Spook's Gold (20 page)

Gotsmich uncrossed his arms, which Marner took to be a sign of the end of his belligerence, if not total agreement. They agreed that Graf would be put alone into a closed cell, out of sight and risk of potential violence from the other prisoners, although Marner’s real reason for this request was to keep Graf out of view and thus the curiosity of visiting local Gestapo.

Lemele had been left waiting in the administration area. When Marner returned and asked one of the clerks to find a local hotel and to have her taken there, she protested. “If you are going to question Graf, I insist on being present!”

Marner ushered her out of earshot of the smirking clerk. “I don’t think that he is going to say anything, based on his attitude so far.” Graf had been entirely silent, almost arrogant, since they had arrested him. “He is clearly at the centre of something complex and is not going to confess it all to us just because we ask him nicely. Maybe he’s actually more scared of whoever else is involved in this than he is of us. So my plan for this afternoon is simply to sew the seed of fear in his head: of what is going to happen when we deliver him into custody in Paris tomorrow. Then we leave that to grow and fester in his head overnight and we try our luck on him tomorrow. Trust me, this is my job; I’ve spent years learning how to crack hard nuts like him. So go to the hotel and relax.”

Lemele stood unmoving, not convinced. He could let her come along and listen to what he was going to say to Graf, but that would involve having Graf moved for the interview, since he did not want Lemele in the detention block seeing all of the civilian prisoners held there. Besides, what he was telling her was the truth. All he was going to do was state the obvious: that Graf would be hauled back to Paris and handed over for interrogation, with the insinuation that it would undoubtedly be hard and nasty, promptly followed by a firing squad. Marner would simply offer Graf some breaks, hint that he would plead on Graf’s behalf if he would disclose the whole story as well as his accomplices. The probability of Graf avoiding a death sentence was zero, even with his full cooperation, but Marner’s experience was that desperate people would sometimes grasp at such straws.

“Go to the hotel. I’ll follow you in an hour unless he opens up more easily than I’m expecting. If that’s the case, I will send someone for you.”

Whilst the clerk completed the arrangements for the hotel and transport for Lemele, Marner placed a call to Odewald. Marner was uneasy because he could not be sure if it had been necessary for Boris to cover for his unauthorised departure from Toulouse. Therefore, when finally connected with Odewald, he was ready with an improvised story to explain that he had gone to Bordeaux chasing a lead for Loutrel and taken the opportunity to see Graf whilst there. In the event it was all unnecessary. Odewald had already been called by Breunig and the Sturmbahnfuhrer was in fact delighted by the glowing report that he had received from Breunig regarding Marner’s capture of Graf and his heroic saving of Breunig’s life. Marner nearly dropped the receiver when he heard this last part, but elected not to disavow Odewald of Breunig’s version of events.

When pressed for details on what Graf was involved in, Marner declined to go into this on the telephone, citing the number of listening ears in the open office that he was calling from. He was equally tight-lipped when asked about ‘this mysterious police woman with whom he was operating’, stressing that all would be disclosed when he returned to Paris tomorrow. Marner’s primary reason for calling was to ensure that they would be met at the train station on their return, and that Odewald keep this strictly within Kripo and Kripo alone, due to the potential involvement of Department IV.

This time it was Odewald’s turn to fumble with the telephone receiver. Marner again stressed that he could not talk openly, but that Hoffman at Kriegsmarine would verify this if Odewald wanted confirmation. The cogs whirring in Odewald’s head regarding the political implications of any smear on their Gestapo cousins were almost audible. Marner could certainly hear the glee in Odewald’s voice in anticipation of the credit that he would receive if his department uncovered any such plot.

When he returned to Graf’s cell, Marner found his prisoner sitting cross legged on the cot, staring at the wall. The walls were of rough stone painted grey, pocked with scratches that on closer inspection turned out to be names and dates gouged into the paint and even deeper into the stone with whatever instruments the previous occupants of the cell had possessed.

