Pilgrim Soul (16 page)

Scrymgeour was sitting at a desk on the far side, already hard at it behind his defensive walls of papers. He smiled and stood up to greet us.

‘Let’s start with a look at the wall of infamy.’

He guided us over to one wall to which papers and pictures were pinned in a higgledy-piggledy mass. Red tape criss-crossed the wall, linking various photos and type-covered cards and sheets to each other. The outline of the hierarchy was familiar from my post-war work at Bergen and Lüneburg. At the top was a photo of the commandant, the absconded Fritz Suhren. No wonder he was smiling.

To his left and with only a dotted line to him, was the Political Department, home for the Gestapo and the Kripo – the Criminal Police. Their solid reporting line ran up to Himmler himself.

Reporting directly to Suhren was his deputy, Schwarzhuber, and under him the entire team of SS supervisors and guards.

‘How many SS, Iain?’ There was a worrying lack of names.

‘We think about a hundred and fifty to two hundred. Not counting the Kapos. Could be another few hundred of them. But unnamed.’

Ah, the lovely Kapos. Sporting their green triangles of power. Drawn from the ranks of temporary preventive custody prisoners –
befristeten Vorbeugungshäftlinge
. Criminals and thugs every one, sharing the camps with blameless Jews, homosexuals and gypsies. The Kapos were perfect material for deployment as camp enforcers. Saved on trained SS manpower. Clever Nazis.

I turned to other parts of the chart. There was the usual Administration group, which maintained the huts and the ovens, and ran the warehouses where they stored the shoes, glasses and belongings of the people who had no further need of worldly possessions. Then came the Employment Department that organised work gangs and hired out the slave labour to local businesses like Siemens. They worked in conjunction with the Central Construction Board who built the extermination facilities.

The final grouping was medical staff: photos of doctors and pretty nurses in splendid uniforms or white coats, ministering to sick wardens and experimenting on healthy prisoners.

It was a simple but efficient structure and testimony to the German penchant for hierarchy and control. In my mind I was already working out the line of questioning. I’d borrow the photos and use the personal files to talk them through the hierarchy and elicit ideas about where their pals might have scarpered to.

‘A lot of gaps, Iain.’

He sighed. ‘Bloody Suhren. He burned a stack of the records. Then the Red Army trashed the place looking for loot. We’ve got requests in with the Berlin team to find central records of each camp. But nothing so far. We’re a bit stymied.’

‘Are you in touch with other units as well as Berlin?’

‘Oh yes. We’ve got the word out. We get calls every day: Brits and Yanks – French even – saying they’ve got a suspect and asking for a description.’ He screwed up his face. ‘Which is the missing bit unfortunately.’

I tried to be encouraging even as my spirits sank. ‘You’ve got better data on the lower orders,’ I noted, pointing at the middle of the chart, which had a number of photos and names.

He grabbed it like a lifebelt. ‘That’s right. Suhren started at the top with his incineration. So we can corroborate that your man Draganski was one of the SS guards.’ He patted, with satisfaction, a small grey card at the bottom of the chart with the name, rank and number of the man who’d been assassinated by pitchfork in Glasgow. It was a small but significant step.

Sam touched the blank grey cards at the top of the chart.

‘How do you even know there was a person missing?’

‘We don’t. We’ve extrapolated positions based on other camps’ chain of command. Inspired guesswork tells us there should be someone there, but we’re not sure. That’s where Brodie’s detective skills come in.’ He grinned at me.

‘I may need an Ouija board. So, to sum up, you think there’s maybe six senior staff missing. Two medics and four SS?’

‘Give or take a couple either way.’

‘But no names.’

‘No. Not a trace. We haven’t had time or manpower to interrogate the ones we’ve caught.’

‘And maybe thirty or so lower-order staff missing?’

‘Looks like it.’ He gazed at the blanks gloomily.

‘What’s this other group?’ I pointed at a single large sheet standing by itself.

‘You might say that’s the alumni. Ravensbrück was a training camp. As far as we can tell over four thousand
Aufseherinnen
– women guards – passed through these portals and on to hone their skills in other camps.’

‘Four thousand! How many have been caught, Iain?’

He looked rueful. ‘We don’t know.’

‘Good God! Show me to your Augean stables. I stand a better chance of cleaning them than getting names of SS rats in Glasgow!’

