Germania: A Novel of Nazi Berlin

by Harald Gilbers

  “What do you want with them?”

  “Well, they’re of huge value to research. This case could be useful for solving future sex crimes.”

  Oppenheimer considered for a moment. Then he handed her the files. “It’s probably better this way. Just in case someone surprises us, then at least there is no proof that we broke into the SD building.”

  Oppenheimer felt there was nothing more to be said. The moment had come to say good-bye. Hilde had also realized it. She gave him a long look and whispered in his ear, “Take care of yourself.” Then she added a little more loudly, “And give Lutzow a hefty kick in the balls from me.”

  “You can count on that,” Oppenheimer added grimly and closed the door.

  He stared out of the back window until Hilde disappeared into the night. Shortly afterward, they were already driving through the dark streets of Köpenick. Just a few more kilometers, and they arrived at the Müggelsee. Suddenly, it occurred to Oppenheimer that they would soon be approaching the place where he’d searched for Traudel Herrmann a week ago. They’d been so damn close; they had missed the murderer’s hiding place by just a few kilometers. Oppenheimer couldn’t suppress a quiet curse at the realization.

  A few minutes later, the water reflected the light of the moon, which was just bright enough to lend the surface a hazy sheen. They were in the forest area around the Müggelsee.

  Bauer turned to the back. “Where exactly are we going now?”

  Oppenheimer switched on the flashlight and handed it to them, together with the section of the city map. It was the only document from the files that he’d kept. “Simply turn right into the entrance. We have to head up the Müggelberg. It’s more or less in between the viewing platform and the Bismarckwarte. Lutzow has had some sort of business out here for the last few years. He grows mushrooms or something like that. Anyhow, there has to be a house or a hut that belongs to him.”

  Bauer frowned. “He grows mushrooms?”

  “It’s very practical nowadays,” Lüttke said. “I also thought about doing it. Much simpler than vegetables. They’re guaranteed to grow, just need moisture. Unfortunately, I don’t have enough space at home.”

  Bauer stared at his colleague as if he seriously doubted his mental faculties. “Mushrooms,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

  * * *

  Somewhere up there, a huge lion was lying sprawled across the main entrance. It was the only sculpture that had been mounted on the façade of the Bismarckwarte. Feeling tense, Oppenheimer looked up the hill and wondered whether the lion could be seen from here in daylight. But the tip of the Bismarckwarte was lost in the blackness of the night sky.

  They’d had to turn around again on the Müggelheim dam and only then had discovered the narrow forest path. The access to Lutzow’s building was a little-frequented track for agricultural vehicles that led straight to the Müggelberg. When Lüttke finally stopped the car, they were in front of a wooden fence that shielded the property from uninvited visitors. In the bright light of the headlights, they had made out a small sign with the name of the owner next to the gate. Oppenheimer was now standing in front of it, very nervous. Lüttke had already switched the lights off again, but the few seconds had sufficed to etch the writing on the sign into Oppenheimer’s memory.

  Lutzow.

  He pushed the gate. Of course, it was locked. There was no building to be seen. Oppenheimer wondered whether the hideout still even existed. Maybe it had already been destroyed and Lutzow had found new quarters somewhere else. A deep silence emanated from the dark forest. It seemed inconceivable that this was a place where gruesome torture had taken place, but on closer examination, it was precisely this that made the site suspicious to Oppenheimer. It was too peaceful here. Too normal.

  Initially, he didn’t dare to take even one step onto the property. His instinct told him that there would be a trap waiting for him. On the other hand, it was also conceivable that they would not find anybody. That Lutzow hadn’t kidnapped another victim, because he was worried about Kalle’s disappearance. He was probably long gone. Oppenheimer took a deep breath and prepared himself mentally to find this out.

  Lüttke joined him. “Take this,” he said and pressed a gun into Oppenheimer’s hand. “A loan, until this is all over. Do you want the flashlight too?”

  “I’d better not. It might give me away. I’ll try to creep in under cover of darkness. If he’s in his hiding place, I might get lucky and be able to overpower him. Wait five minutes, and then follow me with the light. As backup.”

