The pianist looked down at the piano. Baby Blue came sauntering over. "Go ahead," she said. "Tell it again," and she gave Fr&ulein Louise a look that was almost friendly. "You told the police, and all of us heard it. It isn't a secret any more, so go ahead. If Frau Gottschalk—"
"Fr&ulein, please."
"Since Fr&ulein Gottschalk wants so much to know."
"Has to know! Has to!"
"So go ahead, Fred."
"All right," said the frail young man.
Wilhelm Reimers and some of the others had come closer and
were standing around the piano. The pianist passed a hand across his face, then he turned his head toward Fr&ulein Louise. "Well, you see," he began, "this place doesn't open until 8:00 p.m. In the morning the cleaning women are here until eleven. After that, not a soul. Only Herr Concon and myself. I mean, Herr Concon used to be here. Now he's dead. He always worked in his office. That's behind the stage, and I always came here to play. With his permission. I'd work up new things, arrangements, things of my own. Then, around two, we often went out to eat together. Everybody knew that only the two of us were here. Herr Concon's father was always sleeping at the time."
"And? And?"
Fred was still looking at Fr&ulein Louise. "And yesterday," he went on, "just before eleven, there was a knock on the door. There'd been a phone call for Herr Concon before that. He was expecting the visitor, and he opened up and let him in."
"Let who in?"
"A man," said Fred. "During the last two or three years he's been here a few times. And always at the same time. They walked past me to Herr Concon's office, and I went on playing. Then I could suddenly hear them talking."
"How could you do that? Can you hear what's being said in—?
"No. The office is soundproof. But there's a tape recorder in there, for music, and for... well, whatever's going on in here, on the stage. Through a microphone. Rather old-fashioned. It isn't transmitted directly. The microphone is independent of the tape, you understand?"
"So when it's turned on, you can hear everything that's being said in the office, in here?" said Wilhelm Reimers. He was getting more and more excited all the time. This was something very different from his ordinary routine!
"That's right, sir," said Fred.
"You mean," asked FrSulein Louise, "that Herr Concon turned on the microphone because he wanted you to hear what went on in his office?"
"That's right," Fred said again.
"Had he ever done that before?"
"No. Never."
"So why did he do it yesterday?"
"Because yesterday he was afraid," said Fred, looking down at the keys again.
302
"How do you know?"
"I know his voice," said Fred.
As he said it, Fr&ulein Louise was so moved, she wanted to reach out and stroke the hair of the dead student, who, she was sure, was sitting here in front of her. But she didn't do it because she heard a voice which she recognized immediately as that of her dead Russian, saying, "Louise is about to do something she shouldn't do. There is no communication between our realm and the meaningless life of the world."
Fr&ulein Louise withdrew her hand, which she had already stretched out, and nodded. She had almost made a mistake! But nobody had paid any attention to her, because the student had gone on telling his story.
"And this was corroborated by the conversation I heard now, although I went on playing, so as not to attract attention."
"And what did you hear?"
"The conversation had already begun when Herr Concon turned on the microphone." It was very quiet in the big room. Nobody moved. "Herr Concon said, 1 don't want to! I don't want to! Leave me alone, for God's sake!' And his visitor said, 'I'm afraid you've got to, my good man. You've got to and you will. Because if you don't do as I say, the evidence that the court lacked for your conviction will turn up quite suddenly, and you'll go to jail for the next ten, fifteen, twenty years.'"
"The evidence!" cried FrSulein Louise. "He stood trial, Herr Concon did. I heard about that."
"Yes. In 1957," said Baby Blue.
"For blackmailing a high-ranking officer, right?"
"Yes," said Baby Blue. "It was a big scandal. He was acquitted for lack of evidence."
"And now his visitor was threatening to come up with the missing evidence!" Fr&ulein Louise shoved her hat back off her forehead.
Reimers said, "If he was blackmailing a West German officer, then Herr Concon must have been working for the East. Then the evidence must be in the East, and the visitor must have come from there."
'That's what it looks like," said Fred. "The visitor said, 'You're coming with me. We've got to get to the camp in Neurode fast. You won't go alone. You'll have protection. A man and a woman will go along with you. YouTl take two of our cars.'"
