“Smashing!” Bella said.
I smiled at him.
He looked worried. “Right-o. I’ll just go shave. Back in a tick. Order coffee or drinks or something.” He disappeared into the bathroom again.
I let her order from room service. She knew more about gourmet dining than I, or even Sefton. If I was the poor country mouse, allowed into the city mouse’s larder, I might as well let them trot out the best delicacies.
“What did you bring for Sefton?” Her dark eyes were sharp.
“So suspicious of a social call.”
“You are no more on a social call than I.” She poured herself a glass of water from a crystal carafe on the table.
“Sefton’s bedroom is the nexus of the social scene.”
We both laughed at that.
“Perhaps I can help you.” Her tone let me know that she expected little help from me in return. Just as well because I could do little for her.
“Can you get information out?”
“It’s tricky.” She sipped her water. “But I might, if it’s valuable enough.”
I told her an abbreviated version of what I told Sefton, leaving out the names of the women at Lichterfelde and my connection with Röhm. Then I told her what I had learned from Fritz, without naming him. I trusted her to release the information to her diplomatic connections. The more places the information came from, the less likely it would be traced back to me or to Sefton or to any one source.
When I finished she nodded. “So, no investigations.”
“But pictures. Just in case.”
Sefton came out of the bathroom wiping stray dabs of shaving cream off his neck with a towel.
“There won’t be a just-in-case,” she said. “Yesterday the Reichstag passed a law retroactively declaring the murders of the past few days legal.”
“Really?” Sefton’s hooded eyes were alert. He tossed the towel behind him into the bathroom like a man who had never had to pick up a towel off the floor.
“Yes.” She recited it, hands clasped in front of her like a schoolgirl. “The statute reads as follows: ‘The measures taken on June thirtieth, July first, and July second, 1934, to thwart attempts at treason and high treason, are considered as essential measures for national defense.’”
“Very efficient,” Sefton said. “It’s no longer a crime.”
“It didn’t even happen,” she said. “The papers have received notice that they may not print obituaries of those murdered in the last few days.”
“That too?” I blinked several times. So they would disappear, and only their immediate families would mourn them. Like my brother, even their deaths would not appear in the newspaper. It would be as if they never existed to all but the tiny few who loved them best. Bella’s eyes were wet. Sefton coughed.
We stood so until a rap sounded on the door. This time I did not jump.
“Room service,” announced a muffled voice.
Sefton opened the door to a white-jacketed waiter pushing a covered cart. The plates on top held grapes, bread, caviar, and soft French cheese. My stomach rumbled.
“You can put it over here, dear.” Bella gestured with her arm, graceful as a ballerina.
The waiter parked the cart where she indicated and turned to Sefton for a tip.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught him give Sefton a rogue’s smile. Two proper ladies in his room for lunch, quite a coup. Sefton, the ladies’ man. I hid a smile. When I looked at Bella, she giggled.
After the waiter closed the door, I turned to Sefton. “Do either of you know a Manfred Brandt?”
She reached for a roll, a diamond bracelet that cost more than Boris’s Mercedes glittering on her arm. I knew, without asking, that it was genuine. Privileges of the aristocracy.
“Should I?” Sefton asked, ever cautious.
She looked interested. “I’ve not heard the name.”
“He was a friend of Röhm’s. And he was murdered yesterday.”
“How do you know that he was murdered?” Sefton asked, a bit sharply.
“He was shot in the chest. And the gun was missing. Unusual in suicide, yet common for murder.”
“A lot of other close friends of Röhm have been murdered in the past few days,” Bella put in. “Enemies too.”
She poured us each a tall glass of mineral water.
“But this man’s murder was not political.” I picked up the mother-of-pearl caviar spoon and spooned out sturgeon’s roe. The faint fish smell reminded me of the sea.
