It was Red. He saw them both as he reached the top stairs. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he said with a weary but amiable grin. ‘I was planning to wash my hair tonight.’ He approached the door and put a hand on each girl’s shoulder, lightly kissing Jane first, then Heidrun. ‘I’ve probably lost my key.’ But he found it and opened the door. ‘After you, ladies.’
Heidrun stooped to pick something off the doormat and hand it to Red. ‘This looks like a telegram.’
‘You can ignore it,’ Jane informed him. ‘It’ll be from Cedric.’
They all went through to a small kitchen.
‘Coffee, I expect,’ said Red, opening a window. ‘I’ll have a beer myself. I’ve been drinking coffee all day that came in plastic cups and tasted like chocolate.’ He filled a kettle and switched on. ‘How long were you waiting? I guess we can cut the introductions.’
Heidrun changed tactics. She was going to play hostess. She opened a cupboard ostentatiously and took out two cups. ‘Coffee for you, Jane?’
‘Please.’
‘We’re being sociable, then,’ Red observed. ‘Does that mean we hammered Moabit?’ He explained with a wink to Jane, ‘Heidrun plays table-tennis in the Berlin league. Let’s get the suspense over before we do anything else.’
‘We lost,’ said Heidrun thickly.
Red shook his head, and told Jane, ‘Heidrun’s regular partner couldn’t play tonight. He’s a prison warder.’
She gave him a glance that said she had made the connection. ‘It must be difficult playing with someone else.’ She moved closer to him and murmured in a low voice, ‘Red, something dreadful has happened. I need to talk to you alone.’
He nodded. He said in German to Heidrun, as if he were making a suggestion of profound significance, ‘Why don’t you leave the coffee to me, love? It’ll be ready when you’ve had your shower.’
A puzzled frown. Clearly the suggestion had wrong-footed Heidrun. She had probably taken a shower at the sports-hall. It may have crossed her mind that she was sweating again, and that could undermine a girl’s confidence. But she obviously decided something else was intended. She accepted it, instead, as Red’s personal invitation to claim priority as his house-guest. ‘All right.’ She flashed him a dazzling smile. ‘Thank you, darling.’
So Jane got her opportunity to summarise all that had happened. She told it out of sequence, starting with Dick’s death. Red shook his head in disbelief, as stunned as she had been. He put out his hand to hers and held it, and the contact said all that needed to be said. They were united in shock, grief and determination. Dick had died for something they had shared in and they were going to see it through.
Jane had to be brief. She outlined the facts that had come to light about Churchill’s secret meetings with the German delegations and the probability that Hess was sent to finalise a peace deal linked with a joint attack on Russia. She pointed to the evidence that something had scuppered the deal in the few days after Hess’s arrival, and she showed how she and Dick had noted what was simultaneously happening over Syria in London and Berlin. De Gaulle had miraculously got his way, and ever afterwards appeared to run rings round Churchill. So Dick had gone digging in France; and now Dick was dead.
‘… and if you read your cable from Cedric,’ she added, ‘you’ll see that the whole story is spiked. I was officially sent to make sure you got the message. The security people were on to Cedric before the news about Dick came through.’
Red said, ‘To hell with that. If Cedric wants out, we’ll go freelance. There’s no shortage of outlets for a story like this. It’s international.’
‘It’s going to be dangerous.’
‘It’s dangerous already, love. We know too much.’
Jane had to agree. If Dick could be murdered, so could they, even if they dropped the investigation. She held out her hand to Red and he squeezed it. After a moment, she murmured, ‘I think we just resigned from our job.’
He grinned. ‘That’s progress. I usually get the sack.’ Keeping hold of her hand, he said, ‘I’m bloody glad Cedric had the sense to send you.’
‘I suggested it,’ Jane told him simply.
Surprise showed briefly on his face, then something else that she didn’t see for long because he moved towards her and kissed her. And that single kiss signified more than any of their lovemaking at Henley. She returned it rapturously. She knew she was crazy to commit herself to a man who shrugged off practically all the obligations a woman was supposed to insist upon. He was a rebel, a socal liability, the guest who was never invited back, a shabby dresser, a heavy drinker, a male chauvinist and a bed-hopper. The shower spattering noisily in the next room should have been an alarm bell. Jane heard it, saw everything that threatened, and still wanted no one else.
