No Going Back

by Anna Patrick

‘Be very clear that I am here to ask questions and you are here to answer them. I do most sincerely suggest you co-operate in every way you can, Marta. It will be to your benefit.’

  She nodded like an eager pupil, attentive and serious.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to begin by telling me how you came to be carrying a gun.’

  ‘I didn’t know I was.’

  ‘And now that you do know?’

  ‘Then I shall do everything I can to assist you.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘A man called Artur asked me to do him a favour.’

  ‘Surname?’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t know.’

  Bauer raised an eyebrow but said nothing, believing from experience that most people, when given enough rope, would hang themselves.

  ‘Continue.’

  ‘Artur wanted me to deliver a present for his mother and promised to get me some butter as a thank you. Well, you can imagine how happy I was to oblige. Butter has been missing from my life for such a long time and wartime bread is so disgusting to eat without it. Mm I do so enjoy butter on my bread.’

  She smiled wistfully and looked at him.

  ‘Where and when did you pick up the parcel from this man, Artur?’

  ‘He said someone would deliver it to my home and sure enough I was going out to work yesterday morning and when I opened the door, the parcel was there on the doorstep. There was a little note from Artur asking me to take it to the park today and wait for his cousin who would arrive at around 10am.’

  ‘Not his mother?’

  ‘Oh no, she lives in the countryside somewhere. Besides it’s not much of a present if you have to collect it yourself. He mentioned something about her being unwell and wanting to cheer her up.’

  ‘Did you keep the note?’

  ‘I think so. Or wait, did I use it to light the cooker? It’s a bit temperamental, my cooker, so I prefer to use a taper rather than matches. I’m not sure. If I didn’t use it, then it’s still at home.’

  ‘How were you to recognise his cousin?’

  ‘Oh, God, I never even considered that. I imagined he would introduce himself as Artur’s cousin and that would be that.’

  She giggled.

  ‘Not much of a conspirator, am I? It’s that butter you see: the promise of it addled my brain.’

  ‘Describe him.’

  ‘Tall, about the height of the duty officer; dark blond hair and eyes which are a most unusual shade of blue, almost grey; darker around the pupil and lighter towards the edges. He is clean shaven and wears glasses for reading.’

  She gave an accurate description of a student friend killed in the first days of the war.

  ‘Anything else.’

  ‘Um, yes, a little scar just beneath his right eye which he got in a fight at school.’

  ‘Where did you meet this Artur?’

  ‘Funnily enough, in the same park where you found me today, possibly even on the same bench. God, that would be ironic.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I was trying to light a cigarette on a windy day and having problems with the matches. Artur came along and offered me a light from his lighter. We talked, and we agreed to meet for a coffee after work that evening.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Meet for coffee? Yes, we did.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Oh dear, I don’t remember… it was months ago now. Probably at one of the cafés in the main market square, I mean Adolf Hitler Platz, or at the milk bar in Haupstrasse.’

  ‘Where does he work?’

  ‘Sorry, I never asked.’

  ‘How often did you meet?’

  ‘Now and then, once or twice a month.’

  ‘Would you describe him as a friend?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t describe any of them as friends, but I liked him well enough, and he was useful; he introduced me to several German officers.’

  ‘He was familiar with German officers?’

  ‘Oh yes. He seemed so friendly with them I wondered if he was in some kind of black market racket.’

  ‘Are you suggesting officers of the Third Reich would undertake criminal activities?’

  ‘Heaven forbid, no.’

  She widened her eyes to look appalled at the suggestion but caught the glimmer of a smile on Bauer’s face.

  ‘I only meant that Artur seemed wealthy considering he’s a Pole. Although perhaps he has German ancestors and counts as one of your honorary Germans or Volksdeutsche. They’re allowed butter as part of their rations, aren’t they?’

  ‘If he wasn’t a friend, how would you describe him?’

  ‘A client.’

  ‘A client? What do you mean?’

  ‘Somebody you would entertain.’

  Bauer raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Perhaps you had better explain.’

  ‘This is embarrassing, Inspector, especially as you are a family man.’

  She stared at the floor and remembered an occasion when she had behaved so badly towards a dear friend it always made her cheeks flush. The memory did not fail her now, and her face reddened.

  ‘The first time it happened my landlord was threatening to evict me because I was behind with the rent. This was in Warsaw before I moved here. A German soldier offered to buy me a drink, and I agreed. He was a nice person, hated the war, seemed to sympathise with our plight as an occupied nation. He was handsome too and interested in the finer things of life: music and art and suchlike. One drink led to another and then one thing led to another. Then, afterwards, he paid me. At first I didn’t want to take the money, but his cash saved me from eviction. And if they’d thrown me out on the streets, perhaps I would have to do this for a living.’

  ‘And you don’t now?’

  ‘No, it’s quite a bit different to that.’

  Dear God, what would her sainted mother, her beloved Mamusia, have said to witness her debase herself like this and tell these hideous lies?

  She bit her lower lip and blinked back tears. He had been watching her, but now cleared his throat and returned to making notes.

