A Murder in Auschwitz

by J. C. Stephenson

  “So, Herr Hauptscharfuhrer, can you tell the panel what you observed as you approached Sturmbannfuhrer Straus’ office?”

  “I saw the light from a door opening and closing again,” he replied.

  “Was this Sturmbannfuhrer Straus’ office door?”

  “I am unable to say if it was in fact Sturmbannfuhrer Straus’ office door or if it was Untersturmfuhrer Ritter’s office door, as they are adjacent to one another.”

  “Why could you not determine which door it was opening?”

  “The fog. It was thick fog that night, just as it had been the previous few nights. I could only see the outline of the buildings against the snow, so it was impossible to tell which door it was that opened.”

  Before Fuchs could continue with his questioning, Liebehenschel interrupted the proceedings by requesting the meteorological report from the records office for that night, then indicated to Fuchs that he should continue.

  “Did you see anyone on your journey to Sturmbannfuhrer Straus’ office?” Fuchs asked. Meyer had explained how it would seem unusual to the panel that a murderer would happily be identified while on the way to kill his victim.

  “Yes, the two perimeter guards. We saluted each other.”

  “And then you went directly to the office door? What did you find when you opened that door?”

  Kolb paused for a moment. He seemed genuinely distressed as he recalled the scene which had met him as he opened the door. “Sturmbannfuhrer Straus was sitting in his office chair behind his desk, with his head hanging forward and a bullet wound to his head. Blood was on the back of the wall.”

  “Where was his pistol?”

  “It was on the floor, just visible under his desk.”

  “What did you do next?” asked Fuchs.

  “I picked up the pistol. Like I said, it was only just visible so I couldn’t see if the safety was on. It must have been the way I picked it up; my little finger touched the trigger and the gun discharged itself.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I thought I was going to drop it and it might go off again, so I sat it in my hand correctly. It was a few seconds later that the two guards entered the building. They quickly had a look at the scene, and I can’t blame them for jumping to conclusions.”

  “Do you know what alerted the guards to enter Sturmbannfuhrer Straus’ office?” asked Fuchs.

  “Yes. It would have been the gunshot when I accidentally discharged the pistol.”

  “But neither you nor the guards heard the first gunshot. The one which killed Sturmbannfuhrer Straus?”

  “That is correct. And the shot must have been fired recently as there was still some smoke in the air and the smell of the cordite,” replied Kolb.

  “As well as there being a heavy fog, can you remember what the weather was like that evening?”

  “Yes, it was freezing. I had my gloves on but still had to keep my hands in my pockets to try to keep warm.”

  “There was thunder that evening as well, was there not, Herr Hauptscharfuhrer?”

  “Yes, as I was crossing to Sturmbannfuhrer Straus’ office, there was a huge crack of thunder.”

  “Would you say that it was loud enough to cover the sound of a pistol shot?” asked Fuchs.

  “Yes. Definitely,” replied Kolb.

  Fuchs turned over one of his sheets of paper. “Can I please direct the panel to the following finding? In the presence of Hauptsturmfuhrer Kramer, the bullet hole from the accidental discharge of Sturmbannfuhrer Straus’ weapon when Hauptscharfuhrer Kolb picked it up was found in the floor of the office, at the foot of one of the legs of the office desk.”

  Kramer confirmed that he had witnessed the bullet hole in the floor, before allowing Fuchs to continue.

  “This confirms that two shots were fired that evening in Sturmbannfuhrer Straus’ office. The first, killing him but being masked by the sound of thunder, the second, in error, when Hauptscharfuhrer Kolb picked up the pistol and fired it into the floor.”

  Fuchs paused momentarily before requesting that Ritter be called to the court martial.

  “Untersturmfuhrer Ritter, can you tell me your movements around seven o’clock on the evening of Sturmbannfuhrer Straus’ murder?” asked Fuchs.

