographs of Geli’s corpse. To his surprise, Hindenburg blushed and looked away.

‘Hitler had the body spirited out of Munich the night she died. I went to Vienna and took these. The NSDAP claim she committed suicide. A suicide does not look this.’

‘I cannot have the man arrested,’ Hindenburg said.

‘Yes, you can,’ Fritz said. ‘And you should, before he sees you. Before he announces that he will run for office. The only time you have is now. Otherwise the NSDAP will discredit your charges as those of a political rival. Right now you can act as President. The entire country believes your word.’

Hindenburg pursed his lips. ‘You are considered a great man. I saw your military record. I know of the cases you solved.’

Fritz remained still.

‘You know what you are asking me?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘No, you do not.’ Hindenburg’s voice rang in the small room. ‘You are asking me risk this entire country for your suspicions. The Minister of Justice has ruled. It does not concern me.’

‘But it does, sir. You need to know what this man is capable of.’

‘You were a soldier, Detective. Are you not capable of the same thing?’

Fritz froze. He felt as if Hindenburg had seen inside his soul.

Are you not capable of the same thing?

The same thing.

And worse.

‘Y
 ou are nothing like Hitler,’ the girl says. ‘Nothing.’

Fritz does not look at her.