Spandau Phoenix (31 page)

She did not feel comfortable coming into the station, but her choices were limited: she could talk either to Hans's superiors or to the men in the black BMWS. Twice during her journey here she had spotted the big sedans combing the streets for her, but she'd managed to evade them. At an allnight U-Bahn cafe she had changed some of Eva's paper Deutschemarks for coins, which she used to phone the Wolfsburg cabin.

She had tried every ten minutes for an hour, but her grandfather never answered. The proprietor had started to frown after her third cup of coffee, and Ilse decided to get out before he called someone to remove her.

"What can I do for you, Friiulein?"

The sergeant's booming voice startled Ilse, but she stepped up to his high desk and spoke in her clearest voice.

"I'm looking for my husband, Sergeant Hans Apfel. Earlier tonight someone told me that he had come here and gone, but I think he may have returned. Could you check for me, please?"

The sergeant's demeanor changed instantly. He jumped from his chair and escorted Ilse to an unoccupied desk.

"Frau Apfel, I'm terribly sorry I kept you waiting! Please sit down. I know your husband personally, Let me call upstairs.

I'm sure someone will know where he is."

For the first time since seeing the Spandau papers@ver six hours ago-Ilse began to relax. She watched the desk sergeant at the telephone, drumming his fingers as he waited to speak to someone. He smiled back. Hans has probably straightened everything out already, she told herself.

"But he can't be gone," the sergeant insisted quietly.

"He-" The sergeant fell silent as Wilhelm Funk emerged from a first floor office. He dropped the phone so loudly that Funk looked his way.

"What is it, Ross?" Funk barked. "I'm in a hurry."

The desk sergeant cut his eyes toward Ilse, then crossed the room and interposed Funk's corpulent body between Ilse and himself.

"Prefect," he whispered, "the woman sitting behind you is Sergeant Apfel's wife. She's come here to find him."

Funk's mouth fell open. It took all his willpower not to whirl and snatch the woman up by her hair. "Go back to your desk," he whispered.

The sergeant obeyed without a word.

Funk glanced at his watch, gauging Luhr's probable time of return.

Then he summoned his warmest smile, turned, and extended his plump hand.

"Frau Apfel? I am Wilhelm Funk, prefect of police. I believe your husband was on the Spandau Prison security detail?"

Thrown off-balance by Funk's lofty rank and his apparent knowledge of her plight, Ilse stood and put her small hand into his pink paw.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, Hans was at Spandau. Have you seen him tonight?"

Funk's smile broadened. "I have indeed. I questioned him earlier this evening. In fact, I've been trying to locate him ever since.

Just after Hans left the station, I remembered something I neglected to ask him. Simply a formality, of course, but I try to keep everything proper. You understand.

Every thing in its place, every paper signed and all that."

"You're looking for Hans now?"

"Yes, my dear. When Sergeant Ross told me who you were, I hoped you might be able to help us find him. But I see that you're as perplexed as we are. Please, let me escort you upstairs. I have a temporary office there. I'll have coffee sent up and perhaps together we can deduce where your husband has gone."

This is too much to ask! Funk thought gleefully as he whisked Ilse up the stairs. The instrument of my deliverance walks straight through my front door! With a lecherous look at Ilse's backside, he closed his office door and seated her before his desk. "Frau Apfel, I wanted to get you in private before I spoke frankly about this. May I speak frankly to you?"

In spite of her fatigue, Ilse's adrenaline began to course again.

Facing the supreme police officer of West Berlin was a little unnerving.

"About Hans?" she asked warily.

Funk paused, appraising the woman before him. What did she know?

And more importantly, what did she suspect? Remembering his unpleasant call to Pretoria, Funk decided to gamble. "My dear, I'm afraid our Hans may be in some trouble."

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly. "What kind of trouble?"

"When we questioned the officers from the Spandau patrol this evening, we conducted the proceedings with the aid of a polygraph. You know, a lie detector?"

"I know what they are. You have to pass a polygraph test to work at my company."

"Ah. You're a career woman, then?"

"Yes-please, just tell me what's going on. Why did you use a polygraph?"

Funk smiled condescendingly. "This is a complex matter, my dear.

There are ... other parties involved." Funk lowered his voice.

"The Russians, for instance. They were present at this polygraph session.

I'm afraid all of our men passed this examination except your husband and a young officer named Erhard Weiss."

"I know Erhard."

Funk thrust out his lower lip. "I see." He glanced at his watch; Luhr might return any minute. "Naturally," he said in a confiding tone, "I instructed our @lygraph operator to make no sign if any of our men failed. We even took the precaution of preparing clean reports from several men before the interrogation began. Glasnost may be the flavor of the month, but we can't have a pack of Russians barging in here and demanding access to German officers. I'm sure you understand."

Ilse nodded uncertainly.

Funk took a deep breath. Now for the gamble. "As soon as we'd cleared the Russians out, I questioned Weiss ai your husband alone. Weiss had nothing to tell. I believe simple nervousness caused him to fail the test. But Hans"Funk paused-"Hans told me that he had discovered something at Spandau, just as the Russians claimed. He said that he had removed it to a safe place."

Ilse buried her face in her hands. The insane events of this night had become too much to bear. If she had been less tired, perhaps, she might have been more suspicious. But the prefect seemed to know everything already, and he wanted to help her find Hans.

Raising her head, she looked Funk in the eye and posed a single test question.

"What did Hans tell you he found?" she asked, her redrimmed eyes lock@d on his bluff face.