He flushed. ‘That’s not quite the end of it, Brodie. Might as well have the full horror show. Ravensbrück was the administrative centre for forty or so sub-camps. Places like Grüneberg, Neubrandenburg, Barth, Leipzig-Schönefeld, Magdeburg, Altenburg and Neustadt-Glewe . . .’

‘Enough! I get the picture. This is a waste of time. A wasted trip!’

I could hear myself getting more Ayrshire as my anger rose. I felt duped, stupid. I should have known things were a total mess, that it would be impossible to cut through the chaos so soon after the entire continent had been ravaged from east to west and back again. I might as well pack up and head home. I could claim I was deceived, and avoid stirring up the dirt pond that was festering in my head. Scrymgeour seemed to read my thoughts.

‘Look, Brodie, you can still get something out of this,’ he pleaded. ‘
We
certainly will via your court testimony. You should at least be able to confirm the Scottish rat-line theory.’

‘But there’s no obvious way of linking the missing to Glasgow! Nor do we have a clue who’s flown and who’s still here.’

Sam touched my arm. Her face was stretched with anxiety. ‘You can fill in these top gaps, Brodie. You know you can. They’ve captured enough of the Ravensbrück senior staff for you to get them to explain their reporting lines and who they worked with.’

She was right. I could do
something
. Deep inside, I needed to admit that I was looking for a way out. I blew out a big breath and rubbed my face. It was sweltering in here.

‘Well, I’m here now. It would be a shame not to renew old acquaintances.’

Iain and Sam’s faces relaxed.

I went on: ‘Tell me. Do the ones in custody know Suhren scarpered?’

Iain shook his head. ‘We’ve said nothing. But I’d be amazed if they hadn’t heard.’

‘Can I use his escape as part of my interrogation? Can I mention it?’

‘Why not? You’re going to say he used a rat line?’

‘It might help. Let me make some notes of your rogues’ gallery.’

I took out my reporter’s notebook, which suddenly seemed so out of place here. I jotted down what sparse details we had on the missing persons. I wished I’d had this shorthand skill back in ’45 during my earlier interrogations. When I had all I needed, I rejoined Sam and Iain at his desk.

‘One other thing, Iain. You didn’t by any chance pick up any gold from any of your defendants? Ingots?’

‘I said the Red Army got there first. Locusts. The safe was emptied. But we found a cache in the medical wing. About a hundred pieces.’

‘Can I see a couple?’

He came back with a handful of glitter. I turned them over on his desk top. Some had the full Third Reich and swastika markings. Others, like the ones Ellen Jacobs had shown me, were smooth and blank.

‘That ties in.’ I handed them back.

‘Here, keep one. Wave it at the prisoners if you like. Jog their memories.’

I took one and slipped it into my pocket. ‘I’ll make a start on the interrogations as soon as possible. And can you set up a meeting with Vera Atkins and her agent in the camp, Odette Sansom? That could be invaluable.’

‘I’ll fix it.’ He scribbled a note for himself. ‘Regarding the interrogations, where do you want to start?’

‘I’ll start at the top and work down. In the absence of the commandant, I’ll begin with his deputy.’

‘You’ve got till one o’clock each day. We have to get them into the courtroom prompt for two.’

Ian made a phone call and within five minutes Lieutenant Collins was in front of me, saluting.

‘Collins, both our arms are going to get tired. Can we stop all the formalities while we’re in the office?’

‘Certainly, sir.’

‘Including the
sir
bit. What’s your first name?’

‘Wilfred. Everyone calls me Will.’

‘How’s your German?’

Collins visibly relaxed. ‘Cambridge. A first in modern languages.’

Of course. ‘What a waste. Where’s the prison?’

‘A short ride.’

TWENTY-FIVE

Even in full uniform and with all the right credentials Collins and I had to jump through hoops to get into the prison. Checkpoint after checkpoint. Eventually we were striding down a long concrete corridor lined either side by metal cell doors. A British soldier stood guard outside every cell, looking in. The authorities hated the idea of someone cheating a good hanging. There had been enough suicides among the accused.

We stopped outside one door. I nodded to the guard. He took out his key ring and turned one lock after another until he was able to swing open the heavy grill. Gazing straight at me from his seat on his bed was the man I’d helped to put in this situation over a year ago. SS-Oberststurmführer Johann Schwarzhuber, Deputy Commandant of Ravensbrück concentration camp.