He ran through his prepared pitch, which was essentially the same one he had used all of his working life. It only varied in content according to the potential punishment that the crime and charge carried, the other variant being how long he would leave his captive to absorb and dwell on it. In this instance, there was the added leverage of the reference to the no-holds barred interrogation that was waiting for Graf in Paris. And last but not least, the charade of a court martial in lieu of trial that would be the brief pause between interrogation room and bullet riddled wall. This did get a reaction from Graf, but it was only the same arrogant stare that Graf had bestowed upon him earlier. Marner shrugged and banged for the guard to open the door to let him out, playing it equally cool with Graf, knowing that it was only the opening gambit in the game.

Gotsmich was left with instructions that Graf was to be given no food and only minimum water and was to be kept awake as much as possible through the night. Such deprivation over a short period would not be of much use, but Marner was on a tight timetable and he was determined to exploit any potential edge.

Arriving at the hotel on the east bank of the Gironde, Marner was relieved to find that it was reasonable, certainly much better than the run-down taverns and pensions that he had eyed pessimistically on their ride to the garrison earlier. It was now after five o’clock and he left Lemele undisturbed, taking the opportunity to soak in the bath and unwind for an hour, looking forward to the evening and the opportunity to finally engage with her on a personal basis.

----

Descending to the hotel restaurant on the first floor just after seven o’clock, Marner was both famished and, bizarrely for him, in the mood for alcohol. He was reassured to note that it was a celebratory appetite rather than a drowning of sorrows.

The maitre d’ attempted to lead him to a table in a gloomy recess of the dining room. Stubbornly, Marner veered off when he saw where he was being led, selecting instead a table that was beside a large window with a panoramic view of the river and the city on the opposite bank. Having installed himself, ignoring the scowl from the maitre d’, he spent the time waiting for Lemele to rack his brain for subjects of conversation that would be useful for the evening. His previous encounters with females had taught him that he was poor at spontaneous small talk and thus a little preparation was invaluable. Out of politeness he guessed that he should sit with his back to the window and afford Lemele the benefit of the view. On the other hand, he was concerned that he would then not be the subject of her full attention, which bothered him. Therefore, by the time that the bottle of wine that Marner had ordered had arrived, he had rearranged the two chairs and place settings through ninety degrees so that both were side-on to the window; both with an equal share of the view. The maitre d’ gave a shudder and sorry shake of his head on seeing what Marner was doing, but meekly accepted this interference in his ordered domain.

Working his way steadily through the excellent bottle of wine, Marner perused the hand-written menu card absently. Being in the mood for a simple and good quality steak, he was dismayed to find that the menu seemed to be either ‘volaille’ - a universal description for anonymous forms of poultry, or fish of types that he had never heard of; all in sauces.  He had learned that sauces were a standard ploy used by restaurants to hide the poor quality of the meat that was available under the rationing.

Setting the menu aside, he turned his attention instead to the view of the river. A few fishing boats were making their way into the docks on the opposite bank and he was disappointed not to see any larger military vessels or a submarine or two.

So engrossed was he in the spectacle of the sun sinking over the buildings of the town, casting shadows into the orange glow reflecting off the river, that he was startled to find that Lemele had materialised beside him. Surprise turned to shock; she looked ten years younger than she had just two hours ago, her face glowing and her freshly washed hair turning red in the sunlight pouring through the window. He stood and realised that he was staring, but his eyes would not obey his brain; he reached for something, anything to say. “You look...ah...refreshed.”

She laughed and the sound was like cut crystal, seeming to tinkle around the room and causing the other diners to look up and around in surprise, to search for the source of this unfamiliar sound, as if laughter were long unheard of or even prohibited. It seemed an age since he had heard such a frank and open expression of happiness and he thought that this was a sound that should be heard more often.

“I had a long bath and then slept a while. I hope that I haven’t kept you waiting.”

