March Violets (28 page)

‘You have my word. I'll give her every chance I can. But I have to tell you: right now it looks as though she is in it up to her hatband. I believe that she's planning to go abroad tonight, so you'd better start talking. There's not much time.'

For a moment Marlene chewed her lip thoughtfully, her eyes gazing emptily at the hurdlers as they came up to the starting line. She remained oblivious of the buzz of excitement in the crowd that gave way to silence as the starter raised his pistol. As he fired she began to tell me what she knew.

‘Well, for a start there's her name: it's not Eva. That was Paul's name for her. He was always doing that, giving people new names. He liked Aryan names, like Siegfried, and Brünhilde. Eva's real name was Hannah, Hannah Roedl, but Paul said that Hannah was a Jewish name, and that he would always call her Eva.'

The crowd gave a great roar as the American won the first heat of the hurdles.

‘Paul was unhappy with his wife, but he never told me why. He and I were good friends, and he confided in me a great deal, but I never heard him speak about his wife. One night he took me to a gaming club, and it was there that I ran across Eva. She was working there as a croupier. I hadn't seen her in months. We first met working for the Revenue. She was very good with figures. I suppose that's why she became a croupier in the first place. Twice the pay, and the chance to meet some interesting people.'

I raised my eyebrows at that one: I, for one, have never found the people who gamble in casinos to be anything less than dull; but I said nothing, not wishing to cut her thread.

‘Anyway, I introduced her to Paul, and you could see they were attracted. Paul was a handsome man, and Eva was just as good-looking, a real beauty. A month later I met her again and she told me that she and Paul were having an affair. At first I was shocked; and then I thought it was really none of my business. For a while — maybe as long as six months - they were seeing quite a lot of each other. And then Paul was killed. The diary should provide you with dates and all that sort of thing.'

I opened the diary and turned to the date of Paul's murder. I read the entries written on the page.

‘According to this he had an appointment with her on the night of his death.' Marlene said nothing. I started to turn back the pages. ‘And here's another name I recognize,' I said. ‘Gerhard Von Greis. What do you know about him?' I lit a cigarette and added: ‘It's time you told me all about your little department in the Gestapo, don't you think?'

‘Paul's department. He was so proud of it, you know.' She sighed profoundly. ‘A man of great integrity.'

‘Sure,' I said. ‘All the time he was with this other woman, what he really wanted was to be back home with the wife.'

‘In a funny way that's absolutely true, Herr Gunther. That's exactly what he wanted. I don't think he ever stopped loving Grete. But for some reason he started hating her as well.'

I shrugged. ‘Well, it takes all sorts. Maybe he just liked to wag his tail.' She stayed silent for a few minutes after that one, and they ran the next heat of the hurdles. Much to the delight of the crowd, the German runner, Nottbruch, won the race. The matron got very excited at that, standing up in her seat and waving her programme.

Marlene rummaged in her bag again, and took out an envelope. ‘This is a copy of a letter originally empowering Paul to set up his department,' she said, handing it to me. ‘I thought you might like to see it. It helps to put things in perspective, to explain why Paul did what he did.'

I read the letter. It went as follows:

 

I write to you on a very serious matter. I mean corruption amongst the servants of the Reich. One principle must apply: public servants must be honest, decent, loyal and comradely to members of our own blood. Those individuals who offend against this principle - who take so much as one mark - will be punished without mercy. I shall not stand idly by and watch the rot develop.

As you know, I have already taken measures to root out corruption within the ranks of the S S, and a number of dishonest men have been eliminated accordingly. It is the will of the Führer that you should be empowered to investigate and root out corruption in the German Labour Front, where fraud is endemic. To this end you are promoted to the rank of Hauptsturmführer, reporting directly to me.

Wherever corruption forms, we shall burn it out. And at the end of the day, we shall say that we performed this task in love of our people.

Heil Hitler!
(signed)
Heinrich Himmler

 

 

‘Paul was very diligent,' Marlene said. ‘Arrests were made and the guilty punished.'