I spread caviar onto a piece of soft bread. The silky rich taste burst on my tongue. Sefton looked at the black beads and winced, probably calculating the cost and the argument he would have with his editor when he returned to London. I inclined my head toward Bella, to indicate that she ordered. He sighed and helped himself to caviar. Already on his bill, after all.
“His nickname was Mouse. Used to be hired muscle.”
He dropped his caviar and caught it deftly with his napkin. “Mouse. Squeaky voice? Big?”
I nodded and sat straighter in my seat, a twinge in my ribs. I had never seen him drop anything before.
“You’ve been awfully uncomfortable. I noticed last time I saw you,” Sefton said.
Trying to act nonchalant, I picked up a handful of purple-black grapes cold and beaded with moisture. Each looked as if it belonged in a painting. Quite the attention to detail here at the Adlon.
“Cracked rib?” he asked, Groucho Marx eyebrows raised.
“Mouse’s calling card.” I popped a grape in my mouth. Its sweetness complemented the savory taste of caviar. Bella knew her food, and Sefton knew his thug.
She shot me an interested glance. Something new.
“I don’t know a great deal.” He settled into the other wing chair. “Mouse was one of Röhm’s enforcers. Good at thrashing folks to force them to change their political opinions. Liked to break ribs.”
“Known associates?” I wanted to take notes, but was also certain that I wanted no written record.
“Mostly Röhm’s gang, as far as I know. He didn’t serve in the Great War, like most of them, so he had a bit of a hurdle to overcome. That and not liking men.” He paused, evidently enjoying his caviar. Bella had yet to taste hers, but I supposed that to her it was no special treat. “If he weren’t so good at his job, Röhm would have tossed him. But Röhm always chose efficiency over politics.”
“Was he loyal to Röhm?” He knew a good deal about Mouse, more than I had expected. A coincidence, or were he and Mouse connected?
He shrugged, but I found the gesture unconvincing. “He never approached me. Beyond that I can’t say.”
“Could he have been an SS spy?” I wanted to plant that seed. Who knows what they might discover if alert to that possibility.
“He didn’t seem quite clever enough. But then that would be the best way to seem if one were involved in something like that.”
Bella looked between us, caviar forgotten.
“What else do you know about him?”
“Married to a prostitute. Had a son, I believe. I believe they were estranged, but he might have gone back there in a pinch.”
“Have either of you heard of a Gregor Gerber, associate of Mouse?” I sipped water, eyes on them. Both shook their heads, bewildered. That made sense. Agnes had said that he was not in the SA.
“Why are you looking for him?” Bella asked.
“I am looking for Mouse’s killer. He has something that belongs to me.”
“Really?” Her eyebrows arched up toward her perfect hair. She obviously did not think that I had anything I would much miss. “Political?”
“Personal.” I worried that she might reveal something to someone who would pass it on to Hitler and that would be the end of Anton. She let nothing slip, but she was not above playing politics with Anton’s life to make the Nazis look like fools. And, perhaps, neither was Sefton. “But important.”
Seeing that nothing more was forthcoming, she nibbled her brea
d with even white teeth.
“He belonged to a Ring,” Sefton said. “If this Gerber was close to him, perhaps they belonged to the same one.”
My heart leaped. That was useful. Before the Nazis came to power, the criminals in Berlin were organized into Rings. The Rings had clever names and posed as legitimate clubs, such as sporting associations or music clubs. Each felony had its own Ring, pickpockets in one, murderers in another. Some were quite large and wealthy. Members spent time at the local clubhouse, and the yearly dues covered legal fees for members should they be arrested. Very practical.
“Nazis broke those up, you know,” he said, sensing my excitement. He wiped his fingers on the thick napkin spread on his lap.
“They wanted to be the only criminals in town,” Bella said dryly.
“Still. Perhaps there is something there.”
“Tough gigs,” Sefton said, “even before the Nazis. Be on your guard.”
Bella looked shocked at the thought of entering a Ring clubhouse, and I worried about it myself. I would call Agnes. Perhaps she had discovered a number for Gerber. If not, she probably knew which Ring he and Mouse had belonged to. I checked my pocket watch. Nearly three. She would be there soon.
