by Alex Gerlis
Eventually, a bell rang and Remington-Barber sent Rolf downstairs to open the door. Henry heard two pairs of footsteps ascending the stairs. At first he didn’t recognise the tall figure wearing a trilby hat who had to stoop as he entered the door. But then he removed the trilby and said ‘Henry’ – no more than that, just ‘Henry’ – before taking off his raincoat and slinging it over a chair, then angling the single armchair so it was directly facing the sofa.
‘Sit down Basil, you’re making me nervous. No need to keep looking out of the window: no-one has followed me; I can assure you of that. Make yourself useful – pass me that ashtray then go and sit next to Henry. Either of you chaps fancy a cigarette?’
Edgar lounged back in the armchair, stretching out his long legs so they almost touched the feet of the two men opposite him. Not bothering to stifle a series of yawns he closed his eyes momentarily and it looked for a while as if he was about to fall asleep. Then he sat up straight, slapped his thighs and rubbed his hands.
‘Right – down to business. Henry, you look rather shocked to see me: understandable I suppose. I imagine you rather hoped you’d never see me again, eh?’
Henry said nothing.
‘And are you keeping well Henry?’
‘I’m well thank you. And you?’
‘Basil tells me your little trip to Germany last year went well.’
Henry was about to reply but Edgar raised a hand to stop him.
‘And the money’s going in to your account every month as promised, I presume? Along with the 500 you received after your trip.’
Henry replied that it was.
‘Which in a sense is why I’m here: time for you to do something more to earn that money. How about if I were to tell you you’re going back to Germany?’
Henry drummed his fingers on his knees and very slowly nodded his head. ‘To Essen?’
‘Good heavens no. We can hardly have the murderer returning to the scene of his crime, can we?’ Edgar laughed heartily and Remington-Barber joined in nervously.
‘We thought Berlin would make a nice change.’
Henry gazed quizzically at Edgar, as if he was trying to work out whether the man opposite him was being serious.
‘Berlin?’
‘Yes, Henry, Berlin. Capital of the Third Reich.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. Look, I could tell you all about it now, but I’d just end up repeating myself later on. We have a chap coming to see us in an hour or so and we’ll put all of our cards on the table then. Talking of tables, Basil, how about some tea, eh?’
Basil Remington-Barber headed over to the small kitchen, pausing in its doorway.
‘You certain this chap is going to turn up, Edgar?’
‘Don’t worry Basil. I’m certain of it. He really has no alternative.’
***
Captain Edgar had finally approached the man at lunchtime that Friday. It felt, to him, as if he’d spent half of his life following people, waiting for hours in the shadows of doorways for them to appear, calculating when they would emerge and what would then be the best time and place to approach them. He had learnt through years of experience that most people tended to be unpredictable in their habits, but he could have guessed that if anyone would be a man of precise routine it would be a Swiss banker. And Michael Hedinger did not disappoint him.
According to the message that Hugo sent through Lisbon, Gunter Reinhart’s friend in Zürich was a man called Michael Hedinger who worked for Bank Leu. Hedinger was apparently aware ‘in principle’, whatever that meant, that his friend Gunter in Berlin wanted him to help look after his son, but he would have no idea he was about to be approached.
Edgar had watched the bank over the past couple of days. It had been founded in 1755 and some of the employees he watched coming in and out looked as though they had been there that long. Now it was one of the ‘Big Seven’ Swiss banks: not one of the largest, but still big enough to have its snout in the German trough, along with all the others. With the help of a porter at the bank who had been paid generously in return for doing no more than giving a signal when Michael Hedinger entered the building, Edgar had been able to spot his quarry.
Hedinger left the head office of Bank Leu on Paradeplatz at precisely one o’clock, presumably on his way to lunch. He turned into Bahnhofstrasse and Edgar decided now was the time he had to make his move.
‘Herr Hedinger, may I have a word with you?’ Edgar spoke in German.
He had approached the banker from behind, having got as close to him as possible and making sure he placed himself between the man and the road. It was a well-practised technique, as was the friendly but firm hand on the man’s elbow and the enforced shaking of his hand. Hold one arm, shake the other arm: take control. That way, anyone watching would assume it was a chance encounter between two acquaintances.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Hedinger replied, sounding surprised rather than annoyed. This was encouraging but Edgar could not assume this would last for long.