  The meteorological report had been returned to the court martial and studied by the panel, confirming the heavy, freezing fog and the thunder during that evening, between six and eight o’clock. Kolb had returned to his seat next to Fuchs, his shabby, stained uniform in complete contrast to both Fuchs' and Ritter's, the latter of whom now sat in his place in the centre of the room.

  “Yes, of course,” replied Ritter confidently. “I was finishing off some supply requests and left my office to return to my barrack room at around that time.”

  “Did you go straight to your barracks, or did you tell Sturmbannfuhrer Straus that you were finished for the evening?”

  “No. I went straight to my barrack room.”

  “You did not tell your commanding officer that you were off-duty for the evening?” asked Fuchs.

  “Well, no. I had spoken to him earlier and he had told me to take the rest of the evening off.”

  Fuchs nodded and then started to ask the questions which Meyer had detailed. He had wanted Ritter to start to feel backed into a corner, to feel unjustly blamed and, hopefully, begin to panic. “Is it not true that you had made a request for a transfer earlier that day?”

  “Yes, but...”

  “And that you were denied that transfer?”

  “Yes, but...”

  “And that this was not the first time you had made the request?”

  “I don’t see what...”

  “You have made a request for a transfer out of Auschwitz four times. All have been denied by Sturmbannfuhrer Straus. Did he warn you not to make another request?”

  “Yes, although...”

  “And did he say that you would be disciplined if you made yet another transfer request?”

  “If you let me explain!” shouted Ritter. Fuchs had succeeded in doing what Meyer had wanted.

  “Yes. Please do explain your continued requests to get away from this camp. Do you not feel that it is worthy war work which is carried out here?”

  “I do, of course,” said Ritter, quieter now.

  “Then why the continued requests for transfer? Please, do explain.”

  “I...it is not that I don’t think that the work carried out here is worthy. Perhaps I did not have as productive a relationship with Sturmbannfuhrer Straus as I did with my senior officers at other camps.”

  “So, you disliked Sturmbannfuhrer Straus. Were you aware that he was a homosexual?” asked Fuchs.

  Ritter looked extremely uncomfortable. “I am not sure...” he tailed off.

  “You are not sure?” asked Fuchs.

  “There was a suspicion that he might have been.”

  “Perhaps there was more than a suspicion,” said Fuchs. “Perhaps your relationship with Sturmbannfuhrer Straus was not entirely professional. Perhaps you had a lovers' tiff, hence the continued requests for transfer. Are you also a homosexual Untersturmfuhrer Ritter?”

  Ritter’s face turned beetroot red in fury, although it could have been mistaken for embarrassment. The panel looked at each other. What they had thought was going to be a forgone conclusion had entirely turned around.

  Ritter remained unable to speak due to his anger and so Fuchs took the opportunity to twist the knife. “Let me tell you what I think happened that evening, Untersturmfuhrer Ritter.

  “As Hauptscharfuhrer Kolb was making his way across the courtyards to visit Sturmbannfuhrer Straus, you left your own office and entered Sturmbannfuhrer Straus’ office to confront him, either about your transfer, or about something related to Straus’ homosexuality. Or perhaps it was a lovers' tiff. The subject of your disagreement is not important. He felt threatened by you and took his pistol from its holster to protect himself, but you disarmed him, pushing him back into his chair and firi
ng a shot directly into his temple.

  “In a moment of genuine good luck, there is a crack of very loud thunder which masks the sound of the shot. You panic and drop the gun, which slides under the desk, and you leave the office. This is the light from an opening door which Hauptscharfuhrer Kolb observes. You return to your barrack room immediately after this.

  “Hauptscharfuhrer Kolb now enters Sturmbannfuhrer Straus’ office and finds him dead. He notices his pistol lying under the desk and picks it up, inadvertently making it fire a second shot. There is no thunder this time, and the sound of the gun firing is heard by the perimeter guards, who immediately enter the office and find Hauptscharfuhrer Kolb with the pistol still in his hand.”

  Ritter was shaking his head but found himself still unable to speak.

