The Pale House (20 page)

The car parked on the side of the street nearest the river, opposite an entanglement of barbed wire on crossed wooden posts. There was a passage through the wire and a pair of Ustaše stood on duty at it. They looked distantly at Reinhardt as he got out of the car, running his eyes up and over the building's façade, its heavy carvings and the deep recesses of its windows. Even where there were no drapes, the panes showed only the flat gray wash of the winter and no hint of what might be going on inside. Up on the line of the roof, crows stalked back and forth like men of the cloth, pretentious in the precision of their steps and the bobbing of their heads, peering down at the lines of women huddled close to the barbed wire. They sidled up close to the guards and the scrawled lines of the wire, hesitant, like creatures that knew only the whip but could not help themselves from coming closer to what hurt them.

Reinhardt straightened his coat, looked at the building's door, and began walking, fixing onto his face and bearing all the power and presence a German Feldjaeger should carry. The two Ustaše moved into his path and he leveled his eyes on them, not slowing, then pointing over their shoulder at something only he could see. They both looked—because they wanted to, because he
compelled
them to—and as they turned back he was moving past them, through the gap they had made, walking straight up to the steps leading up to the main door. At the top of the steps, another pair of Ustaše barred the way, and these would not be moved by appearances. He stopped before them, looking from one to the other.

“Who is in charge here?”

Neither of them said anything, but the one on the left made the slightest of moves, an instinctive drawing away, leaving space to the other man.

“I need to go inside,” he said, stepping closer to the man on the right, fixing him with his eyes. The man stared back, apparently unfazed.

“No entry for people not knowing,” the UstaÅ¡a managed, eventually, in German.

Reinhardt looked back at him. “Captain Langenkamp. Liaison officer.” The UstaÅ¡a nodded, hesitantly. “Go and get him. Tell him Captain Reinhardt is waiting to see him.”

There was a long pause, and then the Ustaša turned to the other one and passed an order. The second one went inside, the main doors thumping shut behind him.

“You waiting just here,” said the UstaÅ¡a, pushing open one of the doors and motioning Reinhardt inside. The dark entrance seemed to suck at him as he walked inside, and Reinhardt could feel the terror and fear in the place as soon as he stepped inside. Reinhardt's breath began coming short and high, as if the building were closing itself around him, sizing him up, like a dog circles a stranger. Somewhere, someone was crying. Somewhere else, someone laughed. Little by little, the building seemed to open itself up to him, peeling back layer on layer.

“You waiting here,” the UstaÅ¡a said again, pointing at another UstaÅ¡a slouched behind a desk with a telephone that stood in front of a wide flight of stairs. The guard looked Reinhardt over, then gestured disinterestedly at a corner of the entrance hall. Reinhardt did not know how long he waited until he heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and Langenkamp stepped heavily onto the floor of the entrance.

“What do you want, Captain?” No greeting, nothing.

“I need to find an UstaÅ¡a. I don't have a name. Just a description. Short. Dark-haired. Thin. A scar running down the left side of his face, from his ear.”

Langenkamp frowned, eyelids flickering shut. “I am not sure I know of such a person. But my counterpart might. What has happened?”

“I need to speak to him in connection to an investigation.”

“Investigation? Into what?”

“The deaths of those Feldjaeger last night and the arrest of a couple of refugees, one of them called
.”

Langankamp nodded, motioned Reinhardt to wait. He walked over to the desk and picked up the telephone under the guard's still-disinterested gaze. He spoke once, twice, replaced the receiver, and came back over to Reinhardt. “We wait,” was all he said, seeming to fold himself up and into a standstill. Though he said and did nothing, and though Reinhardt was not someone who sought conversation for its own sake, Langenkamp's stillness was profoundly disconcerting, such that he was glad to see an UstaÅ¡e officer step off the staircase and turn toward them, recognizing Captain
from the scene of the murders.

The UstaÅ¡a shook hands with Reinhardt, a noncommittal smile on his face. “Captain? It seems you are looking to speak with one of our men? May I ask why?”

“I need to question him, is all.”

“About?”

“His role in the apparent disappearance of an elderly pair of refugees I brought into the city two days ago. Perhaps a boy as well.”

“What role would that be?”

“They have vanished. Witnesses claim they were arrested by UstaÅ¡e and they described this man I would like to question quite accurately.”

“When did this happen, do you say?”

“I don't ‘say.' It did happen, last night.”

“The names of these refugees?”

“I don't know. I only know the man was named
.”

“Describe this UstaÅ¡a again, please.” Reinhardt did so,
nodding, a polite smile on his face. “And the address where these arrests took place?” Reinhardt gave it. “Captain, I was made to understand you were investigating into the deaths of your men this morning. So why the interest in this rather unrelated matter?”

“Captain, are you fobbing me off?”

frowned. “I am not sure I know that particular vernacular, Captain.”

“Are you giving me the runaround? Are you trying to hide something from me?”

“I am not, Captain. I assure you. I am only trying to understand why someone like you would care for the fate of a pair of anonymous refugees and a boy, what connection it might have to your Feldjaeger. And why such an illustrious former detective—yes, Captain, your reputation has preceded you—would be looking for a particular UstaÅ¡a who, it seems, is missing.”

“Missing,” repeated Reinhardt.

nodded. “Since last night. As well, there is no record of any arrest at the address you mention, nor do we have anyone by the name of
in our custody here.”

“What about a boy?”

“We have ‘boys,' as you say. None arrested last night. None brought in along with an elderly couple, as you describe. So you see, Captain, your questions raise more questions, none of which seem to have answers.”

“Very well. Thank you, Captain
, for your time.”