‘I need to talk to you about a rather important matter, Herr Hedinger. Is there somewhere quiet perhaps we could go?’
‘I don’t know who you are. What’s this about?’ Now Hedinger was beginning to sound annoyed, and a man and woman turned to look at them as they passed by. People were not accustomed to raised voices on the streets of Zürich.
Edgar edged even closer to Hedinger. ‘It’s in connection with Gunter Reinhart in Berlin, Herr Hedinger.’
Edgar was not prepared for the reaction that followed. He had hoped that at the mention of Reinhart, Hedinger would relax and want to know more: quite possibly he had expected to be contacted and may even be relieved. What he had not expected was to see the look of sheer panic and fear that spread across Hedinger’s face. Edgar could not be sure, but it looked as if his eyes had filled with tears. The banker appeared unsteady on his feet.
‘Come with me.’
Michael Hedinger meekly allowed Edgar to shepherd him across Bahnhofstrasse and then onto Kappelergasse where they settled on a bench overlooking the river. Edgar could see the man next to him was terrified. Edgar took his time lighting a cigarette and held the packet in front of the other man. Hedinger shook his head. ‘No, I don’t smoke.’
‘What’s your name, what’s this about? Please tell me!’
Edgar ignored the first question. ‘I told you: it’s in connection with Gunter Reinhart. You know Herr Reinhart – from the Reichsbank in Berlin?’
‘I’m not sure. Why do you ask?’
‘It’s a very straightforward question, Herr Hedinger. Either you know him or you don’t?’
‘We are acquaintances, in a professional capacity.’
Edgar had prepared his next line: Herr Reinhart has asked for help in bringing his son Alfred out of Berlin and he tells us you are prepared to look after him in Zürich. But before he had an opportunity to speak, Hedinger gripped his forearm and turned to face Edgar. He was a man of medium height, but with the kind of shrunken appearance reserved for those of especially nervous disposition. With his unhealthily pale complexion, watery blue eyes with scarcely a trace of eyebrow above them and his few remaining wisps of hair dancing in the wind, he reminded Edgar of an English country clergyman, the type sent to only the most undemanding of parishes. Now he looked like a clergyman who had been caught in a compromising situation and was about to be defrocked. He was utterly terrified. Edgar could smell it on his breath.
‘I’ve always feared this moment and had resolved that if – when – it came about, I’d immediately be honest.’ Hedinger’s voice trembled as he spoke. ‘It’s all been a terrible misunderstanding… a most unfortunate misunderstanding. Herr Reinhart wanted to divert some of the funds from Germany into a private account in his name and, in a moment of weakness, I agreed. And in a moment of even greater weakness I accepted some money from Herr Reinhart for myself… for my efforts. I regretted it immediately. My money is held in a separate account. I can arrange to have
it paid back to you within a matter of days. I can see to it this afternoon in fact.’
Edgar loosened the grip Hedinger had on his arm and stood up to face the river. In a world of surprises, it was very rare for one to shock him, but this one had. By the sounds of it, Hedinger and Reinhart were involved in a scheme to smuggle German state funds out of Germany into their own private accounts here in Zürich. Hedinger must have assumed Edgar was a German official. He turned around: Hedinger was trembling, his feet tapping on the ground.
‘I have a young family and I’m a good man: I go to church every week. Please understand I didn’t intend to keep your money. I’m sure I can have it all returned to you this afternoon – along with the money in Herr Reinhart’s private account.’
‘Are these accounts with Bank Leu?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Do you have the account numbers please?’
Hedinger obediently removed a slim black notebook from his jacket pocket and turned the pages with trembling fingers that had the appearance of having been manicured. From what Edgar could see, the notebook was full of numbers, figures, initials and dates. Edgar opened his own notebook and, turning to a blank page, wrote ‘Reinhart’ then ‘Hedinger’.
‘Write the account numbers underneath each name please. Don’t forget to put down how much money is in each account. I’m sure we can resolve this matter in a satisfactory manner. If you co-operate, Herr Hedinger, there should be no need for us to take further action.’
Hedinger grasped the bait like a hungry fish, eagerly copying down the account numbers. When he had finished he handed the notebook with its incriminating lists of bank accounts back to Edgar.
‘Can I ask you sir, are you from the Gestapo?’