  “Is this not what actually happened that evening, Untersturmfuhrer Ritter? Is it not true that it was you who actually fired the shot which killed Sturmbannfuhrer Straus?” asked Fuchs, but still Ritter remained silent. His rage was evident but he struggled to form any words which would defend his position.

  “No. I did not kill Sturmbannfuhrer Straus,” he finally managed to say.

  Fuchs turned to the panel. “No further questions.”

  The court martial had been adjourned so that the panel could discuss the case. It was evident that Kolb's defence had not been conducted as the three of them had expected it to be. Bayer, from the legal department, had been particularly impressed.

  “So, Wilhelm, is Kolb guilty? Or was it Ritter that shot Straus?” asked Liebehenschel.

  “Fuchs made a very good case for Kolb. To me it looks like Kolb has been a victim of circumstance. Fuchs has shown that two shots were fired. The first was the one which killed Straus, with the second being fired into the floor. Although the sequence of these shots has not been proven, they certainly make sense to me. That leaves us with the question; if Kolb didn’t kill Straus, then who did?” replied Bayer.

  “Josef?” asked Liebehenschel.

  Kramer had been nodding in agreement as Bayer spoke. “Until today, I was certain that Kolb was guilty. But now? It certainly would seem to me that Ritter was the one who pulled the trigger and fired the first shot.”

  Liebehenschel sat back in his chair, running his fingers through his hair. “Do we agree that Kolb is innocent of the murder of Straus?”

  The other two men nodded.

  “And do we agree that Ritter was the actual murderer?” he asked. Again, the other two men agreed.

  “Josef, once the court martial has been reconvened and we have given our verdict, I want Ritter arrested and executed for the murder of Sturmbannfuhrer Straus. This whole affair has been a distraction from our work here, and I want it over and done with today. Is that clear?”

  Kramer was also glad that the circus which he felt had grown from Straus’ murder would be over with. Jews giving legal advice to the SS, visits to the murder scene, and Kolb’s incessant complaining and demands throughout; he wished he could shoot him too.

  “Yes, Herr Obersturmbannfuhrer.”

  Germany, 23rd July 1943

  MEYER and his family had been herded down to the edge of the track by the SS soldiers to join the crowd which had been assembled there from across Germany. Meyer had kept hold of Anna’s hand and Klara had kept a hold of Greta’s as they made their way down the incline to the platform.

  He looked at the faces which surrounded him. They were of all ages, from children to grandfathers and grandmothers, all clutching suitcases, all standing in family knots as they waited for an unknown future.

  “Do you know where we are being taken?” Meyer overheard someone being asked.

  “I have heard that towns have been built in the east,” came a reply.

  “Why would they build towns for Jews? It will be work camps and factories,” was another.

  Meyer kept a strong hold of Anna’s hand and told Klara to follow him to a clearing amongst the forest of people.

  “I heard someone say that we were being sent to concentration camps,” said Klara, as they placed their cases together and allowed the girls to sit on them.

  “What is a concentration camp, Papa?” asked Greta.

  “Nothing to worry about, Greta, it just means that it is a camp where they concentrate a population in one place.”

  Meyer put his arm around Klara. “It will be okay. As long as we are together,” he said, as he kissed her cheek.

  Before long, there were some shouts from the crowd, and in the distance Meyer could see the smoke from a train. The guards started to move towards the crowd and forced those at the rear to pick up their bags and move closer to the platform.

  Everyone’s heads were turned to the smoke and the ever-advancing train. The engine noise travelled across the morning fields as it approached, and then it came clearly into view as it curled around the curved track, towards where they stood.

  “It’s not for us,” came a shout. “It’s a cattle train.”

  But the guards moved the crowd closer to the platform and the train slowed and finally stopped. Wooden cattle trucks were strung out behind the wheezing and hissing engine, and some of the SS guards pushed through the crowd to the front, where they pulled open the heavy doors. “Inside,” came the order.

  “They can’t mean us to travel in those, surely,” said Klara. “What about the old people and the children?”

