The Good Cop

by Peter Steiner

  ‘When did this happen?’ said Wendt.

  ‘I don’t remember. A while ago.’

  ‘You expect us to believe that?’ said Bergemann.

  ‘I don’t care whether you believe it or not. Is it a crime to throw away a gun?’

  The detectives looked at each other helplessly.

  ‘I want you to leave,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Fräulein, I advise you …’

  ‘Now,’ said Sophie.

  As the two men stood up to go, the door opened and Maximilian came in.

  ‘Don’t say anything, Maximilian. The detectives are just leaving.’

  NEW EVIDENCE

  Willi sat at Sophie and Maximilian’s kitchen table where Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had sat not too many hours earlier. ‘You told them you threw the gun in the river?’ said Willi.

  ‘Was that bad?’ she asked.

  Willi did something he rarely did. He laughed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It was brilliant.’

  ‘Really? Doesn’t it seem like I’m lying?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Willi. ‘Except it’s such an obvious lie, that it must be true. Do you follow me?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Sophie. She was still shaken. ‘Will they come back?’ she asked.

  ‘I doubt it. They don’t have any evidence,’ said Willi, ‘and they’re not looking for any.’

  ‘They don’t have any evidence against me?’

  ‘None,’ said Willi. ‘Remember, they’re not really even investigating. You’re not a suspect, you’re a scapegoat. They, or more likely their bosses, are trying to frame you.’

  ‘They’re trying to frame me for something I did?’

  ‘Yeah, well. They don’t know you did it. And frankly it doesn’t matter to them. Remember, what you did was obviously self-defense, and that’s easy to prove, when the time comes when we have to.’

  ‘Easy to prove?’

  ‘Milch was a thug and a murderer. His so-called witnesses are lying. And the two guys who were actually with him are in hiding for some reason, so they won’t be testifying. But Milch as a murderer and you acting in self-defense runs counter to the story they, or whoever’s pulling the strings, want to prove. What they want is to hang a murder charge on you. I’m pretty sure, however, that Bergemann and Wendt don’t understand that.’

  ‘So why are they doing it?’

  ‘They’re being pushed in that direction. And they’re lazy and uncurious,’ said Willi.

  ‘And the fact that I actually killed Milch?’

  ‘Would come as a complete surprise to those two, I’m sure.’

  ‘So what should I do?’ said Sophie. Her voice broke.

  Willi thought for a moment. ‘Maybe it’s time to make our two cops less uncurious. Let’s see if they have any backbone. Do you think you could write a story for the Post about the Deutsche Bild bombing?’

  ‘Me? No, never. It would have to be someone who wasn’t involved in any way.’

  ‘Is there someone who could do it?’

  ‘Sure. But the paper won’t print it. It’s ancient history.’

  ‘What if there were new evidence?’ Willi said.

  Two days later a short article appeared in the Post, accompanied by the drawing of Konrad Milch that Maximilian had made those years ago with Walther Hinzig’s help.

  New Evidence in Bombing Case

  On the morning of December 12, 1921, according to eyewitnesses, two men rolled a hand grenade into the offices of Das Neue Deutsche Bild, killing two members of the newspaper’s staff and injuring five others. The newspaper was closed permanently not long after the attack. The attackers were never identified or brought to justice.

  Now, according to police department sources, new evidence has surfaced indicating that Konrad Milch, the recently murdered storm trooper and member of the NSDAP, was one of the bombers. Milch was responsible for many assaults in the course of his brief criminal career. According to well-placed sources, evidence was found after Milch’s death on his person and in his home implicating him in the bombing and pointing to his accomplice. Our sources are unwilling to identify the second bomber at this time but suggest that his identity is known to the police and that they are in the process of gathering evidence against him.

  Detective Robert Wendt arrived at the office the next morning to find a copy of the Post lying open on his desk. ‘I put it there,’ said Willi from across the room. ‘I didn’t know if you’d seen it or not.’

  Wendt studied the picture and read the article. ‘No, I hadn’t seen it. Where did they get this?’ said Wendt.

  Willi held up his hands. ‘No idea,’ he said. ‘I just thought you’d be interested.’

  ‘You’re damn right I am,’ said Wendt. He read it again.