She didn’t tell him. You didn’t say that kind of thing to Red. She said instead, ‘What are you going to do about the German girl?’
‘Heidrun?’ From the glance he made towards the bedroom door, he might have forgotten all about her. ‘Leave it to me, love.’
‘She’s expecting you to get rid of me.’
‘Bugger that,’ said Red. ‘She’s a natural competitor. You know why she’s here, don’t you?’
Jane commented coolly, ‘I take it she’s the demanding fraulein who’s been helping you with your inquiries.’
‘You’ve got it in one,’ he admitted, without a flicker of embarrassment. ‘I’m going to get some straight answers from her in a moment. She’s in deeper than I expected.’
It was a pass worthy of a matador, but Jane still smiled her scepticism.
‘On the level, darling,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve had a heavy day, and she knows why.’
He poured the coffee into two cups and took a can of beer from the fridge. ‘Something to eat?’
Jane shook her head.
‘Tired, I expect,’ he ventured.
‘Not too tired to stay and listen.’
He nodded and went towards the bathroom, thought better of it, and called out, ‘Coffee’s ready.’
‘I’m coming, darling,’ answered Heidrun in a voice that was trying to be kittenish.
Jane looked towards Red, but their eyes didn’t meet.
Heidrun appeared in a maroon-coloured bathrobe that must have belonged to Red, tied predictably loosely at the front to make an exhibition of her cleavage. She had her handbag with her and she planted it on the table and took out an eye-liner, toner and lipstick. She had given up playing hausfrau; she was the seductress now. It would be fascinating to see how Red would deal with it. ‘Don’t wait for me,’ she told them as she propped a mirror against a milk-carton. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
‘Do you have an interesting job?’ Jane asked Heidrun. It was more than a cocktail party ploy, because she had noticed that the toner had a Laszlo label. She had once inquired about their products herself and learned that they were linked to a course of skin care she could not have afforded without a major reappraisal of her spending.
‘She’s a waitress,’ Red answered for Heidrun. ‘Serves the pastries and coffee in one of the Konditorei on Spandauer Damm.’
‘Mohring,’ said Heidrun. ‘The best.’
‘I’m sure,’ Jane said tolerantly, thinking to herself that the tipping must be generous there. The handbag was white leather, and it bore the Lanvin logo in gold.
Red downed his beer and took another from the fridge. ‘You haven’t asked me why I was so late home,’ Red complained to no one in particular.
Heidrun took out a tissue and blotted her lips. She was strikingly pretty in feature, Jane had to concede. She really didn’t need to let the bathrobe gape so – nor to be quite so blatantly suggestive when she replied to Red, ‘Come on, then. Don’t keep me waiting. You know I can’t bear it.’
‘I was pulled in by the police, wasn’t I?’ said Red.
Heidrun’s mouth lost its pout and gaped. ‘The police?’
‘Those guys in green uniforms.’
‘What for?’
/>
‘For murder.’ After a gratifying gasp from both his guests, Red added, ‘To be exact, for questioning about a murder.’ He upended the beer-can and took a long swig. ‘They held me for nearly nine hours. Rocks your confidence a bit when you take nine hours to prove your innocence.’
‘What happened? Who was murdered?’
‘Some old lady,’ Red casually answered. ‘I’ve told this so many times I’m beginning to forget how nasty it was. I’m walking up Königin Elizabeth Strasse this morning, when who do I see ahead of me but Cal Moody.’
Heidrun looked genuinely puzzled. ‘Cal?’
Red turned to Jane and explained, ‘We mentioned Cal not long ago. He’s the warder from Spandau Jail who partners Heidrun at table-tennis. Well, I’m about to catch him up and say hello, when I notice three guys taking a good look at him from the other side of the street.’ He threw a well-timed glance at Heidrun. ‘One of them was your obnoxious friend Kurt Valentin.’
She widened her eyes and played nervously with the cord of the bathrobe.