Again he was rendered dumb as her head tilted towards him and he was entranced by her eyes catching and re-casting sparks of firelight. He gestured to the seat opposite him, finally finding his tongue and making a joke about the fact that the menu was going to disappoint her, but that there was no lack of superb wines to choose from.

The waitress appeared promptly as soon as they were seated and they ordered; Marner picked the same fish in sauce as Lemele, conveniently avoiding the need to ask the waitress for explanations of what the various options were. At least they would be able to compliment each other on their good choice, or commiserate together.

They sat in silence, Lemele looking sideways out of the window at the view whilst he frantically searched for some topic of conversation that was both neutral and not about Graf. In the end she rescued him from the silence, although not quite as expected. “So, Dieter, do you have a wife back home, somewhere in Germany?  Where is it that you come from?  You mentioned that you know Leipzig.”

“I’m from Berlin. My wife, ex-wife I should say, is still there, along with my family.”

Moving quickly to cover her faux pas, Lemele asked him why he had joined the police.

“Because I wasn’t clever enough to do anything else.”

When she laughed at this, as he intended her to, he added, “No, I’m serious! My father and grandfather were both career army men and it was always assumed that I would follow. But I had absolutely no intention of joining the army. I had barely seen my father when I was young because he was always away, on the move. I had no desire to live that kind of life. In particular I wanted to stay in Berlin, which is a city that I love. Have you ever visited it?”

Lemele shook her head. “So why the police?”

“Honestly, it wasn’t that I really wanted to. I wasn’t sufficiently academic to go to university or to have a real career, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do. So joining the police was a kind of compromise to my father, the uniform and the discipline and the ‘honour’, if that is the right word. But most importantly, it kept me in Berlin.”

“But you made detective grade, surely that required some studying, examinations?”

“I made sergeant quite quickly and easily; the main qualification for that seemed to be not being entirely stupid or lazy. I actually found that I enjoyed police work, at least the part that is real crime solving. I enjoyed the mental activity of interpreting the evidence and information, even though there wasn’t much of that type of work as an ordinary police officer. But then I had a lucky break.”

He described how he had insisted on the use of finger-printing, then a relatively new and little used technique, during the investigation of a murder. This had enabled them to link that murder to a previous one, and then to another subsequent killing a month later. “The fact that we were dealing with a serial killer brought me to the attention of Ernst Gennat, who had recently been appointed as director of Berlin criminal police. Ever heard of him?  Well, he was making leaps and bound in the science of criminology, the success rate of his department was amazing. He published a lot of articles and was actually the person who coined the term ‘serial killer’. So that was my lucky break and my easy passage to detective status.”  He raised his glass in mock toast to his patron, to which she smiled and joined him.

“I had similar parental pressure too,” she confided. Her father had been a surgeon who had pioneered some advances in anaesthesiology, leading to improved post-operative recovery. “He never really had bedside manner,” she laughed. “He was too aloof and abrupt. I’m sure that is why he chose surgery as his speciality, because it meant that his patients were unconscious and so he didn’t have to talk to them.”

His minor fame following the publication of his work had resulted in the offer of a post at the Leipzig research hospital, and for a while in the late twenties and early thirties it was a good time for the whole family. Her father had enjoyed his revered status within the campus. It had been difficult for Lemele during the first six months, but some private language tuition paid for as part of her father’s remuneration had accelerated her absorption of the language and resulted in her finishing her high school studies with good marks. “Not sufficiently good alone, but with some influence by my father it was enough to get me one of the few places in the Leipzig medical school that were available to women.”

Marner duly picked up his cue from the tone of her voice. “But?”

“But it wasn’t what I wanted to do. My father had always wanted a boy, with the inevitable expectation that the son would follow the father. His real dream was of a family medical practice.”  She took a sip of her wine and then continued, “So as you can imagine, he was rather miffed when my mother delivered him three un-academic girls!” She laughed at the irony. “With me being the oldest and the most studious and his best – only! – chance of seeing one of his offspring follow in his footsteps, I didn’t really have a choice.”