  ‘You didn’t know?’ said Willi.

  ‘No. What do you make of it?’ said Wendt.

  ‘Me? I don’t make anything of it. Not my business. I’m not going to step on your case.’

  ‘No,’ said Wendt. ‘But still … It’s not right.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Willi.

  ‘Well, if the guy whose murder we’re looking into was actually a murderer himself, well, that changes everything, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose it might,’ said Willi.

  ‘So somebody’ – he nodded his head in the direction of Gruber’s office – ‘knew this and didn’t tell us.’

  ‘Why would anybody do that?’ said Willi.

  ‘Yeah, that’s the question, isn’t it? Maybe they just wanted us to follow the evidence.’ That seemed the easiest explanation.

  ‘Yeah, that could be it,’ said Willi.

  ‘But you don’t think so,’ said Wendt, walking over to Willi’s desk.

  ‘No, I’m not saying that. Look, Robert, I don’t want to horn in on your case.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking your opinion. What do you think? What would you do in our shoes?’

  Willi studied Wendt’s face for several seconds. ‘OK,’ he said, as though, after careful thought, he had decided he could be helpful. ‘First of all, I’d want to find out for sure who this guy Milch was. Everything about him. He’s obviously not the Boy Scout they’re saying he is. Then I’d want to know who they think was with him when he bombed that paper – who’s the second guy. Finally, I’d want to know why all this information was withheld from me.’

  ‘And how would you find all this out?’

  ‘I’d ask,’ said Willi.

  ‘Gruber?’

  ‘First I’d start with Milch’s witnesses – I don’t know their names.’

  ‘Blaskowitz and Hoffmeister. What about Gruber? Would you ask him?’

  ‘Is he the one who briefed you on the case?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Wendt.

  ‘Did the story come from him? Or somewhere else?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Wendt thought for a moment. ‘So you think we were lied to?’

  Finally! thought Willi. ‘No, I’m not going to say that. I’m sure Gruber had his theories about the case and was just sending you in that direction.’

  ‘We need to talk to Gruber,’ said Wendt, more to himself than to Willi.

  ‘You don’t want to tell him you talked to me about any of this,’ said Willi.

  ‘Are you kidding? You think I’m crazy?’ Wendt laughed. ‘Gruber hates you.’

  WENDT AND BERGEMANN

  When Hans Bergemann arrived at the office a few minutes later, Wendt tucked the newspaper under his arm, grabbed him, and steered him out of the office. They spent the rest of the morning with Hoffmeister and then Blaskowitz, poking holes in their stories and determining that both men had lied about being with Milch the night of the attack. Neither Hoffmeister nor Blaskowitz was able to shed any light on the newspaper bombing.

  Over lunch in a Gasthaus far from the station, the two detectives went over the morning’s revelations, as well as all the new questions the morning’s interviews had raised. ‘So, who was actually with Milch when h
e was killed? Where are they and why are they hiding? And why would Hoffmeister and Blaskowitz pretend to be Konrad Milch’s sidekicks?’

  ‘Well, they didn’t expect they’d be found out,’ said Wendt. ‘They thought they wouldn’t be questioned too hard. Nobody would ever know they were lying, and nobody would be the wiser. They’d give their statements and that would be the end of it. So, they’re not just a couple of amateurs doing somebody a favor. Somebody’s got something on them. They’re both scared. Especially the teacher.’

  ‘We need to push them both harder,’ said Bergemann. ‘Find out who’s behind their story.’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Wendt. ‘We need to know more about the lay of the land before we push anyone.’

  Bergemann lifted his beer to drink and then paused, the tankard in mid-air. ‘And what the hell was Milch doing in the English Garden that got him killed?’

  ‘That’s the big question, isn’t it?’ said Wendt. ‘If we knew that, then a lot of other stuff would be clear.’

  ‘Well, here’s another question,’ said Bergemann. ‘What’s Geismeier got to do with it? What’s he getting out of all this?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s involved. I asked him for help. He didn’t want to be involved. He’s scared of Gruber.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Robert,’ said Bergemann. ‘He gave you the newspaper, for Christ’s sake. He’s a clever son of a bitch. He knows exactly what he’s doing.’