"Two cars!" cried Fr&ulein Louise, "and a man and a woman
to go with him! What man? That's the man I'm looking for! Do you know anything about him, Hen Fred? Did the visitor say anything about him?"
"Very little. Hen* Concon asked, too, who it was going to be. The visitor said it would either be he or somebody else—in any case, an expert."
"Did he say that?"
"Yes. And that the woman would be first-rate. And the cars."
"And the shooting!" said Fr&ulein Louise. "The shooting was first-rate, too." She wiped her eyes and said, "Go on. So they were blackmailing Herr Concon into kidnapping Irina."
"Irina Indigo. Yes. That's what the visitor called the girl. And then he showed Herr Concon pictures and gave him a description of the girl. Eighteen years old, medium height, black hair—"
"I know what she looks like," Fr&ulein Louise said impatiently. "But why was Herr Concon to kidnap her? And why right away?"
"Herr Concon asked the same questions," said Fred, "and the visitor said there wasn't a minute to lose. The girl was trying to get to Hamburg, to the man she was engaged to."
"Yes, yes! And—?"
"And this was not to happen, not now, when everything was almost settled."
"That's what the man said? When everything was almost setded?"
"Yes. That's what he said."
"But what was almost setded?"
"I don't know. But the visitor went on threatening Herr Concon until he agreed. It was his assignment to kidnap this girl from the camp."
"And then? What was to happen to her then?"
"Herr Concon asked the same thing."
"And?"
"And nothing. The visitor said that was none of his business. As soon as he'd kidnapped the girl, his mission was finished. He would take care of what came next."
"Who? The visitor?"
"Yes. Everything was all set, he said. And Herr Concon should be sure to take his gun along." Fred raised his head again. "Then I could hear the microphone being turned off, and right after that Herr Concon came out of his office with the man, and said he had 304
a business appointment and was sorry but he couldn't lunch with me. I was to lock up and keep the key. His father had a key if he wanted to open up." Fred smiled. "That wasn't true. His father didn't have a key."
"So why did his son say he had?"
"That was something that had been arranged between us years ago. Whenever this man came and Herr Concon left with him, he said that to me about the key. It was a warning. It meant; if I'm not back before midnight, notify the police. He lived in fear... poor Herr Concon."
"But you didn't notify the police," said FrSulein Louise.
"No. Around ten, Herr Concon called his father and said everything was all right."
"So what happened then? After Herr Concon said that about the key."
"Then he went off with his visitor."
"And what did the visitor look like?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know? If he passed close by you twice? And had been there several times before, as you said yourself? Or didn't you say that?"
"Yes
, I did," said Fred, with a tremulous smile.
"And you don't know what this man looks like?"
"No," said Fred.
"Now you're lying," she cried. "Why are you lying to me? Oh, dear God, I don't understand!"
"I am not lying," said Fred, still with that tremulous smile. "I really don't know what this man looks like."
"But that's impossible! You must know!" cried FrSulein Louise, bringing her fist down hard on the piano.
Fred bowed his head. He wasn't smiling anymore. Just then FrSulein Louise felt a firm hand on her arm. She turned around. Baby Blue was standing beside her, looking angry again. "Fred doesn't have to know," she hissed. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed it yet."
"Noticed what?"
"Fred is blind," said Baby Blue.
4 Revision
Beim Strohhause 31—that is the address of the police headquarters in Hamburg. It is located at the exit of subway station Berliner Tor and is the only high-rise building in that area, a dark gray cement structure that looks grim in spite of its many windows. Bertie and I walked to the entrance in a drizzly rain. The Missing Persons Bureau was on the seventh floor. We took the elevator up and walked into a room in which two secretaries were typing. We gave one of them our names and said we had an appointment with Chief Investigator Hering, for eleven o'clock. It was two minutes to eleven. The secretary picked up her phone, dialed a double number, and announced us. Then she said, "Herr Hering will be with you right away.* And he really did appear almost at once, a stout man with a bald head. He was wearing glasses and looked miserable. He shook hands heartily with Bertie and said he was glad to see him again; then he shook hands with me and asked us to follow him. We walked behind him into his Spartan office. There was a desk by the window, two flower pots on a gray metal shelf, metal file cabinets, and a huge card index file; in the corner opposite the window—a round table, four chairs, a couch. Couch and chairs were modern and upholstered in blue. Two men were seated on two of the chairs. When we entered, they rose. One was tall and fat, the other was thin and wore strong glasses. The two men were Albert Klein and Wilhelm Rogge from the Internal Security Department, whom we had met in the Youth Camp in Neurode.