‘“Eliminated”,' I said, quoting the Reichsführer.

Marlene's voice hardened. ‘They were enemies of the Reich,' she said.

‘Yes, of course.' I waited for her to continue, and seeing her rather unsure of me I added, ‘They had to be punished. I'm not disagreeing with you. Please go on.'

Marlene nodded. ‘Finally, he turned his attention to the Steel Workers Union, and quite early on he became aware of certain rumours regarding his own father-in-law, Hermann Six. In the beginning he made light of it. And then, almost overnight, he was determined to destroy him. After a while, it was nothing short of an obsession.'

‘When was this?'

‘I can't remember the date. But I do remember that it was about the time that he started working late, and not taking telephone calls from his wife. And it wasn't long after that he started to see Eva.'

‘And exactly how was Daddy Six misbehaving?'

‘Corrupt DAF officials had deposited the Steel Workers Union and Welfare Fund in Six's bank — '

‘You mean, he owns a bank as well?'

‘A major shareholding, in the Deutsches Kommerz. In return, Six saw to it that these same officials were given cheap personal loans.'

‘What did Six get out of it?'

‘By paying low interest on the deposit to the detriment of the workers, the bank was able to improve the books.'

‘Nice and tidy then,' I said.

‘That's just the half of it,' she said with an outraged sort of chuckle. ‘Paul also suspected that his father-in-law was skimming the union's funds. And that he was churning the union's investments.'

‘Churning,' I said. ‘What's that?'

‘Repeatedly selling stocks and shares and buying others so that each time you can claim the legal percentages. The commission if you like. That would have been split between the bank and the union officials. But trying to prove it was a different story,' she said. ‘Paul tried to get a tap on Six's telephone, but whoever it is that arranges these things refused. Paul said that somebody else was already tapping his phone and that they weren't about to share. So Paul looked for another way to get to him. He discovered that the Prime Minister had a confidential agent who had certain information that was compromising to Six, and for that matter to many others. His name was Gerhard Von Greis. In Six's case, Goering was using this information to make him toe the economic line. Anyway, Paul arranged to meet Von Greis and offered him a lot of money to let him take a look at what he had on Six. But Von Greis refused. Paul said he was afraid.'

She looked around as the crowd, anticipating the semi-final of the 100-metres, grew more excited. With the hurdles cleared off the track, there were now several sprinters warming up, including the man the crowd had come to see: Jesse Owens. For a moment, her attention was devoted entirely to the negro athlete.

‘Isn't he superb?' she said. ‘Owens I mean. In a class of his own.'

‘But Paul did get hold of the papers, didn't he?'

She nodded. ‘Paul was very determined,' she said, distractedly. ‘At such times, he could be quite ruthless, you know.'

‘I don't doubt it.'

‘There is a department in the Gestapo at Prinz Albrecht Strasse, which deals with associations, clubs and the DAF. Paul persuaded them to issue a “red tab” on Von Greis, so that he could be arrested immediately. Not only that, but they saw to it that Von Greis was picked up by Alarm Command, and taken to Gestapo headquarters.'

‘What is Alarm Command exactly?' I said.

‘Killers.' She shook her head. ‘You wouldn't want to fall into their hands. Their brief was to scare Von Greis: to scare him badly enough to convince him that Himmler was more powerful than Goering, that he should fear the Gestapo before he should fear the Prime Minister. After all, hadn't Himmler taken control of the Gestapo away from Goering in the first place? And then there was the case of Goering's former chief of Gestapo, Diels, being sold down the river by his former master. They said all of these things to Von Greis. They told him that the same would happen to him, and that his only chance was to cooperate, otherwise he would find himself facing the displeasure of the Reichsführer S S. That would mean a KZ for sure. Of course, Von Greis was convinced. What man in their hands would not have been? He gave Paul everything he had. Paul took possession of a number of documents which he spent several evenings examining at home. And then he was killed.'

‘And the documents were stolen.'

‘Yes.'