  Bauer had also gotten out of the car and nodded briefly.

  “Good luck.”

  Oppenheimer climbed over the fence and tried to follow the trail he’d briefly made out in the beam of the flashlight. Unfortunately, the moon was hidden by the treetops. Oppenheimer peered into the darkness. If Lutzow had been waiting for him and would attack now, he was completely at his mercy. Well, not completely. Oppenheimer released the gun’s safety catch.

  Suddenly, he sensed a bump on the ground beneath his foot. Luckily, he’d withstood the urge to put on the good pair of shoes that Hilde had given him. The tatty soles of his shoes were coming in useful now, as he was easily able to feel any unevenness in the ground. Oppenheimer stopped and bent down. Yes, there were tracks made by a heavy vehicle. Excellent. Now Oppenheimer had something to help him find his orientation. The tire tracks would lead him to the hideout. He carefully set off again to follow them.

  The path curved, and Oppenheimer discovered light between the trees. There it was, a small storage hut—Lutzow’s hideout. A few steps on, he discovered that the light was coming from a lamp hung over the entrance. Because of the air raid provisions, the glass was blue.

  Just a few meters farther on, and he was able to make out an object. Oppenheimer gasped when he realized what it was, right there next to the entrance. It was a delivery van with a tarpaulin cover. Ziegler’s van, he thought. This could only mean that Lutzow was here and that he’d kidnapped a further victim.

  Instinctively, Oppenheimer stopped and looked around. He waited a few seconds, but no one came. No sudden attack in the darkness, no murderer assaulting him.

  Nervously, Oppenheimer put his left hand in his coat pocket, all the while keeping an eye on his surroundings. He pulled out a Pervitin pill, put it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

  He considered why Lutzow had left the light on. But then he remembered that the light couldn’t be seen from the path anyway, so Lutzow was not running any risk by leaving it on. He appeared to feel safe in his hideout. Too safe? Did he never expect that someone might show up and force their way in?

  Normally, Oppenheimer would have circled the building first to find a back entrance. But there was probably a woman begging for help inside the building at this very moment. He had no choice. He had to get inside. Immediately.

  Oppenheimer braced himself and approached the door. He gently placed one foot in front of the other, trying all the while not to make any noise. He pushed the door handle down. In contrast to the gate, the door was not locked.

  A fusty smell hit him, and he gasped. Carefully, he peered through the narrow crack of the door, but he wasn’t able to recognize much in the darkness behind.

  He pulled himself together and quickly entered the room, his weapon at the ready. Only the blue light of the outside lamp lit up the inside of the storage hut.

  He could just about make out some outlines. He needed a moment to understand. Those were basins for growing mushrooms, about waist-high, huddling together in the constant shade. Oppenheimer realized with apprehension that there were lots of nooks and crannies, perfect hiding places. And yet there didn’t seem to be anyone here. There was no trace of Lutzow and his victim. Close by, Oppenheimer spotted a black square in the ground. That opening had to lead down to the cellar. He quickly considered the options. It was highly likely that Lutzow was hiding down there. Oppenheimer had to take the risk and descend. Silently, he approached the opening in the gro
und. He had just bent down to feel around for stairs when he heard something.

  Desperate whimpering.

  Oppenheimer was startled. He sensed that the muffled sound had not come from the cellar. This meant that the victim had to be here on the ground floor. Could there be another room? He looked around searchingly, but the light above the entrance didn’t reach far enough.

  At that moment, Oppenheimer wondered where Lüttke and Bauer had gotten to. Would it not make more sense to wait for them in order to join forces and then attack?

  Fear threatened to befuddle Oppenheimer’s mind. He suddenly felt uncertain; his thoughts revolved around the single question of what might be awaiting him in the darkness. This could only mean the Pervitin hadn’t taken effect. Now, when he needed it most.

  A creaking noise. Oppenheimer whirled around with his weapon raised. He stood still. Waiting for the attack. It failed to happen. False alarm. There was no one behind him. No one wanted to attack him.

