Shadows of War

by Michael Ridpath

  ‘And that’s just an old song,’ said Dieter. ‘I saw what we did in Poland. I know we can do it again in France.’

  ‘What was Poland like?’

  ‘We did well,’ said Dieter. ‘Mostly the Poles retreated or surrendered, but we were involved in one action. There was a counter-attack near the River Bzura, and we held off a Polish cavalry brigade for two days. They fought bravely and so did we.’

  Theo was curious about what real battle was like. In his role in the Abwehr he had faced danger, but never a visible enemy. Conrad had, and now so had Dieter.

  ‘Did you take many casualties?’ he asked.

  ‘Our company lost fifteen men killed and twenty-three wounded.’

  ‘Were you afraid?’

  Dieter glanced at his older brother. It wasn’t the sort of question one soldier asked another, at least not in the Wehrmacht. ‘Yes. I was. But I was also excited. And when we realized on the third day the Polish brigade had given up their attack, I felt so proud. Our unit worked well together: all that training paid off. And, yes, I felt that I was doing what I was born to do, what all those Hertenbergs from Father back through history have done. We fight wars. It’s dangerous, sometimes we get killed, but we usually win. I often think you don’t understand that, Theo.’

  ‘You are probably right.’

  ‘So I am happy to kill and be killed in battle. Not happy, so much as willing. But the horrific killing I saw had nothing to do with battle.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Afterwards we marched past a POW camp guarded by the SS. Except it wasn’t really a camp, and the POWs were not really prisoners of war. It was a field outside a village with a couple of hundred Poles inside it, soldiers but also women and children. The SS had set up machine guns around the perimeter of the field. There were about fifty bodies lying in the perimeter where they had been shot – we heard later most of them had been trying to relieve themselves. We took over the camp from the SS; it turned out the prisoners had been given no food or water for days. Our major has filed a report and we’ll see what happens. But the whole thing made me feel bad, dirty even. It was as if what those SS men did betrayed the bravery of our own comrades who had died by the River Bzura.’

  ‘That’s why Hitler has to go,’ said Theo.

  Dieter grunted. They passed beneath the Brandenburg Gate and crossed the road into the Tiergarten. A new thoroughfare had been bulldozed through the park, at the end of which was the recently relocated Siegessäule victory statue, which Berliners claimed looked like a giant asparagus. The light was fading.

  ‘So you are on the western front now?’ Theo asked.

  ‘Yes. I’ve been made ADC to General Guderian. Do you know him?’

  ‘I’ve never met him, but I’ve read Achtung Panzer!’ said Theo. ‘He’s XIX Corps commander in Army Group A, isn’t he?’ Theo remembered the ‘cowhide’ relief map at Zossen and his conversation with Major Liss.

  ‘You are well informed.’

  ‘I am,’ Theo admitted. ‘How did you manage that?’

  ‘I mended his wireless in Poland; all that messing around with electronics when I was a boy finally paid off. Guderian pulled up next to our unit in his command vehicle swearing blue murder. I fixed the set and we got talking about radios. He believes reliable wireless communications are what allow a general to lead panzers from the front and keep the initiative in battle. He seemed to like me and arranged the transfer. Cousin Paul helped – Guderian reports to him.’

  ‘Cousin Paul’ was General of Cavalry Paul von Kleist, their mother’s cousin, and the commander of Panzer Group Kleist of which XIX Corps was a part. When it came to the Wehrmacht the Hertenbergs were well connected.

  ‘What’s Guderian like?’

  ‘Impressive. If you’ve read his book you’ll know he is a great believer in the blitzkrieg. Mobility, concentration, seizing the initiative and keeping it.’

  ‘Army Group A’s role is to protect the flank of Army Group B in the Ardennes, as Army Group B drives through Belgium towards the Channel. So no blitzkrieg for General Guderian.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Dieter. ‘And Guderian doesn’t like that. He thinks we should strike in the Ardennes, with him in the vanguard, of course. He’s trying to persuade General Manstein, who in turn needs to persuade the general staff and ultimately the Führer.’

  ‘Your chief is absolutely right,’ said Theo. ‘That section of the line is defended by the French 2nd Army under General Huntziger. They are a bunch of overweight under-trained reservists whose defensive preparations are poor. The French think the Ardennes is impassable to modern tanks; it’s the weakest point in the line.’