  ‘This was supposed to be a gift, but it wasn’t very well wrapped, just some old, crinkled brown paper. Didn’t that make you suspicious?’

  ‘Not really. Most people reuse any paper they’ve got. I would be more suspicious if it had fancy new wrapping and I wouldn’t have been comfortable carrying it. Nobody wants to draw attention to themselves on the streets.’

  ‘Did it not strike you as odd he would ask you to pass on a package to his cousin to give to his mother? Why didn’t he visit her himself when he had gone to the trouble of buying her a gift?’

  ‘Yes, that does seem odd.’

  Marta frowned as she considered the matter.

  ‘All I can say is that he made it sound entirely plausible. He had business to attend to, would visit her later but wanted to show he cared about her in the meantime. Something like that. I wasn’t suspicious for a second and I was certain he would be as good as his word about the butter so I didn’t much care if he was telling the truth or not.’

  ‘And what about you? Are you telling the truth?’

  ‘I think you know the answer to that, Inspector.’

  She looked at him without blinking and without further comment for what was probably seconds but seemed like minutes. Eventually, she lowered her gaze suspecting that any more emphasis on her truthfulness would be counterproductive.

  The Inspector put down his pen and leaned back.

  ‘Your German is remarkably fluent. Did you learn it at school?’

  ‘Oh no, I didn’t learn German until life resumed a degree of normality.’

  ‘Normality? That seems a strange word to use in the circumstances.’

  ‘It means I couldn’t see the point of l
earning anything while your troops were bombing the hell out of my city.’

  ‘You don’t regard Krakow as your city?’

  ‘Now it is, but Warsaw was where I was born and grew up. People have a special attachment, or perhaps you would call it nostalgia, towards a place they grew up in and it is, or what’s left of it, a beautiful city.’

  ‘So why did you move here?’

  ‘When I was visiting friends, the chance of a permanent job came up. It was difficult to find work in Warsaw and it seemed too good an opportunity to turn down.’

  Inspector Bauer looked at his notes.

  ‘You work as a tram conductress.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘A lowly job for a university graduate.’

  ‘I didn’t graduate. The war saw to that.’ A mixture of sadness and bitterness filled her voice.

  ‘What were you studying?’

  ‘Psychology. I wanted to work with problem children.’

  ‘Perhaps one day you will.’

  The throwaway comment inspired her to make an impassioned case for being allowed to return to her studies. She had to take every opportunity to make Bauer think of her as a human being with thoughts and feelings, ambitions and desires, rather than just a case with a number and no hope.

  ‘How does it help the Third Reich to prevent people fulfilling their potential? War causes so much suffering in all the nations involved. How many children in Germany have suffered bereavement because their fathers died at the front? Death, particularly violent death, is not good for the psyche and children are the ones who suffer most.

  ‘So it makes sense to allow psychologists to practise their healing wherever they exist, be that in Germany or elsewhere in Germany’s empire. The children need to heal if they are not to develop psychological problems. It is such a waste to stop trained people working and equally wasteful to stop students completing their studies in vital subjects. Wouldn’t you agree?’

  Inspector Bauer had been leaning back in his chair, hands intertwined behind his neck and staring up at the ceiling, when a sudden realisation hit him with the force of a punch. What made him assume he was safe here in these unfamiliar Gestapo headquarters? Prying eyes and ears alert for disloyalty, hid everywhere. He barked his response.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous young lady. First, the Fuehrer thoroughly disapproves of psychologists. The books of Jewish mind doctors fuelled the bonfires first and rightly so. Second, German families will look after German children with no help from Jews or Slavs, thank you very much.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said and her mouth remained open.

  There was a knock at the door and the officer who had supervised the cleaning stepped inside.

  ‘Excuse me, Inspector Bauer, but Criminal Director Fuchs would like a word.’

  ‘It seems everyone is giving up their Sunday,’ said Bauer as he gathered his papers and followed the officer.

  Seconds later she jumped up, punched the air and grinned. She lit up and inhaled. Smoke enveloped her as she puffed away, replaying the conversation from the beginning. She squinted as her tongue played with a strand of tobacco. Had the interrogation gone well or badly? She frowned as she chewed her lower lip.

  3

  Criminal Director Fuchs radiated good humour. Lubricated by coffee and cognac, he planned an extended lunch. Visiting the office, as he did at odd moments to keep everyone on their toes, he beamed to find his newly acquired inspector hard at work.

  ‘Come in, come in’, he called out. Bauer found him leaning back in his comfortable chair, small feet up on his desk, with small hands folded over his substantial stomach. He looked like an upturned toad. He responded to Bauer’s crisp Heil Hitler with a giggly voice and half-hearted gesture, never shifting from his chair.

  ‘What have you been up to this morning?’

  Bauer summarized Marta’s arrest and interrogation.

  ‘Is she on our list?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Is she beautiful? Slav women can be stunning.’

  ‘She’s attractive, but not what I would call a conventional beauty,’ said Bauer, wondering where this line of questioning was leading.

  ‘They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.’ He mopped his brow with a handkerchief; his thinning hair drenched with sweat.