  Oppenheimer took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Until he felt the effects of the Pervitin, he must not allow himself to be misled by the demons that imagination projected into the darkness. His heart thumped. He had to hold on to something. Shakily, he felt around.

  His fingertips touched something firm. He gently stroked across the surface. A wall. Eventually, he risked feeling his way along it.

  He crept forward centimeter by centimeter. Hasty movements increased the danger of making a noise that would give him away.

  To make matters worse, Oppenheimer realized that the ground was quite uneven. He shuffled alongside the mushroom basins, but there was no way of telling what distance he had already covered.

  Oppenheimer flinched. His fingertips brushed something. On closer inspection, it turned out to be another wall that stood at a right angle to the first one. Oppenheimer carefully followed the second wall.

  He crept on until he saw something on the ground in front of him. At first, it seemed nothing more than a light pattern, but when he looked closer, he saw that it was the relief of the wooden planks. The ends of the roughly timbered planks protruded upward. Taking this in, Oppenheimer made an important discovery. The strange form of the splintered wood chippings cast long shadows. This could only mean that the light source was also at ground level.

  When Oppenheimer bent down, he saw a strip of light just a few centimeters away. He was standing directly in front of a closed door. The light was coming from an adjacent room. So he had been right. If Lutzow had a new victim, then she had to be behind this door.

  Oppenheimer held his breath and pressed himself against the wall, his weapon at the ready. Now he could clearly hear something moving in the room. Then he heard a rustling and a woman’s suffocated cry. Lutzow had indeed kidnapped another victim. Oppenheimer realized this woman was still alive.

  From his many years of experience as a police inspector, he knew that in this situation, there was only one thing to do. He had to try to get Lutzow away from his victim by whatever means.

  Oppenheimer prepared himself for a frontal attack. He took a deep breath, and when he felt he was ready, he took a run-up.

  When the lock burst out of the frame, he jumped into the room, his weapon ready.

  The gleam of the naked bulb blinded Oppenheimer. Before he was even able to recognize anything, he thought there was some movement on the right-hand side of the room.

  The sound of hasty steps. When Oppenheimer pointed his gun in the direction of the noise, he froze in mid-movement.

  A woman was sitting bound and gagged on a chair in the far corner of the room. She offered a pathetic sight. She was still wearing her evening dress, ready for a ball. But her long brown hair was tousled. Tears had left traces of mascara on her pale cheeks. Her body was slumped, and she seemed to have surrendered to her fate.

  But as soon as Oppenheimer entered her field of vision, life returned to the woman. Her head jerked up in shock, and she began to scream desperately through her gag. She tugged on her fetters, twisted her body on the chair.

  Where the hell was Lutzow?

  Oppenheimer turned around, cast a quick glance to the corner behind him. No. The room was still empty. He was alone with the victim.

  The situation was clear to Oppenheimer. Lüttke and Bauer would show up any minute. They should take care of Lutzow. He instinctively wanted to help the woman; he couldn’t leave her in this hell. But he realized too late that this reaction, precisely, had led him into a trap.

  When Oppenheimer ran toward the woman, he initially didn’t notice the muffled sound of the collapsing wooden beams. What happened next made no sense. Oppenheimer ran and ran.

  This place seemed to be bewitched. Lutzow must have found a way to outwit nature here in his realm. The faster Oppenheimer ran, the greater the distance to the bound woman became.

  With a deafening noise, the room changed shape. The image of the panic-stricken, screaming woman grew smaller and smaller until she finally disappeared from Oppenheimer’s view. At the same time, he felt the pistol slipping from his grasp. Instead of the wall, the roof beams towered above him. He was thrown onto his back, the air pressed from his lungs, then it was over.

  Silence.

  Dazed, Oppenheimer rolled onto his side and took a deep breath. He grimaced when he felt a stabbing pain in his back.

  He looked around, searching. He had no idea where he was. There were wooden beams everywhere he looked. The dust in the air got caught in his lungs. Oppenheimer had to cough.

  The boards slipped twice when he tried to get up, but finally he managed to find direction in the confusion.