Red explained in an aside to Jane, ‘All I can tell you about Valentin is what I’ve heard from Heidrun: that he helps her with her tax-forms, and that she doesn’t actually like him.’ Then he resumed, ‘I didn’t know the other two, and, as it turned out, I’m glad I didn’t ask to be introduced. I decided to watch from a distance.’ Addressing himself mainly to Heidrun now, he gave an abridged account of the morning’s events, leaving the impression that his own part in the story was a matter of sheer chance and casual interest. ‘So I was picked up as a suspect just because I happened to choose the wrong spot to stand. They drove me off to police headquarters at Tempelhofer Damm and spent the morning firing questions at me. I kept Cal’s name right out of it. Didn’t want to land him in the shit. Well, he’s a decent guy. Wouldn’t say boo to an old lady, let alone beat her up and shoot her throught the head. The cops gave me a break and a sandwich and then they were back for descriptions. I had to make photo-fit pictures. Anyone ever tell you how difficult it is to piut one of those things together?’
‘Did you identify Kurt Valentin?’ Heidrun interrupted, suddenly much more pale under the make-up.
‘I described him, but I didn’t give his name,’ Red informed her, watching her reactions. ‘Well, that would have opened another can of worms, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t want the fuzz questioning you, would you? It was obvious he didn’t do the killing. So I just gave them descriptions of all three. I thought they would let me go after that, but they were getting more information all the time from the forensic boys at the scene of the crime.’
‘Did they tell you anything?’ Heidrun asked keenly. ‘Did they find out why it happened?’
Red drew a line on the table with his finger, looking down thoughtfully. ‘The police have a theory that she knew something her killers wanted to find out. They beat her up badly, the bastards. There was money in her handbag lying on the floor where she was found, but it wasn’t taken. She was still wearing rings and a pearl necklace. There was no sign of the place being searched. They got what they wanted by beating her up, and then they shot her so that she couldn’t talk.’
‘Who was she?’ asked Jane. ‘Is there a line on her background?’
‘Her name was Edda Zenk, a spinster of seventy-three, retired for thirteen years or more. Used to do secretarial work for a solicitor.’
‘Did she always live in West Berlin?’ asked Heidrun.
‘She had no connections with the East, if that’s what you’re asking,’ said Red. ‘At one time she lived in Munich, but that’s going back to the forties.’
‘I don’t understand this,’ muttered Heidrun. But from the way she was frowning, it was evident that she was making a determined stab at it.
Red leaned across the table until his face was hardly a foot from hers. ‘If you want to stay friends with me, Heidrun, you’d better start talking about Valentin. I’ve had a hard time protecting you. I’m in trouble over this. Just who is he?’
She pulled the edges of the bathrobe together protectively. ‘I don’t know much about him. If you want my opinion, he’s a dirty old man who follows me around. He came into the shop a few times and tried to talk to me. Too much.’
‘Chatted you up?’
‘Yes. Then I kept meeting him in other places – on the way home from the sports-hall, in the restaurant there, on the beach. He likes to look at girls all the time. He buys porn magazines, and sometimes he makes suggestions to me. Stupid things, like will I let him buy me some sexy underwear. That’s all I can tell you about him.’
‘Come off it,’ Red snapped at her, with a sudden show of anger. ‘The other day you told me he did your tax.’
Heidrun swayed away from him. ‘That wasn’t true. I don’t need an accountant and I couldn’t afford one. I lied to you because I didn’t want to tell you about him then. I didn’t want trouble between you.’
‘You’re lying now.’
‘No!’ She raised a hand to shield her face, expecting Red to strike her.
‘All this dirty old man stuff is horseshit,’ he told her vehemently. ‘He’s in with a gang of murderers, sadistic, bloody killers, and you’d better get that into your head, Heidrun, because I want some straight answers from you about Kurt Valentin. Do you work for him?’
She reddened suddenly. ‘What do you mean? I am not a street girl, if that is what you are saying.’
‘Darling, if you were, it would be simple,’ he said in a cold, quiet voice. ‘This isn’t about sex, it’s about Cal Moody. You teamed up with Cal a couple of weeks ago. You got to know his routine, his hours of duty.’
‘Only for the table-tennis matches,’ protested Heidrun.