  Meyer shook his head. “I don’t know, Klara. We need to wait and see.”

  Some of the young men at the front of the crowd had climbed up into the cattle trucks and were now helping up others and their luggage. The people around Meyer began to move towards the train.

  “Anna, Greta, pick up your bags, girls. Klara, we need to try to stay together and to get on the same truck,” instructed Meyer. “That truck there, the one with the yellow writing, we will get on that one.”

  Meyer and Klara each took a hand of one of the children and made their way towards the cattle truck that Meyer had picked out. The guards were throwing bags onto the train, and people were climbing on after them.

  As they got closer to the cattle truck, Meyer thought that he had made a mistake and there would not be any room for them. It already looked full, and he was about to start leading his family to the next truck, but one of the guards put his hand on Meyer’s shoulder, pushing him towards the one with the yellow writing.

  Finally, he was standing in front of the wooden carriage. “Inside,” instructed one of the SS guards. Meyer stared at the feet of those already on board. “Inside,” came the order again.

  Meyer lifted up Anna onto the truck, along with their bags, and then he lifted up Greta, climbing up after her and pulling up Klara. Meyer and Klara stood at the very edge of the truck. He looked into the solemn faces of those already aboard, keeping his balance at the edge of the open doorway and holding onto both the girls.

  Down on the platform came a call from the guards. “Close this one up. It’s full.”

  Then the daylight which had flooded the inside of the cattle truck became eclipsed as the vast wooden door slid shut.

  “Papa?” shouted Greta, as the darkness enclosed them.

  “It’s okay, girls, we are all together. Klara?” said Meyer.

  “I am alright,” replied Klara.

  “Me too, Papa,” came Anna’s voice, although it was quavering slightly.

  Meyer’s eyes slowly became accustomed to the darkness which had filled the carriage. Shards of light pierced the truck’s walls, dancing around the faces of those trapped inside. Meyer turned and tried to see through one of the spaces between the wooden slats which made up the walls and doors of the trucks. Outside, he could just make out the uniforms of the SS as they herded the last of the people into the final spaces on the train.

  The shouts from the soldiers died away, and the noise of the last of the doors sliding shut completed a silence which now hung over the train. Only the hiss from the engine filled the air. Meyer peered through a knot-hole which he h
ad found and realised that the guards had left. It was just the cattle train standing at a platform. And then it lurched into movement.

  There were screams of alarm as the train began to move forward. Meyer held on to Klara as she fell sideways, steadying her by holding onto the inside slats of the door. Both the girls gave a scream as they were forced backwards into a stranger.

  Meyer wondered how long this journey would be. They had already travelled all night in the back of the SS truck, where they were at least able to sit down. But now, on the train, they were crammed into the vast wooden cattle trucks where there was no chance of being able to sit. He thought that perhaps this may only be a short journey. Perhaps that platform had been a mustering point, and they would now be taken to a train station where they would be sent on to the different destinations, whether they be the concentration camps, factories, or the fabled newly-built towns in the east.

  It was several hours before the truth dawned on him. This was the transport. This was what was taking them to their destination.

  The journey seemed interminable. He could tell by squinting through the cracks in the door at the position of the sun that they were heading east. He passed this onto those around him, and then someone said that they could tell that they were heading south east.

  “Czechoslovakia,” said an old man standing next to Meyer. “They are sending us to Czechoslovakia to work in the factories there.”

  “I can still see German road signs,” replied Meyer, peering into the daylight.

  “I tell you, it is Czechoslovakia for us,” said the old man.

  The train travelled at a fast walking pace. Occasionally, Meyer saw life outside the carriage, sometimes a field of sheep or cattle grazing in the summer sun and, once or twice, girls working on the land, who would look up at the passing train, unaware of its human cargo.

  The temperature inside the cattle truck rose as the day went on and the sun beat down on the wooden walls and curved tin roof. Sweat broke out on Meyer’s brow as the air thickened with the heat.