  ‘How do you know this, Theo? Is this what you are doing for the Abwehr?’

  ‘I know it,’ said Theo. ‘And so does OKW, although I am not sure yet whether they have drawn the correct conclusions. Your General Guderian has the right idea. The strongest French forces and the BEF are lined up on the Belgian frontier to move north and meet Army Group B in Flanders. Army Group A should make the breakthrough through the Ardennes.’

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ said Dieter.

  ‘Unofficially.’

  Dieter stopped. ‘By the way, I know this might sound crazy, but I think that a man is following us. In the brown overcoat on the other side of the road.’

  ‘I know,’ said Theo. ‘I’ve seen him.’

  ‘He’s not a British spy, is he?’

  ‘Gestapo,’ said Theo. ‘Almost certainly.’

  ‘So the Gestapo spies on its own spies?’

  ‘It would seem so,’ said Theo. ‘Don’t worry. There is nothing suspicious in me meeting my brother.’ Though in truth Theo was worried. The Abwehr had many officers and the Gestapo couldn’t follow them all. Why Theo? Did it have something to do with Conrad and the capture of the British agents? Or were the Gestapo finally getting to grips with the army officers who opposed Hitler, just when it seemed the Nazis no longer had anything to fear from them?

  They were at the edge of the woods in the Tiergarten when Dieter stopped. ‘I should head off to the station now. I’m glad I got to see you, even if you can’t make it home.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Theo. ‘Give my love to everyone.’ He embraced his brother and turned through the woods towards Abwehr headquarters in the Tirpitzufer.

  He had only gone a few yards when an unpleasant thought struck him. Perhaps he would never see Dieter again. Theo had always looked after his little brother. In some ways Dieter’s naive patriotism irritated him; Theo felt it was his job to keep Dieter away from danger. Yet for all Theo’s worldly experience, Dieter had actually fought for his country and Theo hadn’t, at least not yet.

  In a few weeks or months, Dieter would be fighting his way through Luxembourg and Belgium, and Theo wouldn’t be there to protect him.

  Theo could cope with Dieter fighting for his country. He just prayed that his little brother wouldn’t die for it.

  27

  Police Headquarters, The Hague, 22 November

  Conrad was apprehensive about meeting Theo in Holland. Just before leaving England he had received a brief cable from Denmark confirming that Theo would see him in Leiden. At least Theo hadn’t ducked it, which Conrad had half expected him to. On the one hand, Conrad knew he had to confront him. On the other, if Theo really had killed Millie, then he would have no compunction in killing Conrad too. Theo his friend would become Theo his killer. Unthinkable. But Conrad knew he had better think it.

  It was a risk Conrad just had to take.

  But first he wanted to find out what he could from the Dutch authorities. The man from the British Embassy in The Hague was much less friendly to Conrad than he had been when he had rescued Conrad from his Dutch inquisitors after Venlo. Conrad and his family were trouble. But despite his coolness, the official was still polite and efficient, and had arranged an appointment with the Dutch police inspector who was in charge of the murder investigation, and who might have the authority to s
tart the process of releasing Millie’s body for repatriation to England.

  Police headquarters was a suitably solid-looking building not far from the embassy, in Alexanderplein. Conrad was kept waiting for twenty minutes before he was shown into a small office, which reeked of tobacco smoke. The policeman slumped behind his desk was about fifty, short and flabby, with thick tousled iron-grey hair. He was dressed in a baggy suit. He was smoking a cigarette and two full ashtrays scattered ash like post-eruption volcanic craters amid the jumble of files on his desktop.

  Conrad was taken aback. The officials he had come across in Holland so far, while not quite Teutonic, had tended to be clean, smart and efficient.

  ‘Do you speak German?’ he asked the policeman in that language.

  The man didn’t get up, but examined Conrad through narrowed eyes. ‘Why would I speak German to an Englishman?’ he said in English, with a heavy Dutch accent. ‘Take a seat.’

  Conrad sat in one of two small wooden chairs. It creaked.

  ‘My name is Conrad de Lancey. I am here to enquire about the murder of my sister, Millicent de Lancey.’