“Indeed.” I rose to leave.
Bella gave me a look of grudging respect. I felt flattered and squashed the feeling. What did I care what the helpless aristocracy thought of me? Yet I admired her and cared about her opinion more than I liked to admit. And, I told myself, if anyone knew a safe house and a way to arrange passage out of the country discreetly, it would be Bella. Best to keep her as an ally.
I brought Sefton out into the hall to tell him of my encounter with Lang, without mentioning Anton or the telegram. I told him to be careful. If I needed to reach him, I would leave him a message at the front desk. We would meet one hour later and one block south of whatever I left on the message. As for him reaching me, that was impossible.
I could give him no information until I completed my business. My business was finding Anton, but I dared not tell him that. Who had been in that taxi coming from Britz Mill? What if it was Sefton, dependent as he currently was on our lovely taxi fleet? I remembered our leisurely dinner, when he mentioned how useful Anton would be as a pawn to temper the moral outrage of the Nazis. He was not above using Anton to further his own political goals. I could trust no one.
22
I headed for the bank of beeswax-scented telephone booths in the lobby and put through the call.
Agnes answered at once. “Ford’s.”
“Peter here.” A well-dressed woman stomped around the lobby like an ostrich.
“Peter,” Agnes said, rich voice full of recognition. “Haven’t heard from you in days and days.”
“You offered to find the number for a laborer last time we spoke.” I hoped she would know I meant Gerber. “For an odd job.”
“Carpentry, wasn’t it?” She seemed to know that her line might be tapped too, although she had always been discreet. “How did the last one work out?”
“Not as well as I had hoped.” I wondered if she knew that Mouse was dead. She had better sources than the police. Would she think that I had murdered him? I forged ahead. “I wish to build a ring around my vegetables. To keep out the mice. You know how every mouse has a partner and soon you are overrun?”
She inhaled slightly, the same as a gasp from a less experienced person. Investigating the Rings was dangerous for anyone. “Quite. One moment.”
Ostrich woman stepped to one side. Behind her stood Hauptsturmführer Lang. I slowly turned my back to him, afraid that a sudden movement might attract his attention. Then I froze, like a hare heading from a hound. What was he doing here? Had he somehow followed me? If he caught me here, would he make the connection to Sefton? Had he made the connection to Mouse?
“Here we go,” Agnes said. Paper rustled. I pictured her paging through her red leather book and silently begged her to hurry. She read off a number. “Gregor. He’s quite reliable. But be sure not to pay him everything up front. He drinks.”
“A pleasure doing business with you.” Gregor Gerber.
“I’ll send you the bill,” she said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
I hung the telephone on its elegant cradle. Lang’s reflection made its way into the dining room. I would have thought it above his budget, but they obviously paid Hauptsturmführers more than I thought. I had to stay in the telephone booth until he was out of sight. Was he here to eat, or had he somehow followed me?
No reason to waste the time. I decided to call and trust that I would find Gerber there.
The telephone rang. “Café Sing-Sing,” said a familiar voice. The barman I had spoken to about Anton. Could he be Gerber? I held my breath and remembered his hands. He had all his fingers. I let out a sigh of relief.
“Hello? No time for the shy here.”
“Pardon.” I affected a Berlin accent. “Is Herr Gerber there?”
There was a long silence. Had he recognized my voice?
“I’ll get him,” he said at last.
The receiver crashed against something none too gently. I pictured it lying next to a puddle of amber beer covered with flies. Indistinct conversation rumbled.
Another voice came on the line, deep and gruff. “Gerber.”
“I am a friend of Agnes. She recommended I contact you about a carpentry job.”
“I can’t give estimates on the telephone. Let’s meet.”
Someplace public and well lit. “The zoo, by the entrance.”
He grunted. “A nature lover?”
“Something like that.”