  As well as he could, Oppenheimer sat up and squinted upward. It was only now that he realized what had happened. It seemed that Lutzow had notched the floor’s supporting pillars. Oppenheimer’s weight had been enough to bring everything down. Now he was in a cellar room. Water was running down from above, possibly from the mushroom basin. But maybe the collapsing wooden floor had also damaged a water pipe. Oppenheimer bent down to pick up his gun.

  A shot fell outside. Oppenheimer froze. A second shot, a third, then everything went quiet. Something must have happened out there. He stretched upward but couldn’t see anything.

  Oppenheimer tried to find a way out but realized that it was hopeless to try to climb up the slippery wooden planks. Before he could come up with a solution, heavy steps sounded above. Men were moving through the building, entered the room the woman was in.

  Oppenheimer breathed a sigh of relief. That had to be Lüttke and Bauer! They’d clearly caught Lutzow.

  Oppenheimer called out, “I’m here! Down here!”

  But there was no answer. Impatiently, he pushed the loose boards aside to explore the cellar room he’d crashed into. There had to be an exit here somewhere. Then he heard more steps. They seemed to be coming from next door. Oppenheimer followed the noise, and indeed, he came across a door behind which voices could be heard.

  Then he was once again enveloped by a leaden silence.

  Oppenheimer pulled at the door handle—the door was locked. He aimed his gun at the lock and fired. As his aim was terrible, he needed two more shots before he was able to open the door.

  Across the room, there was another door, wide open. Cool air blew toward Oppenheimer. But everything was quiet. He could not detect a single movement.

  To his left, stairs led up toward the light. That was where he’d seen the kidnapped woman. Carefully, he approached the stairs and started to go up. He had to find out what had happened to the victim.

  When he arrived at the top, he stopped in surprise. There was nobody to be seen. Oppenheimer almost wanted to believe that a bad trick had been played upon his senses. But no, there were telltale details. It was clear that something had happened here in the last few minutes. The chair the woman had been sitting on had toppled over. Severed rope lay all around it. So it was true. Lüttke and Bauer had already freed the victim. Oppenheimer could finally breathe easily.

  But then
the doubts began.

  He wondered why the men from the resistance hadn’t shown their faces when he’d called. Could this mean that Lutzow had gotten away after all?

  Or had he somehow managed to trick Lüttke and Bauer? Were there other accomplices? The trap Oppenheimer had walked into showed that the man had prepared for all eventualities. His opponent might be mad, but he definitely wasn’t stupid. Oppenheimer realized that he needed to get out of here quickly to clarify the situation. Unfortunately, the rear half of the room no longer had a floor. It was not possible to get around the chasm to reach the door that Oppenheimer had come in through. He remembered hearing steps in the cellar. He’d felt a draft down there, so there had to be an exit.

  When Oppenheimer was about to turn around to go down the steps, he heard a voice.

  “We caught Lutzow. He was trying to run.”

  Oppenheimer froze. He hadn’t expected to hear this voice here of all places. He knew it all too well. And he was right. When Oppenheimer turned around, he was facing Vogler.

  29

  SUNDAY, JUNE 25, 1944

  Vogler didn’t seem in the least surprised to see Oppenheimer. Instead, a contented smile played around his mouth. “This time our early-warning system worked,” the Hauptsturmführer said.

  After a moment’s consideration, Oppenheimer nodded. “So you were informed about the kidnapping?”

  “When I was told, I set out immediately with several men. Just in time. We shot Lutzow when he came out of the boiler room.”

  So Vogler had drawn the same conclusions as Oppenheimer. After Ziegler’s torture, Vogler knew the two perpetrators’ hiding place. It had been highly likely that Lutzow would come back here as soon as he’d found a new victim.

  Oppenheimer realized that he had no explanation for his presence. And he didn’t think it was a good idea to tell Vogler that he’d broken into his office. “Right,” he said vaguely. “I’m sorry, but I need some fresh air.”

  Vogler didn’t stop him. Oppenheimer followed the draft. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear to be in this shed for another second. He just wanted to get out of Lutzow’s torture chamber, which contained a whole universe of pain and madness.