‘Shut up. You’ve also been seeing Valentin. Today, Valentin and his friends were tracking Cal, remember? What a bloody coincidence! He visits Edda Zenk and she is dead the same hour.’
Heidrun said on a rising, hysterical note, ‘I know nothing about this. I have never heard of this old lady.’
‘But you told Valentin that Cal had changed shifts, didn’t you?’
She lowered her eyes.
‘Didn’t you?’ repeated Red.
She said in a low voice, ‘He scares me. He is a violent man.’
‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ Red commented. ‘That’s why you came here, isn’t it: to get away from him?’
‘Yes.’ She shifted in the chair and lifted the hem of the bathrobe to show the ankle bruised by Valentin’s hands. ‘He did that on Sunday.’
‘Is Cal in danger?’
‘I don’t know, Red, I don’t know anything,’ she pleaded.
Red turned to Jane. ‘The last I saw of him, Valentin was following him. I’m going to have to find out if he’s OK.’
She frowned. ‘How can you do that?’
‘I’ll call the prison. See if he’s there. He should be on duty this evening.’
‘Would they tell you if he is?’
‘I can only try. I’ll say it’s some kind of emergency – one of his family on the line from America. If he isn’t on duty, they ought to tell me.’ He went out of the kitchen to the phone in the hall.
Heidrun wiped her eyes with the sleeve of the bathrobe, got up from the table without looking at Jane and went back to the bathroom.
In a few minutes, Red was back. ‘He didn’t report for work. They think he must be ill. He has no phone at his lodging. Jane, I’ll have to go round there.’
‘Tonight?’
‘You can come if you want.’
‘I will.’
Heidrun called from the bathroom, ‘I want to come, too, Red.’ She padded into the hall in bare feet, tugging the tracksuit-top over her head. ‘Please, I want to make sure he’s all right. Believe me, Red. Please believe me.’
Red stared at her for a moment, undecided. Jane could see the dilemma he was in. The question was whether Heidrun was more of a liability to take, or to leave behind, with the chance to phone Valentin and his friends. Her dislike
of Valentin appeared genuine enough, but her actions might be governed by her fear of him.
Red made up his mind. ‘Get your shoes on, then, and be bloody quick about it.’
40
There was a time when the fastenings on a piece of luggage were a testimony to the craft of the locksmith, but mass-production methods ended all that. As anyone knows who has bought a suitcase in the last fifty years – even a smart, upmarket, leather suitcase with a brand-name – it comes with two keys on a piece of wire, and can be opened almost as simply with the wire as with the keys.
After Julius had been driven into the Soviet Legation in Zurich, he carried the suitcase he had collected across the courtyard and through a side entrance. Using the back stairs, he moved inconspicuously upwards to the privacy of the bedroom he had been allocated. Having gone to so much trouble to obtain the suitcase, he felt he was entitled to a sight of the contents.
He locked the door and heaved the case onto the bed. The fastenings opened ridiculously easily with the aid of the pointed end of his tiepin. When he lifted the lid he saw why the case had weighed so heavily. It was stacked solidly with bundles of paper, tied with string and wedged so tightly that it was difficult to remove one without tearing it. He prised one out with the pocket-knife. It consisted of several hundred scraps of paper, end-sheets torn from books, pieces of newspaper, calendar date-sheets, toilet paper, labels soaked from bottles – in fact, almost every paper surface that human ingenuity could improvise in prison conditions. Each fragment was covered in minuscule handwriting and indexed with a serial number.
Julius harboured no illusions about Hess; he was an enemy of the Soviet people, and according to Soviet thinking was justly condemned to see out his days in Spandau. Any reduction of the life sentence would be an insult to the twenty million Soviet citizens who died as a direct result of Nazism. Yet as Julius stared down at the bundles of paper, he could not fail to be impressed by the sense of purpose represented there.
He lifted out several more bundles, stacking them methodically on the bed so that he could replace them later exactly as he had found them. Underneath were more, every one tied with string by Edda Zenk when she had finished typing the script that had been delivered to the Munich publisher, Sigmund Beer, in 1964. Julius had not discovered how she had been assigned the task; he had needed only to establish that she was the typist and that the manuscript still existed in the Zurich bank vault.
The Secret of Spandau Page 24