“Can’t today. Busy. Tomorrow. Ten in the morning.”
I stifled a groan. In the morning the zoo would be deserted. Right now, in the midafternoon, it was full. And I did not want to wait another day. But I also knew that I could not seem desperate in front of this man. “See you there.”
I hurried behind the telephones and walked into the kitchen. I could not walk across the lobby with Lang in the dining room. The cooks stared at me, openmouthed.
“Excuse me.” I walked past them and out the back door, knees shaking.
I went down Unter den Linden, then ducked into a side street to find another telephone booth.
This one smelled of beer. I dialed Agnes again.
“Did he call to check on me?” I assumed that he would. And if he had not, he was not careful enough for my purposes.
“He wanted to make sure that you were aware of the rates for finish carpentry. And that you are a fair employer. I recommended you most heartily. Don’t make me regret that.”
“Have I ever made you regret anything, my dear?”
“We’re still young.”
I laughed into the telephone. I did not feel young. “I have missed you.”
“And I you. Don’t make me regret that either.”
I spent the rest of the day bribing taxi services to view their logs for the Britz Mill area. A few taxis had been dispatched to nearby addresses, but only two taxis were on record as going to the mill itself. One entry was for me, one passenger there, zero passengers back. More interesting was one that left with one passenger, but returned with two. Both were dropped at a street near the Leine Strasse subway station, presumably for the same reason I had been dropped at Tempelhof—to keep from laying a trail.
The driver was on vacation in Hamburg, so I could not reach him. According to the dispatcher, it had been a long-planned vacation. Likely he had not been bribed or threatened to leave town.
So, only two. Of course, any number of passengers might have traveled to Britz Mill. All the logs showed was that other trips had never been recorded, and I knew from personal experience how simple it was to pay a taxi driver to forget to record a trip.
The sun set; my feet ached. I checked the time. Nine thirty. Perhaps Gerber would be at Wittenbergplatz tonight, and I could talk to him before the zoo meeting. Then I would not have to wait for tomorrow. I could not rest until
I found Anton. No point in going home to worry. Luckily I wore my most comfortable, and oldest, shoes. Wittenbergplatz after dark was a place where one wanted to run and not worry about what one stepped in.
I took the subway to Wittenbergplatz. No one seemed to follow. At least no one whom I could see.
I paid a local resident to spend the night on her balcony, watching the square below with field glasses. She did not seem surprised by the request, and I wondered how many people had paid for the favor before me. There was much to see. In spite of the Nazis, the prostitution business still throve here.
A few extra marks bought me a pot of hot tea and a sugar bowl. The tea helped fight off exhaustion. Where was Anton? I tried not to think of him alone and on the run in the streets around Britz Mill. But was that better than being held by a kidnapper who had murdered Mouse, perhaps in front of him? I paced the balcony until my legs trembled with exhaustion and I longed to curl up under the table and sleep like a cat. But I dared not.
At around three in the morning the sky lightened to gray. The sun would be up in a few hours, and I had not seen Gerber. I stretched my back and trained my eyes on an arriving black taxi. It halted at the subway stop, and an immense fat woman and dark-haired man climbed out under a streetlight. They kissed passionately. He wound his fingers through her hair.
He was missing his right index finger and thumb. Gerber!
I ran through the apartment and down the stairs, but by the time I reached the street the taxi and the man with the missing fingers were gone.
I walked to the woman, trying to figure out how to get information. She watched me approach, made-up eyes dark in the streetlights. Catering to men who preferred overweight women was an expensive proposition. Hard to afford food to stay at that weight on a prostitute’s wages. A straight bribe might be best.
“Did you know the man who was just here?”
“Why?” She lit a hand-rolled cigarette, blowing cheap tobacco smoke at me.
“He interests me.”
“You’re not his sort.” She dragged on her cigarette and wheezed out the smoke. “Skinny as a chicken you are.”
A Night of Long Knives (Hannah Vogel) Page 20