  ‘So then, what’s he up to?’ said Wendt.

  ‘Well, if I had to guess, I’d say he’s playing his own game on some parallel track. Outside the department; outside the system.’

  ‘Why?’ said Wendt.

  ‘I don’t know, but I’d guess it has to do with Gruber. Or somebody higher up. Reineke, maybe.’

  They had all but stopped eating.

  ‘Here’s another question for you,’ said Wendt. ‘Geismeier’s the best detective in the unit, maybe in the city, right?’

  ‘Yeah, so?’

  ‘So why hasn’t he been promoted? He’s been there since the war, and he’s still a detective, never been promoted.’

  ‘Well, for one thing, Gruber hates him,’ said Bergemann.

  ‘This goes back before Gruber.’

  ‘Yeah, well, Captain Reineke doesn’t like him either. Geismeier’s always going off on his own. Let’s face it, Robert, Willi’s a pain in the ass.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a pain in the ass. So then why hasn’t he been fired? Or transferred or disciplined? He keeps getting ordered off cases, slapped down by Gruber. How does he stand that? Why doesn’t he just quit?’

  ‘Maybe that’s the parallel track. Maybe he’s not actually off the cases.’

  ‘You mean he’s working for someone else, for the NSDAP? A Party spy inside the police?’

  ‘Or maybe he’s not a spy for the Party. Maybe he’s a spy against the Party.’

  ‘No. That would be a hell of a dangerous game. And who would he be working for?’

  ‘The Communists? The government?’

  The two men sat in silence for a long time. Their food sat forgotten in front of them.

  ‘So …’ said Wendt finally. ‘Why’s he helping us? Or is he helping us? Why steer us the way he did, against Gruber’s version of what happened to Milch? Which means against the captain, who’s a big Nazi? Which means against the Party?’

  ‘So he’s using us,’ said Bergemann.

  ‘Yeah, but for what? He just steered us toward the truth about Milch. He saved us from embarrassing ourselves there. Why?’ said Wendt. ‘He knows we’re for the Party.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Bergemann, ‘are we for the Party? Christ, I don’t even know what I’m for any more. I mean, we’re being screwed by the Party we’re supposedly part of.’

  ‘Well, we’re not actually part of it,’ said Wendt. ‘We’re not members.’

  ‘Maybe we should be. Maybe we should join?’ said Bergemann.

  ‘Come on, Hans. We’ve talked about that. Besides, they’re messing with us.’

  ‘Still, it’s how you get ahead in the department. Look at Gruber.’

  ‘Yeah, look at him,’ said Wendt. ‘He looks more and more like a scared rabbit. Think about it for a minute. You’ve seen it: if you’re not with those guys a hundred percent, you’re against them. That’s the way they think. And they don’t screw around.’

  ‘Maybe they’re protecting Milch. After all, he was one of them.’

  ‘So whose side are we on, Robert? That’s the first thing we need to figure out.’

  What was left of the sausages was cold, the butter on the potatoes had congealed, the sauerkraut was cold and grey. They pushed their plates away. The waitress came to add up their bill. ‘Two Knackwürstl, two liters of Hofbräu. Bread?’ she asked. They looked at her as though she had just said something in Chinese. ‘How many Brötchen?’ she said again.

  ‘Oh. Two,’ said Wendt. He picked up his roll with one bite out of it and looked at it. She added the ten pfennigs, figured the tip, and tallied the total. They paid but didn’t leave.

  ‘OK. So again: who were the two men with Milch when he was killed?’ said Bergemann. Maybe if they went back to the beginning, something would reveal itself. ‘And who was the second bomber?’

  ‘Hey! Maybe the piece in the Post will shake the bushes. Let’s see who comes running out.’

  ‘And Geismeier. Let’s keep watching Geismeier.’

  FAMILY HEIRLOOMS

  Willi was often followed these days. Today it was Wendt. Willi didn’t spot him right away, and when he did he decided to make use of the situation. He was on his way to NSDAP headquarters, so he made it look like he was familiar with the place. ‘A beautiful day, isn’t it?’ he said to the uniformed guard as he climbed the marble stairs.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the guard.

