March Violets (14 page)

He pointed to the pad on which the keys were lying. ‘Help yourself,' he said, and went into Jeschonnek's office.

‘Thanks, I will.' The key-ring was labelled ‘Office'. I took a cigarette case out of my pocket and opened it. In the smooth surface of the modelling clay I made three impressions — two sides and a vertical — of both keys. I suppose that you could say I did it on impulse. I'd hardly had time to digest everything that Jeschonnek had said; or rather, what he hadn't said. But then I always carry that piece of clay, and it seems a shame not to use it when the opportunity presents itself. You would be surprised how often a key that I've had made with that mould comes in useful.

Outside, I found a public telephone and called the Adlon. I still remembered lots of good times at the Adlon, and lots of friends, too.

‘Hello, Hermine,' I said, ‘it's Bernie.' Hermine was one of the girls on the Adlon's switchboard.

‘You stranger,' she said. ‘We haven't seen you in ages.'

‘I've been a bit busy,' I said.

‘So's the Führer, but he still manages to get around and wave to us.'

‘Maybe I should buy myself an open-top Mercedes and a couple of outriders.' I lit a cigarette. ‘I need a small favour, Hermine.'

‘Ask.'

‘If a man telephones and asks you or Benita if there is an Indian princess staying at the hotel, would you please say that there is? If he wants to speak to her, say she's not taking any calls.'

‘That's all?'

‘Yes.'

‘Does this princess have a name?'

‘You know the names of any Indian girls?'

‘Well,' she said, ‘I saw a film the other week which had this Indian girl in it. Her name was Mushmi.'

‘Let it be Princess Mushmi then. And thanks, Hermine. I'll be speaking to you soon.'

I went into the Pschorr Haus restaurant and ate a plate of bacon and broad beans, and drank a couple of beers. Either Jeschonnek knew nothing about diamonds, or he had something to hide. I'd told him that the necklace was Indian, when he ought to have recognized it as being by Cartier. Not only that, but he had failed to contradict me when I described the stones incorrectly as baguettes. Baguettes are square or oblong, with a straight edge; but Six's necklace consisted of brilliants, which are round. And then there was the caratage; I'd said that each stone was a carat in weight, when they were obviously several times larger.

It wasn't much to go on; and mistakes are made: it's impossible always to pick up a stick by the right end; but all the same, I had this feeling in my socks that I was going to have to visit Jeschonnek again.

After leaving Pschorr Haus, I went into the Haus Vaterland, which as well as housing the cinema where I was to meet Bruno Stahlecker, is also home to an almost infinite number of bars and cafés. The place is popular with the tourists, but it's too old-fashioned to suit my taste: the great ugly halls, the silver paint, the bars with their miniature rainstorms and moving trains; it all belongs to a quaint old European world of mechanical toys and music-hall, leotarded strong-men and trained canaries. The other thing that makes it unusual is that it's the only bar in Germany that charges for admission. Stahlecker was less than happy about it.

‘I had to pay twice,' he grumbled. ‘Once at the front door, and again to come in here.'

‘You should have flashed your Sipo pass,' I said. ‘You'd have got in for nothing. That's the whole point of having it, isn't it?' Stahlecker looked blankly at the screen.

‘Very funny,' he said. ‘What is this shit, anyway?'

‘Still the newsreel,' I told him. ‘So what did you find out?'

‘There's the small matter of last night to be dealt with yet.'

‘My word of honour, Bruno, I never saw the kid before.' Stahlecker sighed wearily. ‘Apparently this Kolb was a small-time actor. One or two bit-parts in films, in the chorus-line in a couple of shows. Not exactly Richard Tauber. Now why would a fellow like that want to kill you? Unless maybe you've turned critic and gave him a few bad notices.'

‘I've got no more understanding of theatre than a dog has of laying a fire.'

‘But you do know why he tried to kill you, right?'

‘There's this lady,' I said. ‘Her husband hired me to do a job for him. She thought that I'd been hired to look through her keyhole. So last night she has me round to her place, asks me to lay off and accuses me of lying when I tell her that I'm not concerned who she's sleeping with. Then she throws me out. Next thing I know there's this pear-head standing in my doorway with a lighter poked in my gut, accusing me of raping the lady. We dance around the room a while, and in the process the gun goes off. My guess is that the kid was in a swarm about her, and that she knew it.'