Funk didn't hesitate. He assumed the Soviet forensic people knew their business. "Why, papers, my dear," he said nonchalantly. "When Hans left the station, he assured me he was going to retrieve them, but as you can see"-Funk flicked his palms toward the ceiling-"he has yet to return."

Ilse stifled a sob. It was no use, she had to trust someone.

c e. "A . e Try as she might to control herself, the tears am re the Russians looking for Hans too?" she asked. "For the papers?"

Gott im Himmel! Funk felt his heart thud in triumph. It was papers!

"I'm not sure," he replied, trying to hold his voice steady.

"It's possible. Why do you ask?"

"Because they came to my apartment!" she blurted. "They were looking for Hans, I know it! I almost didn't get away!"

My God, I've done it! Funk thought wildly. I have her!

Rising to his feet, he hurried around the desk and sat beside Ilse. Like a concerned father he clasped both her hands in his and patted them reassuringly.

"Now, now, child," he consoled her. "We'll find Hans, don't worry. We have thousands of men at our disposal. Just calm down and tell me everything. Everything from the very beginning."

Ilse did.

12.01 A.M. British Sector.' West Berlin

By the time Jiirgen Luhr arrived at the murder scene, the forensic team had repacked its equipment and stacked it beside the front door.

A uniformed patrolman guarded the door against any prowling pressmen who might arrive. Chainsmoking technicians rubbed the sleep from their eyes and cursed the man who had the nerve to be killed in the middle of the night. The man of the hour lay wrapped in the polyurethane bag that would be his sole vestment until someone came forward to claim him. For it was murder-anyone could see that. The attempt to disguise the shooting as a suicide had been clumsy at best, everyone agreed. Or almost everyone. Detective Schneider hadn't said anything yet.

Naturally.

Luhr approached a thin man who sat on a sofa, fiddling with a camera.

"Who's in charge here?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"Detective Schneider," said the man without looking up from his camera.

"He's in the back."

"I'm Lieutenant Luhr. The prefect sent me to inquire into this matter."

Funk's title brought the photographer to his feet. "It's about time you got here," he whispered.

"Who is the dead man?" Luhr asked.

"His passport says Klaus Seeckt."

"Occupation?"

"He worked in some kind of liaison capacity for the West Berlin government-something to do with trade. From the looks of this place, he didn't do much but cash his checks and stay around the house.

There's a three-quarter-inch video camera in the back bedroom. I'll bet this guy made some interesting movies back there-"

"Who discovered the body?" Luhr broke in, annoyed by the photographer's prurient speculation.

"A patrolman. He's gone already, though. An old couple next door heard the shooting and called it in. They didn't see anything."

"They never do, do they?" said Liihr, trying to foster some comradely spirit. "Have you found anything significant?"

Flattered to be asked his opinion, the photographer drew himself to his full height. "Well, it's pretty clear this was no suicide. At least to me. We dug eight slugs out of the front wall. They came from some kind of automatic weapon.

Fresh prints everywhere, too. At least three people besides the victim were here tonight. We can't know exactly what happened, of course, but I don't see this fellow deciding to commit suicide just because someone broke into his house.

I think he surprised a gang of thieves-pros-and they killed him with his own gun. Then they panicked, put the gun in his hand, and ran."

"Any sign of forced entry?"

"No. Like I said, pros."

Luhr cracked a knuckle joint. "Yes, that's what you said.

What type of bullets were fired from the automatic weapon?"

"7.65 millimeter, brand unknown. Didn't find any shell casings."

Luhr smiled skeptically. "Let's summarize your theory, shall we?

Your 'burglars' break in without leaving a trace.

When the owner surprises them, they panic and kill himleaving fingerprints everywhere-yet in their panic they stop to hunt down eight shell casings ejected from an automatic weapon fired in the heat of the moment. Rather contradictory actions, wouldn't you say?"

The photographer frowned and rubbed his chin. "I don't know.

They make those attachments now that fit right onto your weapon.

They catch every shell you can pump out."

"A bit exotic for housebreakers, don't you think?" Luhr glanced around the room. "Anything else?"

"Well, there was, in fact. Detective Schneider found a card outside. In the snow near the walkway. It didn't have anything on it but a number.

A telephone number."

Luhr's eyes narrowed. "Where is this card now?"

"I don't know. If it's still here, Schneider would have it.

He's in the back."

As Luhr stepped down onto the small stone terrasse, a bearish man wearing a hat and a rumpled raincoat waded into the pool of yellow light thrown off by a dim spotlight above the glass doors. The man stopped when he saw Luhr, taking in the silver lieutenant's bars, st@ched-flat uniform, and gleaming boots.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" he asked warily.

"Detective Schneider, I presume?"

The big man nodded.

'I am here as the unofficial representative of the prefect.

He has expressed an interest in this case As the murdered man apparently has some tie to the East German government, the prefect fears that there might be ... repercussions.

You understand?"

Detective Schneider waited for the lieutenant to ask what he had come outside to ask. He didn't like the way Luhr's arrogant little mouth softened his classic Nordic face. Or the eyes, he thought.

Rapist's eyes.

"The photographer tells me that you discovered a card on the premises. A card with only a telephone number. Where is this card now?"

"I didn't actually find it," Schneider said, slipping his right hand into his trouser pocket. "Patrolman Ebert did."

Schneider fingered the white card and watched Luhr's face.

"I'm not sure where it is now. I had it, but I think Officer Beck asked me for it. He's still here, I believe."

"What have you got in your pocket?" Luhr asked sharply.

Schneider slowly withdrew his hand. He held the brass gorget plate and chain that identified him as a Kripo detective.