  ‘Has Major Gleiwitz arrived yet?’

  ‘Just check in with the desk, sir,’ said the guard.

  ‘Of course,’ said Willi. ‘I will. And thank you.’ This elicited a smart salute from the guard, which Willi returned.

  Willi had an appointment to interview Major Hubert Gleiwitz, a police official and a senior Nazi, about a break-in at his apartment. Frau Bertha Gleiwitz, the major’s mother, had been staying with him for the last three weeks since her husband had died. The old lady had been there alone when she walked in on an intruder in the major’s bedroom. Her screams had driven the man off.

  The major was a genial flatterer and that had endeared him to Hitler and those around him. He loved Hitler, but he loved the intrigue that surrounded him even more. The police department too was rife with intrigue, and the major suspected the break-in was some sort of inside job – inside the Party or the department, he didn’t know which. In any case, he wanted the robbery looked into by a disinterested outsider. ‘Geismeier’s the man,’ he told Reineke. ‘He doesn’t seem capable of intrigue.’

  ‘Are you sure, Major? Geismeier is a thorn in our side,’ said Reineke.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Gleiwitz. ‘I want Geismeier.’

  ‘As you wish, Herr Major,’ said Reineke.

  ‘Besides, my mother will like him. Send Geismeier to sort this thing out.’

  The major told Willi that he thought some Party papers had been taken – ‘top-secret planning documents’.

  ‘Was anything else taken, Herr Major?’

  ‘Some valuables,’ he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  ‘I’ll need a list of the valuables,’ said Willi.

  The major offered instead his personal theory as to who might have wanted to break in and what they had to gain from possessing the documents. ‘These are documents in the Führer’s own hand.’

  Willi asked about the valuables again.

  ‘The theft is a diversion, Geismeier. Believe me. I know these men. Look at the Röhm faction, if you want my advice.’ Willi let him talk. Each time the major laid out a new theory, he gave away more details about the Party and its inner workings.

&nb
sp; ‘Do you think it could have anything to do with the new SS, Herr Major?’ Willi said.

  ‘You know I can’t talk about that, Geismeier, except to say that the SS, the Schutzstaffel, is Adolf Hitler’s highest priority. And there are many people who would like to see it undone. Both within and outside the Party.’

  ‘Can you give me names, Herr Major?’

  The major named some people he suspected of wanting to undermine the SS project for various reasons, revealing, as he did, rivalries and competing interests within the Gestapo and the Party. ‘This is in the strictest confidence, Geismeier.’

  ‘Of course, Herr Major,’ said Willi. ‘You know me. I assume, Herr Major, my senior officers – Gruber, Reineke – are beyond suspicion. Otherwise I’d have to take myself off the case.’

  ‘Gruber’s a good man,’ said the major. ‘I have my eyes on him. He’s going places.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Willi. ‘And Captain Reineke.’

  The major said nothing.

  ‘May I run some other names by you, Herr Major?’

  ‘By all means, Geismeier.’

  ‘Captain Steifflitz,’ said Willi. The armory robbery was always in the back of Willi’s mind. Other than the two scapegoats, no one had been brought to justice, and the weapons were still out there somewhere.

  ‘Steifflitz? … Steifflitz? Can’t say that I know him,’ said the major.

  Willi explained who Steifflitz was.

  ‘Oh, yes. Twenty machine guns, wasn’t it? I remember. But that case was closed, wasn’t it? That’s what Captain Reineke said, if I recall correctly. Why are you asking about that, Geismeier? Are you trying to ruffle Reineke’s feathers again?’

  ‘No, sir, nothing like that, Herr Major.’ Willi looked at his notes. ‘What about Bruck?’ he said. ‘Otto Bruck?’

  The major’s face darkened. ‘How do you know Dr Bruck?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t, Herr Major. His is a name that came up as a possible witness in a completely different context. I know nothing about him. Do you know him?’

  ‘There’s nothing you need to know about him, Geismeier. Stay away from Dr Bruck.’

  Gleiwitz looked at his watch. ‘Look at the time,’ he said and stood up. ‘You’ll keep me posted, won’t you, Geismeier, about the break-in? Mother will be grateful.’