‘And so she put him up to it, right?'

‘That's the way I see it. But try and make it stick and see how far you'd get.'

‘I don't suppose you're going to tell me the name of this lady, or her husband, are you?' I shook my head. ‘No, I thought not.'

The film was starting: called
The Higher Order,
it was one of those patriotic little entertainments that the boys in the Ministry of Propaganda had dreamed up on a bad day. Stahlecker groaned.

‘Come on,' he said. ‘Let's go and get a drink. I don't think I can stand watching this shit.'

We went to the Wild West Bar on the first floor, where a band of cowboys were playing
Home on the Range.
Painted prairies covered the walls, complete with buffalo and Indians. Leaning up against the bar, we ordered a couple of beers.

‘I don't suppose any of this would have something to do with the Pfarr case, would it, Bernie?'

‘I've been retained to investigate the fire,' I explained. ‘By the insurance company.'

‘All right,' he said. ‘I'll tell you this just the once, and then you can tell me to go to hell. Drop it. It's a hot one, if you'll pardon the expression.'

‘Bruno,' I said, ‘go to hell. I'm on a percentage.'

‘Just don't say I didn't warn you when they throw you into a KZ.'

‘I promise. Now unpack it.'

‘Bernie, you've got more promises than a debtor has for the bailiff.' He sighed and shook his head. ‘Well, here's what there is.'

‘This Paul Pfarr fellow was a high-flyer. Passed his juridicial in 1930, saw preparatory service in the Stuttgart and Berlin Provincial Courts. In 1933, this particular March Violet joins the SA, and by 1934 he is an assessor judge in the Berlin Police Court, trying cases of police corruption, of all things. The same year he is recruited into the S S and in 1935 he also joins the Gestapo, supervising associations, economic unions and of course the DAF, the Reich Labour Service. Later that year he is transferred yet again, this time to the Ministry of the Interior, reporting directly to Himmler, with his own department investigating corruption amongst servants of the Reich.'

‘I'm surprised that they notice.'

‘Apparently Himmler takes a very dim view of it. Anyway, Paul Pfarr was charged with paying particular attention to the DAF, where corruption is endemic.'

‘So he was Himmler's boy, eh?'

‘That's right. And his ex-boss takes an even dimmer view of people working for him getting canned than he does of corruption. So a couple of days ago the Reichskriminaldirektor appoints a special squad to investigate. It's an impressive team: Gohrmann, Schild, Jost, Dietz. You get mixed up in this, Bernie, and you won't last longer than a synagogue window.'

‘They got any leads?'

‘The only thing I heard was that they were looking for a girl. It seems as though Pfarr might have had a mistress. No name, I'm afraid. Not only that, but she's disappeared.'

‘You want to know something?' I said. ‘Disappearing is all the rage. Everyone's doing it.'

‘So I heard. I hope you aren't the fashionable sort, then.'

‘Me? I must be one of the only people in this city not to own a uniform. I'd say that makes me very unfashionable.'

 

Back at Alexanderplatz I visited a locksmith and gave him the mould to make a copy of Jeschonnek's office keys. I'd used him many times before, and he never asked any questions. Then I collected my laundry and went up to the office.

I wasn't half-way through the door before a Sipo pass had flashed in front of my face. In the same instant I caught sight of the Walther inside the man's unbuttoned grey-flannel jacket.

‘You must be the sniffer,' he said. ‘We've been waiting to speak to you.' He had mustard-coloured hair, coiffed by a competition sheepshearer, and a nose like a champagne cork. His moustache was wider than the brim on a Mexican's hat. The other one was the racial archetype with the sort of exaggerated chin and cheekbones he'd copied off a Prussian election poster. They both had cool, patient eyes, like mussels in brine, and sneers like someone had farted, or told a particularly tasteless joke.

‘If I'd known, I'd have gone to see a couple of movies.' The one with the pass and the haircut stared blankly at me.

