A Murder in Auschwitz

by J. C. Stephenson

  Meyer opened the folder on the murdered tug boat captain case and tried to read through the main statements again before making his notes and organising a trip to Spandau to see the client. But he could not concentrate.

  Klara had cried into his shoulder for quite some time the previous night. Then she had become angry and said all manner of things about the Nazis and Hitler and their racial policies and if the world knew then the Olympics would never be allowed to be held in Berlin. And then more crying. She had been exhausted and Meyer made her go to bed early, just after the girls had been told their story and gone to sleep.

  Meyer’s office door was open and he heard something familiar, the tinkle of coffee cups. He peered through his open doorway and, for a second he thought he saw Marie. He felt he must have been mistaken. And then there she was. It was Marie, and she was smiling and coming into his office. Behind her, leaning against the doorframe, was Bauer, a grin spread across his face, almost forcing his rheumy eyes entirely closed.

  “They brought her back last night,” he said. “I told her that you and her Uncle Kurt rescued her.”

  Marie stood in front of Meyer and passed him a coffee cup already containing the cream and sugar that he normally had. Then she reached into her apron pocket and took out a folded piece of paper.

  “I helped her with the letters,” said Bauer, as Meyer unfolded the paper.

  It was a drawing of a girl with a big smiling face with lots of black hair under a smiling yellow sun. In crayon was written a single word, ‘danke’.

  Auschwitz, 4th February 1944

  LIEBEHENSCHEL considered Kolb’s bruised and cut face. He recognised him, although he would have been unable to put a name to him before today. Kolb still wore his uniform, but Liebehenschel noticed that some of the buttons were missing from his tunic and there were blood stains on his sleeve, evidence of Kramer’s interrogations.

  Liebehenschel had not anticipated having to be involved in this affair beyond ordering Kramer to set up a court martial. In fact, he had not even been planning to attend the hearing. As far as Liebehenschel was concerned, he wanted the court martial over and done with and Kolb executed so that they could return to concentrating on the job that they were carrying out.

  But when Kramer explained that Kolb was requesting help from one of the Jews in the camp, Liebehenschel knew that maintaining his distance from this incident would not be possible and he would have to become personally involved. Initially, he had been furious with Kramer. For him to even suggest such a thing was absurd, but once Liebehenschel had calmed down, Kramer had explained that it was his duty to pass on any requests from SS prisoners directly to the Camp Commandant. As a result, Liebehenschel had told Kramer to have Kolb escorted to his office as soon as possible.

  “Hauptscharfuhrer Kolb, you have already caused myself and Hauptsturmfuhrer Kramer a great deal of trouble. One of my senior officers is dead, shot with his own pistol, and you, Kolb, the only suspect, were found with the murder weapon in your hand. It isn’t looking good for you. I would say that there is a very high chance you will be facing a firing squad. And now you are requesting that a Jew be part of your defence? It is intolerable, Kolb. I should have you shot for even suggesting it.”

  Kolb sat in silence while the Commandant’s voice rose and his anger grew. Liebehenschel took a deep breath and sat with his hands on the table, supporting his fury.

  “What is it exactly that you want, Kolb?”

  Kolb hesitated. This would be his only chance. His only opportunity to convince the Commandant to allow him to use the services of Manfred Meyer. How would he explain what an extraordinary legal mind the Jew had? How he could see how a sequence of events led to a crime being committed, or in his case not committed? He could not see any way in which he could even have the slimmest chance of being found innocent, unless Meyer helped.

  “Herr Commandant, before the war, in the early nineteen-thirties, I was accused of a crime which I did not commit. Manfred Meyer was the lawyer who found the evidence which proved my innocence. If it had not been for him, I am convinced that I would have been found guilty and sent to prison, or worse.

  “Three months ago, I was surprised to see him in the camp. If you would be kind enough to let him help in my defence then his presence at Auschwitz is very fortuitous.”