‘Do you know something of what was in these documents?'

‘Not in any detail. I never saw them myself. I only know what he told me. He said that they proved beyond all shadow of a doubt, that Six was in bed with organized crime.'

At the gun Jesse Owens was away to a good start, and by the first thirty metres he was powering fluently into a clear lead. In the seat next to me the matron was on her feet again. She had been wrong, I thought, to describe Owens as a gazelle. Watching the tall, graceful negro accelerate down the track, making a mockery of crackpot theories of Aryan superiority, I thought that Owens was nothing so much as a Man, for whom other men were simply a painful embarrassment. To run like that was the meaning of the earth, and if ever there was a master-race it was certainly not going to exclude someone like Jesse Owens. His victory drew a tremendous cheer from the German crowd, and I found it comforting that the only race they were shouting about was the one they had just seen. Perhaps, I thought, Germany did not want to go to war after all. I looked towards that part of the stadium that was reserved for Hitler and other senior Party officials, to see if they were present to witness the depth of popular sentiment being demonstrated on behalf of the black American. But of the leaders of the Third Reich there was still no sign.

I thanked Marlene for coming, and then left the stadium. On the taxi-ride south towards the lakes, I spared a thought for poor Gerhard Von Greis. Picked up and terrified by the Gestapo, only to be released and almost immediately picked up, tortured and killed by Red Dieter's men. Now that's what I call unlucky.

We crossed Wannsee Bridge, and drove along the coast. A black sign at the head of the beach said, ‘No Jews Here', which prompted the taxi-driver to an observation. ‘That's a fucking laugh, eh? “No Jews Here.” There's nobody here. Not with weather like this there isn't.' He uttered a derisive laugh for his own benefit.

Opposite the Swedish Pavilion restaurant a few die-hards still entertained hopes of the weather improving. The taxi-driver continued to pour scorn on them and the German weather as he turned into Koblanck Strasse, and then down Lindenstrasse. I told him to pull up on the corner of Hugo-Vogel Strasse.

It was a quiet, well-ordered and leafy suburb consisting of medium to large-sized houses, with neat front lawns and well-clipped hedges. I spotted my car parked on the pavement, but could see no sign of Inge. I looked around anxiously for her while I waited for my change. Feeling something was wrong, I managed to over-tip the driver, who responded by asking me if I wanted him to wait. I shook my head, and then stepped back as he roared off down the road. I walked down towards my car, which was parked about thirty metres down the road from Haupthändler's address. I checked the door. It wasn't locked, so I sat inside and waited a while, hoping that she might come back. I put the desk diary that Marlene Sahm had given me inside the glove-box, and then felt around under the seat for the gun I kept there. Putting it into my coat pocket, I got out of the car.

The address I had was a dirty-brown, two-storey affair with a run-down, dilapidated look about it. The paint was peeling from the closed shutters, and there was a ‘For Sale' sign in the garden. The place looked as though it hadn't been occupied in a long time. Just the kind of place you'd choose to hide out in. A patchy lawn surrounded the house, and a short wall separated it from the pavement, on which a bright blue Adler was parked, facing downhill. I stepped over the wall, and went round the side, stepping carefully over a rusting lawnmower and ducking under a tree. Near the back corner of the house I took out the Walther and pulled back the slide to load the chamber and cock the weapon.

Bent almost double, I crept along beneath the level of the window, to the back door, which was slightly ajar. From somewhere inside the bungalow I could hear the sound of muffled voices. I pushed the door open with the muzzle of my gun and my eyes fell upon a trail of blood on the kitchen floor. I walked quietly inside, my stomach falling uncomfortably away beneath me like a coin dropped down a well, worried that Inge might have decided to take a look around on her own and been hurt, or worse. I took a deep breath and pressed the cold steel of the automatic against my cheek. The chill of it ran through the whole of my face, down the nape of my neck and into my soul. I bent down in front of the kitchen door to look through the keyhole. On the other side of the door was an empty, uncarpeted hallway and several closed doors. I turned the handle.