Our greeting was formal, courteous, and cool. While we had been waiting for Chief Investigator Hering to appear, I had had a
premonition and had turned on my recorder. The microphone was also in the case, its small silver tip barely visible, no possibility of its arousing suspicion, and when the recorder was in its case, there was no way of telling if it was turned on. I put it on the table in front of us, and it recorded the following conversation.
Hering seemed embarrassed. I was the first to speak. "Quite a surprise, gentlemen, to find you here. We really came to see Herr Hering."
"Yes, we know," said Herr Klein.
"How do you know?"
"He told us," said Herr Rogge.
"When he came in," said Herr Klein. "We were here before him. We took an early train."
"Why?" asked Bertie. "What are you doing in Hamburg?"
"What are you doing in Hamburg?" asked Herr Klein.
He looked as if he were bored with us, as if he found us slightly repulsive. In all probability he shared the opinion of deceased Chancellor Adenauer on how to deal with the press: a cold buffet, withdrawal of advertising, temporary injunction.
"That's what we were just going to tell Herr Hering," I said.
Hering looked more miserable than ever; in fact, now he seemed almost hostile as he said, "This is a case for the gentlemen from the Internal Security Department. They tell me it doesn't concern me, so please answer their questions." He looked at Bertie and said in a more friendly tone, "I'm sorry, Herr Engelhardt."
"It's not your fault," said Bertie, and to the two men, "We came here to report to Criminal Investigator Hering, as head of the Missing Persons Bureau, that we drove to Hamburg last night from the Neurode Youth Camp with Fraulein Irina Indigo, and that she is with us."
"We know that," Klein said again.
"And how do you happen to know that?"
"We know, and that's that. You persuaded Fraulein Indigo, illegally, to leave the camp, and you are staying at the Metropole Hotel with her. And don't ask again how we happen to know. We arrived in Hamburg very early and alerted the various precincts. Where you were staying was reported as soon as you registered at the Metropole. You have locked Fraulein Indigo in your suite so that she can't run away. Is that right, Herr Roland?"
"Yes," I said. "Because she is in danger. And there's something
very strange going on in connection with her fiancS. And Karl Concon was— n
"Was murdered. Last night. In Sankt Pauli. Paris HoteL We know all about it," said Rogge.
"Also that your correspondent, Manners, was hit by a car and badly hurt," said Klein.
"And thit Frgulein CottschaDc is somewhere in the city.*
"Who said so?"
"A doctor. And because he reported meeting her—but that's not important. As you can see, we know everything you were going to tell Herr Hering."
"And why did you come to Hamburg so fast and make all these investigations?"
"That's our business," said Klein.
A pleasant conversation—
"So if all this is your business, why didn't you see to it that Fr&ulein Indigo couldn't leave the camp? Why didn't you hold her?"
"Because we had no right to do so," said Rogge. "That would have gone beyond our jurisdiction. This is a law-abiding nation, Herr Roland. We have only been asked to look into the case."
"And besides, we didn't feel it was necessary."
Hering sat there looking miserable again. I had the feeling that he knew a lot and would have liked to tell us about it, if only for Bertie's sake, but he didn't dare.
"Not necessary?" I said. "So you don't think Fr&ulein Indigo is in danger?"
"Not at all, if she obeys your orders and doesn't leave the hotel or tries to get in touch with anybody. She's obedient, isn't she? We have several forms here, Herr Roland. If you will sign that you are willing to take all responsibility for Fr&ulein Indigo, then she can stay here and won't have to go back to the camp, where she would be in greater danger. All formalities will be attended to, once you have signed." Klein pushed some papers across to me.