  Liebehenschel sighed. “Why would I let a Jew be involved in the court martial process? Can you imagine what Berlin would say when the report on the hearing was read and they saw that a Jew defended an SS officer?”

  Kolb wracked his mind. “He wouldn’t be directly involved sir, he would be an adviser only, to Heinrich Fuchs, the officer who will conduct my defence.”

  Liebehenschel sat back in his chair and ran his hands over his hair. “I would still be in the position where a prisoner, a Jew no less, is working for the SS, be that for Fuchs or otherwise.”

  Kolb could feel that his chance of having Meyer help him was slipping away. Liebehenschel had calmed down from his initial rage, but Kolb felt that he was only a few seconds from being turned down. Once that had happened, it would be over; he would be destined to face a firing squad. He tried one last argument. “The SS already use prisoners. We have Jews working for us every day, in the munitions factories and the forests, and they even work for us in the gas chambers. Using one to help with my defence would not be so unusual.”

  The Commandant sat with his hands held behind his head. Kolb had a point. They used the Jews every day for labour. They worked for the Greater German Reich, they worked for the SS, and they worked for the camp. Why not use the skills that their former professions afforded them? If Kolb wanted to use a Jew who had been a lawyer, then why shouldn’t he?

  “Hauptscharfuhrer Kolb,” said Liebehenschel, before pausing. He quickly thought through what he was about to approve and then, deciding that he was making the correct choice, continued. “Hauptscharfuhrer Kolb, I am going to approve your use of this Jew, Meyer? You will need to speak to him. You will need to convince him to help you. You can discuss your case with him in the stockade. As I am sure you will be aware, you will need to be held there until the court martial. However, you are still a member of the SS and he is still a Jew. You may treat him in any way you wish to encourage him to help you.”

  Kolb could feel the relief consume his body and Liebehenschel noticed Kolb visibly relax. He wondered what kind of lawyer this Jew was. Liebehenschel considered that perhaps he would take more of an interest in the proceedings than he had originally planned.

  “Kolb, there is something you should keep in mind. I know that if I was a prisoner here and one of the guards asked for my help, it would not be forthcoming.”

  Kolb had not even considered that Meyer would not be happy to help him. At least he had the permission he needed from the Commandant. All he had to do now was convince Meyer.

  Berlin, 29th January 1938

  THE easterly wind cut through the city like a knife. Meyer pulled his hat down over his ears and the collar of his overcoat as far it he could stretch it over his face, as he made his way across the road to Wertheim department store on Leipziger Platz. The pavements and buildings looked as if they had been sprinkled with icing sugar, and ice crystals seemed to hang in the air, waiting to attach themselves to something.

  Meyer was relieved as he pushed open the doors to the store and felt the heat inside cascade over him. He pulled off his hat and opened his coat in appeasement to adjust to the temperature.

  It was Klara’s birthday the next day and Meyer knew exactly what he was getting her. They had been to Eva’s, a well-known dance hall which was situated around the corner from Wertheim’s, only two weeks previously, and beforehand they had stopped off in the department store. This was where Klara saw the blue dress with little white flowers sprinkled across it.

  When Meyer had pointed out that it was a summer dress and she would not be able to wear it for months, Klara had just laughed and said that she loved it so much that she would not mind wha
t kind of weather it was, she would just have to wear a coat as well. That sealed the deal as far as Meyer was concerned. This was what he would buy her for her birthday. Cunningly, he also asked her to try it on to see how it looked. She tried on the size which she guessed to be closest to her shape and it fitted perfectly. Meyer now had the style, colour, and size of a dress which he knew his wife loved. It would be the perfect gift.

  Meyer made his way across the central atrium and over to the women’s clothing department. The blue dress sat on a mannequin, so he spoke to one of the female assistants and asked for the size which Klara had tried on.

  “Would you like me to wrap this for you, sir?” asked the lady. She was in her early twenties and wore the new dark green uniform of the department store. Sewn on to the right breast of her jacket were the letters AWAG. On the left was a round Nazi Party badge, with a white circular centre and a black swastika.