He didn’t know me at first but his face was unforgettable: eyes the colour of ice, features so elongated he could have modelled for Modigliani. He’d always been slim-built but now he was scrawny. He wore dark civilian clothes: a creased jacket, shirt and trousers. His skin was matt grey as though dust had stuck to it.

The soldier guarding him shouted, ‘Stand for the senior officer! Attention!’

I outranked Schwarzhuber by three levels. He glanced at my shoulder insignia. I watched the ingrained habits of military discipline kick in even after a year in custody. He struggled to his feet and made a clumsy attempt at standing to attention. As he did so I tweaked his memory, in German.

‘Well then, Schwarzhuber, justice catching up with you at last?’

A spasm crossed his face. He recognised me and my voice but not in this uniform or rank. Then it settled. His body relaxed.

‘Major Brodie. Or rather,
Lieutenant Colonel
Brodie. The war has been good for some.’

‘Not for
anyone
, Schwarzhuber. And certainly not you. Let’s go.’

I nodded to the soldier, who stepped forward and clicked chains on hands and feet. Then with Lieutenant Collins taking his other side we marched him out to the end of the corridor and into a small cell with a table and four chairs. I had the prisoner sit on one side of the table. I took the other. Collins sat behind me and the guard stood behind the prisoner.

‘Let me read your file.’

I made a point of sitting silently while I flicked through page after page, including my own notes from so long ago. It came flooding back. Learned his trade at Dachau and Auschwitz before taking charge of the gas chambers at Ravensbrück in early 1945. I wondered if I could keep my hands off him this time.

‘You don’t seem to be quite so relaxed, Lieutenant Schwarzhuber? Not like our first meeting. Why is that?’

‘What do you want?’ There was no ‘sir’ attached. He’d dropped any pretence of acknowledging my rank.

‘Not sleeping? Is it the thought of being hanged? I imagine it does tend to keep you awake at night.’

‘Are you just here to gloat?’

‘A little gloating is allowed. A little
Schadenfreude
, don’t you think? Not just that. I’m here to give testimony against you.’

‘Ha! You think they need testimony? You think they need evidence? You are confusing this charade with a court of law.’

‘Justice will be served, I’m sure. No matter how we get there. I have some questions. Let’s start with the easy stuff. Your chain of command. You were the
Lagerführer
– head of supervision of the camp at Ravensbrück? Who did you report to?’

‘You know this.’

‘Please remind me.’

‘SS-Sturmbannführer Fritz Suhren.’

‘Did you know your boss has escaped?’

He shrugged. ‘He’s not here.’

‘Who helped him?’

‘Good Germans.’

‘
Good
Germans would shoot him on sight for fouling their name. Sadly there’s too few of that sort left.’

‘Really? Do you refuse to obey orders,
Colonel
? We soldiers have no right to question our superiors, or else where are we? A rabble.’

‘That’s a worn-out defence. Look where it’s got you. Got the whole German nation! Don’t you feel any guilt for what you did personally? You were in charge of the gas chambers!’

‘It was my job.’

I stared at him. He didn’t blink. His thin mouth was set.

‘It says here you were a drinker?’ I tapped the file. ‘Drowning your conscience?’

‘We were cleansing the fatherland! Our race had been weakened.’

‘Is that why you lost?’

‘You’ve Stalin to thank, not your precious Montgomery or Churchill! Even the Wehrmacht hadn’t enough bullets to kill every Russian yokel at Stalingrad. If not for Stalin’s peasant pig-headedness, Germany would have won!’

‘Leaving Europe a charnel house!’

‘Prospering!’

‘Unless of course you were a Jew. Or a homosexual. Or a little slow. Were you a little slow, Schwarzhuber? Slow to realise you were beaten?’

He stiffened. His eyes were wild. I pressed home.

‘We know that plans were laid to allow criminals like you to get out of the country. Why didn’t you? Why are you taking the rap?’

‘There were no plans.’

‘Ah, it seems you weren’t important enough. You were only a lieutenant.’

‘An
SS
lieutenant.’

‘And you think that’s better? Good God. So why were there no plans to help a
mighty
SS lieutenant escape?’