Edgar laughed: the outcome to the encounter with Michael Hedinger had been far better than he could have hoped.
‘Well, that’s where I think I’m going to surprise you, Herr Hedinger.’
***
‘How can you be so sure he’ll turn up Edgar?’
‘Because it’s not in his interests not to turn up.’
Basil Remington-Barber shook his head and moved away from his spot by the window overlooking Basteiplatz, which he had occupied on and off throughout the afternoon.
‘Well, I wish I were able to share your confidence. In my experience, things don’t always turn out quite as planned.’
‘Basil, do stop pacing around and sit down quietly, as Henry’s doing. It’s now five o’clock. At this moment, our visitor will be leaving his office on Paradeplatz and commencing his short walk here. It will take him six minutes; I timed it myself earlier this afternoon. In fact, I walked the route three times and it takes six minutes and 20 seconds, but I wouldn’t want you to think I’m a pedant. He’ll be with us by 5.10 at the very latest, mark my words. What is it they say about the Swiss and clockwork? And just one warning: he may tell us things we’re already aware of – like the boy, Alfred. Pretend it’s the first time we’ve heard it, eh?
At seven minutes past five a knowing smile crossed Edgar’s face as the bell rang. He gave Remington-Barber a ‘told you’ look and went downstairs to let their visitor in. Two minutes later Michael Hedinger had joined the three Englishmen in the apartment.
For a moment the four of them sat in an uncomfortable silence. The newcomer was in a state of considerable nervousness. He had declined offers to remove his coat and had only reluctantly taken off his gloves and hat. He was clutching a brown briefcase to his chest and was clearly edgy, jumping at the sound of a car engine backfiring and at a door slamming in an apartment above. Edgar had placed himself at the head of the table: Hedinger was sitting to his left, opposite the other two men.
When Edgar began to speak it was initially to Henry and Remington-Barber.
‘Henry, Basil – this is Michael Hedinger. I will speak in German by the way: Herr Hedinger’s English is very limited. Herr Hedinger works for Bank Leu, of which more in due course. Perhaps I should explain that when Herr Hedinger and I first met, some four hours ago, there was something of a misunderstanding. It was perhaps a fortunate misunderstanding from my point of view, less so from Herr Hedinger’s. Is that not correct?’
The banker looked up in an absent-minded manner, with a ‘what me?’ expression. He nodded meekly in reply to Edgar’s question.
‘Not to put too fine a point on it, it turns out Herr Hedinger here in Zürich and Herr Reinhart in Berlin have been operating a… how can one put it… a scheme whereby a proportion of the funds transferred from the Reichsbank to the safekeeping of Bank Leu have been diverted into private numbered accounts: one belonging to Herr Reinhart, the other to Herr Hedinger. Is that correct, Herr Hedinger?’
Hedinger began to speak but was stopped by Edgar. ‘You’ll have ample opportunity to talk in due course, Herr Hedinger. It’s a very risky but lucrative scheme. Herr Hedinger tells me that of the millions of Reichsmarks transferred through Herr Reinhart’s operation at the Reichsbank to Bank Leu, some 25,000 have ended up in the private accounts – that’s around 2,000 pounds sterling. Is that not correct, Herr Hedinger?’
He nodded, avoiding eye contact with anyone around the table.
‘And the money is split equally, is it not?’ Again, Hedinger nodded.
‘Now this is where Herr Hedinger must be kicking himself. When I approached him earlier today, I knew nothing of this scheme. However, the private enterprise with Herr Reinhart has obviously been on Herr Hedinger’s conscience and he assumed I was an official – a German official, would you please – investigating the matter. Before I’d even had an opportunity to explain what I’d approached him about, he confessed. Have I accurately summed up what happened, Herr Hedinger?’
The Swiss coughed and spoke in a soft voice. ‘I never intended to keep the money, but Gunter – Herr Reinhart – is a very persuasive man: he insisted that with the amounts being transferred and the fact some of it was obtained from private accounts by the Reichsbank, well… he said it’d be impossible for our accounts to be traced. He may well have been correct, but I’ve been terrified I’d be caught and I’d lose my job and my house – so much so that I’ve been a nervous wreck in recent weeks. I felt it was just a matter of time before someone came for me. When you approached me on Bahnhofstrasse I assumed I’d been caught: I was almost relieved, hence my rather too hasty confession.’
He shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands out in a ‘so there we are’ manner.
So there we are.
‘As I told you earlier, Herr Hedinger, I couldn’t care less about the money. Keep it. As far as we’re concerned, it’s better it’s in your account and that of Herr Reinhart than in one belonging to the Reichsbank. The money isn’t our concern. Neither Bank Leu nor the Reichsbank need find out about it: you will keep your job and your fine house. But a happy outcome of that misunderstanding is our knowledge of it has ensured your complete co-operation, Herr Hedinger, am I correct?’
‘Indeed.’
‘So now we come to our main business, of which we spoke briefly and of which Henry here is unaware. Herr Hedinger, for the sake of my colleagues here, please tell me again about your relationship with Herr Reinhart.’
The Swiss cleared his throat and paused for a while, clearly giving careful consideration to what he was about to say. His soft voice and the careful way in which he spoke reminded Edgar even more of a country vicar, someone more suited to talking to elderly ladies than spies.
‘Gunter and I have known each other for some five years. As you’re aware, Gunter occupies a senior position in the foreign department of the Reichsbank. He’s been involved with the transfer of funds from the Reichsbank to foreign banks, and Bank Leu is, in this respect, one of their main clients. I’ve been working in the international division of Bank Leu for a number of years and I’m currently its deputy head. You should be aware there is a very close relationship between Germany and the Swiss banks: they’re an important client for us and we’re very important to them: an ef
ficient and discreet way of moving funds in and out of the country. Not all their funds, it has to be acknowledged, have been obtained in entirely legal ways. As part of my job, I oversee our relationship with the Reichsbank, so over the years I have visited Berlin on a regular basis and I think it’s reasonable to say Gunter and I have become good friends. We found we have much in common; it took us a couple of years to really trust each other but, once we did, we found we could confide in each other. We’ve been able to talk frankly about our private lives and our worries. About a year ago, when I was in Berlin, he took me into his confidence and told me a secret that he said if it came out, would cost him his job and quite possibly his freedom. What I’m about to say will stay within these walls?’
Edgar laughed. ‘We’re hardly likely to inform the Gestapo, are we?’
‘I realise that, but I’m divulging something told to me in complete confidence. What Gunter told me was this: he had married a woman called Rosa in 1924, when he was 29. Rosa, I think, was two or three years younger than him. He describes Rosa as the love of his life. She happened to be Jewish but was not practising and Gunter said their differences of religion were simply not an issue, or at least not for them. Their son Alfred was born in 1929, so he’s now 11 or 12. Gunter absolutely dotes on Alfred. He described their life together as idyllic, but that began to change when the Nazis came to power in 1933. Until then, not many people knew Rosa was Jewish, but life became increasingly uncomfortable. Then the Nazis started to bring in all these anti-Jewish laws and one of them, in 1935 I think it was, banned marriages between Jews and non-Jews. So they had a choice, either leave the country or get divorced. May I trouble you for a drink please?’
There was a pause while Remington-Barber disappeared into the kitchen, emerging a few minutes later with a tray of tea, a jug of water with glasses and a bottle of whisky. Hedinger poured himself a glass of water.
‘Gunter told me their original plan was to emigrate: they’d have had to leave everything behind, pay a hefty tax then find somewhere that’d give them an entry visa. Nonetheless, they were prepared to do that. But then it was made very clear to Gunter that unless he divorced Rosa immediately, he’d lose his job at the Reichsbank. From what I understand, they both still loved each other and saw the divorce as a temporary measure: Rosa and Alfred would try to go to England or France then Gunter would join them there and they’d remarry. But for reasons of which I’m unclear, Rosa delayed leaving Germany: I think it may have been she really wanted to go to England but she couldn’t get an entry visa. Gunter, meanwhile, was finding life difficult. He met a woman called Gudrun and they married – I think he felt that, until he remarried, there’d always be suspicion about him. He remained in contact with Rosa, but it was difficult and in 1936 she remarried – a Jewish man called Harald Stern. They soon had a daughter, Sophia. My understanding is all this was done with Gunter’s blessing, because Harald’s plan was for them all to move to France, and Gunter just wanted Rosa and Alfred to be safe. Gunter even helped them financially and tried to obtain the right papers.’