  “Yes please, it is a present for my wife,” replied Meyer. “Is this a new uniform?” he asked.

  The lady blushed. “Yes,” she replied. “This is the first day of us wearing them. Do you like the colour? I quite like it.”

  “The colour is perfect. It makes you look very smart,” he replied. “What does the AWAG stand for?”

  She looked down at the embroidered lettering. “Ah yes, they are changing the name. Wertheim is so Jewish, don’t you think? It will soon be known as the Allgemeine Warenhandelsgesellschaft. Much better I think, more German.”

  Meyer nodded and looked around the Atrium as his present was wrapped in striped red and white paper. A large Nazi flag hung at one end, where the sun clock was situated, and more, smaller flags hung at the entrance to some of the hallways which led to other departments.

  He suddenly realised how often he saw the red flag with the white circle and black swastika. So often that he no longer noticed. Even in a department store, the Nazis made their presence known, even to the point of changing the name.

  Meyer took the tram back to Bauer & Bauer’s office. It was too cold to consider walking any of the distance there, and the tram stopped almost right outside the main door. He made his way in with his precious package under his arm. He could not wait to see Klara’s face when he gave it to her.

  He waved to Weber as he passed his office and wished Frieda a good afternoon as he walked into his own. She returned the greeting and then followed him through from her typewriter desk with a notepad and pen.

  “Is there anything you need me for at the moment, Herr Meyer, or may I go for my lunch?” she asked.

  “No Frieda, off you go. But wrap up warm, it is freezing outside,” he replied, while hanging his own coat and hat on the stand in the corner of the room.

  She turned to go but suddenly remembered something and came back to his desk as Meyer sat down. “I am sorry, Herr Meyer but Herr Bauer was looking for you. He asked if you could go up to his office as soon as you returned.”

  “Okay Frieda, thank you. Did he say what it was about?”

  “No,” she said falteringly. “But he seemed, I am not sure, Herr Meyer. He seemed very unhappy.”

  Meyer knocked on Muller’s office door and walked in. “Good afternoon, Herr Muller.”

  Muller stood up from his desk and headed to Bauer’s door. “Herr Meyer, please, just one moment,” he said, as he slipped through Bauer’s large wooden office door.

  A few seconds later, he re-emerged and indicated to Meyer that he should go straight in. Meyer thanked him and made his way into the office.

  Bauer was seated behind his oversized desk, attempting to light the tobacco in his pipe. Through the sucking and the terrifyingly tall flames which spouted from the pipe bowl, Bauer managed to ask Meyer to sit down.

  “Manfred, thank you for coming up to see me so promptly,” said Bauer. Unusually, his face was not wrinkled with smiles and his eyes hung like a sad dog's. “I am not really very sure how to tell you this, Manfred. I am embarrassed, angry, and sad about this state of affairs.”

  “Friedrich, please, what is the matter?” asked Meyer. It could not be to do with Marie again, as he had already seen her that morning.

  Bauer opened a letter which lay on his desk in front of him. “It is probably best if I tell you what is in this. It will explain things better than I can.”

  Meyer was intrigued. He could not imagine what it was that was causing Bauer, the greatest lawyer in Berlin at the beginning of the century, to be unable to find the words to express himself.

  Bauer removed his pipe from his mouth and sat it carefully on the edge of a green glass ashtray, the enormous size of which was in keeping with the desk it sat on.

  “I received this in the first post today,” he said, holding up the letter before beginning to read its contents. “It is from The Reich Interior Ministry. It says that as the sole partner of the legal firm Bauer & Bauer, I am personally responsible for upholding the laws and directives of the Third Reich. It goes on a bit about the Aryanisation of Germany and the racial protection of the German people and then near the bottom it says, ‘any persons of Jewish descent, which includes practising Jews, non-practising Jews, those where a grandparent or more were of the Jewish race and Grade 1 or Grade 2 Mischlings, are forbidden to continue in employment in any public professions; this includes practising as a lawyer and this profession’s various branches such as, and not inclusive of, criminal lawyer, property lawyer, inheritance lawyer, corporate lawyer, copyright lawyer. Anyone of the aforementioned racial groups must cease activity in the profession associated with the company Bauer & Bauer with immediate effect. Failure to do so will incur criminal proceedings against both employer and employee...’ and so on.”