  ‘You should have seen some of the Jews we rounded up in Krakow at the beginning. There was one in particular: dark hair, olive green eyes, perfect skin with the faintest blush of colour on her high cheek bones.’

  He had pulled rank on the officer in charge and taken her away for questioning.

  Bauer noticed the bulge developing and dismissed his boss as another middle-aged lecher.

  ‘Still, weeds can be very attractive, can’t they? I’m fond of dandelions. Used to spend hours as a child telling the time with them. Have you ever done that?’

  His face assumed a childlike quality.

  ‘My grandmother used to look after me and taught me the game. Blow on the seed head, Willie, and tell me the time. I must have blown thousands of seeds all over the place–a complete nightmare for any gardener.’

  He laughed and Bauer nodded as enthusiastically as seemed polite but couldn’t take his eyes off Fuchs’s tiny childlike teeth. Stuck between thick pink lips they looked obscene and reminded him of piranha fish devouring bait in Berlin’s aquarium.

  ‘Are you a gardener, Bauer? No? Me neither. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, weeds. No matter how pleasing to the eye you wouldn’t hesitate to root them out and throw them on the compost heap, would you? Not when you’re trying to establish the most perfect garden in the world. Weeds in paradise? Perish the thought.’

  He ordered his driver to take them to a clearing in the forest, made her strip at gunpoint. Revelling in her beauty, he took his time raping her. When he finished, she spat in his face. She would never do that again.

  Fuchs moved his feet off the desk and rearranged the pens on his desk in a businesslike manner. His voice hardened and took on a menacing edge.

  ‘So what do you make of this woman?’

  ‘Mm, it’s difficult to say at this stage.’ Bauer didn’t want to commit himself too early.

  ‘But your gut feel? Your famous gut feel?’

  Bauer exhaled, forcing out his lips and turned to look at Fuchs. The man’s eyes had narrowed to dark slits stressed by his florid face. Swastika colours. He had to tread carefully but also needed to show trust.

  ‘I think someone has set her up.’

  ‘A lover who’s tired of her, perhaps, and wants us to do their dirty work. It happens.’

  ‘As you say, it happens.’ Bauer’s tone was deferential, although his meaning had been different. ‘How do you want me to proceed, Sir?’

  ‘Carry on with the investigation. Bring Friedman in on it. Have you met Friedman? No, that’s right, he’s away on leave for some family matter or other, back next week if memory serves me right. The man’s keen on promotion so let him have his head on this one, under your direction.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘And now you must join me for lunch. I shall show you the delights of the Hotel Imperium.’

  ‘And the prisoner?’

  ‘Leave her where she is. We’re not expecting any more visitors today so the room won’t be required. We could always do with more information and a period of solitude in our little sanatorium may yet loosen her tongue.’

  ‘Thank you. Henni has taken the children to visit relatives, so I wasn’t expecting a proper meal today.’

  ‘Yes, Karl mentioned it. Well, I recommend the pork escalope and the wine is exceptional, unless you’re more of a beer man.’

  ‘Oh I’m keen on beer and wine.’

  ‘Excellent,’ replied Fuchs, his volatile mood once again sociable and expansive.

  The two men left the building toget
her, chatting about the best meals they had consumed.

  They walked for the best part of an hour. Fuchs, who was grossly overweight, kept stopping to point out landmarks or share gossip or catch his breath. Both men were hungry when they entered the bustling interior.

  The hotel manager greeted Fuchs effusively and showed them to a table by the long windows overlooking the gardens. Fuchs excused himself to talk with friends at another table while Bauer took in his surroundings with a practised eye.

  The ubiquitous swastika banners hung from the walls and a portrait of Hitler, flatteringly painted in oils, dominated the space over a large baroque fireplace. Crisp white linen covered the round tables placed discreetly apart and laid with crystal glasses, monogrammed plates and silver cutlery.

  It was a high-class establishment and red leather bindings with gold lettering and golden tassels revealed an extensive menu and wine list. He hadn’t eaten in such an exclusive restaurant since taking Henni out to celebrate their first wedding anniversary in Berlin all those years ago.

  He had already noted the exit points of the restaurant, an automatic response from his policing days. Now he turned his attention to his fellow diners: SS men; members of the German army; businessmen and half a dozen wives or mistresses and one or two girls of easy virtue as his mother would have called them.

  Watching these prostitutes from a distance made him reassess his prisoner. Was she what she claimed to be? Or was she leading him a merry dance? She was, as he had told Fuchs, attractive without being a conventional beauty. Luminous brown eyes were her most noticeable feature that and thick chestnut brown hair cut just above her shoulders; she had an aquiline nose and a small gap between her front teeth. Even in the confines of an interrogation cell she was an animated companion and seemed unaware of the danger she was in.

  He had noticed the careful make-up, the colourful skirt and neat blouse, the slight heels on well-polished, if worn, shoes. They all suggested class. Well, why not? Not every prostitute had to be the blowzy, loud-mouthed specimens the police picked up off the streets; the ones in the dining room today were probably from decent homes. Goodness knows, the war had forced people into all manner of compromises and although illegal it wouldn’t have remained the oldest profession without the connivance of his male colleagues.