'•What's that?" I asked. ' "Recommendations," said Klein. "On our letterhead. Asking whomever it may concern to assist you in your journalistic endeavors."
"Just a minute," said Bertie. "You're not going to brush us off ? You're not going to report us? You're not going to stop us from going after this matter?"
"We have no legal right to do that," Rogge said again. "You shouldn't always look upon our office as hostile, Herr Engelhardt. We help the press as much as we can, especially i cases like this."
"Like what?"
"Cases that are of public interest."
"And this is such a case?" asked Bertie, playing the idiot.
"Herr Engelhardt, please!" said Klein.
"You must be pretty sure of what you're doing," I said, whereupon both men were silent. Klein just shrugged and went on looking at me, not an iota more friendly.
"Fraulein Indigo told me," I said, "that you questioned her extensively at the camp. She was afraid you'd never let her go. Then the phone rang, you talked to somebody, and that seemed to change the whole picture, and you let her go."
'That's right," said Klein.
"What's right?"
"That this telephone call changed everything."
"Aha!" I said.
"Yes," said Klein. "And we are grateful that you called the Davidswache right after you found Concon's body in the Paris Hotel. After that everything went fast."
"Don't mention it," said Bertie. And to distract them from my recorder he added, "I suppose I'm not allowed to photograph you now?"
"No, Herr Engelhardt, we can't let you do that. Nor may you record this conversation without our permission. But we won't bother about that. We have not
hing to hide."
"Well now, how about it?" asked Klein. "Are you going to sign that you will take all responsibility for Fr&ulein Indigo?"
"Of course," I said, and signed.
"And here are your recommendations," said Rogge, pushing the papers across to me.
"Thank you," I said. "You're doing us a great favor."
"Not at all," said Klein. "You've done us a great favor."
"I don't understand," I said.
"You don't have to," said Klein, and after saying that he smiled for the first time since I had met him. I stared at him, and I could feel my jackal coming closer. I got up, took my recorder, thanked the gendemen, and said good-bye. So did Bertie. "I'm sorry, Herr Engelhardt," Chief Investigator Hering said sadly. "I would have liked to help you. Well, maybe next time." 312
"Sure," said Bertie. And then we were out in the hall, Bertie
limping along beside me. "Stinks to high heaven, doesn't it?" "Higher than that," I said, and switched off the recorder. "That dumb spiel with the recommendations. Caveats, that's
what they are! If we present them anywhere they'll be a
guarantee of noncooperation. Right?"
"I don't know. Maybe they really want to help us."
"Don't be ridiculous! Why should they want to?"
"For selfish motives. They're using us for—for—" I couldn't
go on.
"What's the matter with you? You look green! Don't you—?" "Yes," I said, and took out my flask and drank. When I
stopped drinking, I was struggling for breath. But the jackal was
gone. For the present. Until next time.
"Now we drive up to the entrance," Bertie said to our friend, taxi driver Vladimir Ivanov, who had helped us a few hours before and begged us to ask for him, which we had done. It was 11:15 a.m. The rain was mixed with sleet and the sky had darkened. The cars had their lights on. We were sitting in the back of the taxi, parked beside a round flower bed—the flowers planted in it were dead—in a small parking area opposite the entrance to the University Hospital on Martinistrasse, not far from Eppendorfer Baum. An enormous complex, this hospital. Various tall buildings housed innumerable clinics. A city within a city.
Tall, blond Edith Herwag was just coming out of one of the buildings as Ivanov drove up to the entrance. We had left our car at police headquarters and telephoned for our Russian from a booth. Before that I had spoken to Irina and Edith. Irina sounded uneasy as she asked us to come back for lunch, however late; being locked in was driving her crazy. I told her we would, so that somebody would be there to let in the cleaning women and she wouldn't be alone when the food was sent up. I told Edith to wait until a taxi stopped in front of her house and either Bertie or I waved up to her, then she should call a taxi and drive to the
The Traitor Blitz Page 34