‘This here is Kriminalinspektor Dietz,' he said.

The one called Dietz, who I guessed to be the senior officer, was sitting on the edge of my desk, swinging his leg and looking generally unpleasant.

‘You'll excuse me if I don't get out my autograph-book,' I said, and walked over to the corner by the window where Frau Protze was standing. She sniffed and pulled out a handkerchief from the sleeve of her blouse, and blew her nose. Through the material she said:

‘I'm sorry, Herr Gunther, they just barged in here and started ransacking the place. I told them I didn't know where you were, or when you would be back, and they got quite nasty. I never knew that policemen could behave so disgracefully.'

‘They're not policemen,' I said. ‘More like knuckles with suits. You'd better run along home now. I'll see you tomorrow.'

She sniffed some more. ‘Thank you, Herr Gunther,' she said. ‘But I don't think I'll be coming back. I don't think my nerves are up to this sort of thing. I'm sorry.'

‘That's all right. I'll mail what I owe you.' She nodded, and having stepped round me she almost ran out of the office. The haircut snorted with laughter and kicked the door shut behind her. I opened the window.

‘There's a bit of a smell in here,' I said. ‘What do you fellows do when you're not scaring widows and searching for the petty-cash box?'

Dietz jerked himself off my desk and came over to the window. ‘I heard about you, Gunther,' he said, looking out at the traffic. ‘You used to be a bull, so I know that you know the official paper on just how far I can go. And that's still a hell of a long way yet. I can stand on your fucking face for the rest of the afternoon, and I don't even have to tell you why. So why don't you cut the shit and tell me what you know about Paul Pfarr, and then we'll be on our way again.'

‘I know he wasn't a careless smoker,' I said. ‘Look, if you hadn't gone through this place like an earth-tremor, I might have been able to find a letter from the Germania Life Assurance Company engaging me to investigate the fire pending any claim.'

‘Oh, we found that letter,' said Dietz. ‘We found this, too.' He took my gun out of his jacket pocket and pointed it playfully at my head.

‘I've got a licence for it.'

‘Sure you have,' he said, smiling. Then he sniffed the muzzle, and spoke to his partner. ‘You know, Martins, I'd say this pistol has been cleaned; and recently, too.'

‘I'm a clean boy,' I said. ‘Take a look at my fingernails if you don't believe me.'

‘Walther PPK, 9 mm,' said Martins, lighting a cigarette. ‘Just like the gun that killed poor Herr Pfarr and his wife.'

‘That's not what I heard.' I went over to the drinks cabinet. I was surprised to see that they hadn't helped themselves to any of my whisky.

‘Of course,' said Dietz, ‘we were forgetting that you've still got friends over at the Alex, weren't we.' I poured myself a drink. A little too much to swallow in less than three gulps.

‘I thought they got rid of all those reactionaries,' said Martins. I surveyed the last mouthful of whisky.

‘I'd offer you boys a drink, only I wouldn't want to have to throw away the glasses afterwards.' I tossed the drink back.

Martins flicked away his cigarette and, clenching his fists, he stepped forward a couple of paces. ‘This bum specializes in lip like a yid does in nose,' he snarled. Dietz stayed where he was, leaning on the window. But when he turned around there was tabasco in his eyes.

‘I'm running out of patience with you, mulemouth.'

‘I don't get it,' I said. ‘You've seen the letter from the Assurance people. If you think it's a fake, then check it out.'

‘We already did.'

‘Then why the double act?' Dietz walked over and looked me up and down like I was shit on his shoe. Then he picked up my last bottle of good scotch, weighed it in his hand and threw it against the wall above the desk. It smashed with the sound of a canteen of cutlery dropping down a stairwell, and the air was suddenly redolent with alcohol. Dietz straightened his jacket after the exertion.

‘We just wanted to impress you with the need to keep us informed of what you're doing, Gunther. If you find out anything, and I mean anything, then you better speak to us. Because if I find out you've been giving us any fig-leaf, then I'll have you in a KZ so quick, your fucking ears will whistle.' He leaned towards me and I caught the smell of his sweat. ‘Understand, mulemouth?'