  Meyer felt numb. He had known it would only be a matter of time before he would face the anti-Jewish laws which had been being passed since the early thirties, but as time had gone on, even after Klara was forced from her job, he thought that perhaps because his mother and father had not been practising Jews and he did not have a particularly Jewish name, maybe he would be lucky enough to fall through the net.

  Klara and he had already made the decision to remove Anna and Greta from school and Klara now schooled them at home. This was for two reasons. The first was to protect them from any anti-Semitic provocation by the other pupils or the teachers. Also, it gave Klara a full-time occupation which she loved; teaching her girls.

  But now the dark shadow which was falling across Germany had encompassed Meyer in its gloom. He sat speechless in Bauer’s office, the injustice of it all igniting the anger inside him.

  “I am sorry Manfred,” said Bauer. “You won’t be able to practise as a lawyer but you can still work for the company. The racial laws do not forbid you employment here, and as difficult as it may be, there are still roles which you can fill in the company. I won’t abandon you, Manfred. I promise.”

  Meyer felt himself slump further down into the leather of the chair. “I know, Friedrich. I know.”

  Auschwitz, 5th February 1944

  MEYER pushed against his teeth with his tongue. They were definitely loose. He pondered how these things crept up on you. He was not sure when he first felt the pain, but now when he bit into the hard black bread that they were given, his teeth on the right-hand side of his face sent a dull pain signal to his brain. His gums hurt more than his teeth and they felt soft when he touched them. Klara would know what to do. If he could have asked her.

  He wondered what she was doing right then. In his mind’s eye, he always pictured her with the girls. Meyer hoped that they were all still together. They were good, strong girls, who had never been sick since they were babies. Whatever it was that they found themselves doing, probably armaments factory work, he knew that their mother would be there and looking after them.

  But he wondered if she gazed over at the men’s camp, hoping to spot him amongst the identical striped men that shuffled to and from the camp each day. He tried to see through to the women’s camp, but the buildings next to the crematoria blocked his vi
ew.

  He thought back to the days before the war, when the girls were being schooled by Klara and Meyer was running what had become known as the Manfred Line; helping build defences with the lawyers of Bauer & Bauer. Strangely enough, these had been happy times. Maybe even happier than before the Nazi’s had come to power, before the racial laws and the hatred. It was always summer in his memories of the children. The sun catching their hair, their smiles, and sparkling eyes like their mother's. Beautiful, kind, gentle, understanding children. He could not have asked for anything more.

  Meyer’s memories were broken by a silence.

  There was always a low hum in the hut. Never noise but never silence. The hum of low voices and exhausted snores. The only loud voices and laughter coming from Langer and his followers.

  But the deadly silence which filled the camp outside had infiltrated the hut with its terrifying nothingness. The hum had stopped. Even Langer’s cackle and shouted insults had stopped. The silence had entered the hut.

  Meyer looked to the door where the silence had come in and saw two SS officers and three guards in the doorway. The two officers meandered slowly around the hut, their disgust at being in such a contaminated place and in such close proximity to men they thought of as less than men painted across their faces. Finally, one of them broke the silence.

  “Manfred Meyer. The lawyer, Manfred Meyer.”

  Meyer’s heart stopped. An icy cold gripped him, as if the silence had reached over and squeezed his soul.

  The officers followed the turned heads of the men in the hut until they were looking directly at Meyer. Then one of them signalled with his gloved hand, and the three guards pushed their way past the men in the crowded hut and pulled Meyer off his bed. Geller looked on in horror as Meyer was marched out of the door, two of the guards with a hand on each of Meyer’s shoulders. The third guard followed the two officers out of the doorway. And then they were gone.