  ‘I know,’ said the policeman. ‘I suppose you have come to the right place. I am Inspector van Gils, and I am in charge of the investigation.’

  ‘Good,’ said Conrad, trying a smile. ‘I wonder if you could tell me about her death?’

  ‘Can you?’ the policeman said, his brown eyes examining Conrad.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Can you tell me anything about your sister’s death? It’s a reasonable question,’ van Gils said. ‘I am supposed to be investigating it after all.’

  The bitter emphasis on the word ‘supposed’ was not lost on Conrad. ‘No. I’m afraid I can’t. I know nothing about it.’

  Van Gils’s hand darted into the files in front of him and produced a slim one, which he opened. ‘Is it true you were in the Netherlands two weeks ago?’

  ‘Yes,’ Conrad admitted. He knew his reluctance to answer was obvious to the policeman.

  ‘And did you visit the little town of Venlo, in the east of our country, on the ninth of November? Take a little tour through the woods? Stop at a little café?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Conrad. ‘But I spoke to your colleagues about that.’

  ‘Not my colleagues. Military intelligence. Believe me, Mr de Lancey, it is not their job to solve murders. But it is mine. Your country and Germany have your war going on, I understand that, but I do not appreciate your use of my town as a substitute for a battlefield, especially when an innocent tourist gets killed. If she was an innocent tourist?’

  Conrad didn’t answer.

  ‘Your sister spoke perfect English and perfect German. She had a French name. As do you, of course. So I suspect neither of you was an innocent tourist. Which is, of course, why you won’t answer my questions. I understand that. What I don’t understand is why I should answer yours.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t work for the British secret service,’ said Conrad. ‘At least not directly.’

  ‘So will you answer my questions?’

  The policeman had a half-smile on his face. It was clear to Conrad that this was no Dutch military intelligence stooge. Nor was he a Gestapo or Abwehr agent, and he didn’t work for Stevens or the British secret service. He was just a detective trying to do his job, and his job was finding out who killed Millie on his patch.

  ‘All right,’ said Conrad. He shrugged. ‘Why not?’

  The detective’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Conrad. ‘I’ll answer your questions now. I won’t sign a statement, and I won’t guarantee that I will testify in a criminal court; somehow I think someone will find a way to stop me, don’t you?’

  The detective grunted, stubbed out his cigarette in one of the ashtrays, lit another, and as an afterthought offered Conrad one, which Conrad took. He pulled out a torn notebook.

  ‘Very well. Take me through what you did since you arrived in Holland on the seventh of November.’

  Conrad answered all the detective’s questions. Van Gils’s English was good, although Conrad had to pause from time to time to clarify some of his responses. Conrad realized that he was giving away information that was supposed to be secret, but it was information that he was pretty sure both the British and German intelligence services knew already, as did the Dutch probably. He told van Gils about meeting Theo in Leiden, then about travelling to Venlo with Payne Best, Stevens and Klop, about the kidnapping of the British agents, about his return to Holland to see Theo again, and his travel onwards to Paris to check up on one of Theo’s agents. Van Gils didn’t ask him to be specific about the agent, or about the peace negotiations, and so the issue of plots to overthrow Hitler, real or fake, didn’t come up.

  The detective asked some questions about Constance Scott-Dunton: who was she, what was her relationship with Millie, why were they travelling together? Conrad told van Gils what he could, including that Constance was a friend of Sir Henry Alston, who was an ally of his father in the quest for peace with Germany.

  Then Conrad asked something himself. ‘Why all these questions? I thought you had evidence that Millie’s killer was Theo von Hertenberg.’

  Van Gils snorted. ‘It all depends what you call evidence.’

  ‘What do you call evidence?’ Conrad asked.

  The detective took a pull at his cigarette, examining Conrad. ‘You really don’t know much about all this, do you?’

  ‘No,’ said Conrad.

  ‘Well. Firstly, Mrs Scott-Dunton says she saw Hertenberg heading towards the tram stop from the sand dunes a few minutes after she had discovered Millie’s body. She was confident, and seemed to have convinced my military intelligence colleagues, but not me. She might have seen someone who looked a lot like Theo, but she cannot be certain it was him.’

  ‘But then another witness came forward?’ said Conrad.

  ‘Yes. A walker says he saw Theo hurrying through the dunes with blood on his hands.’

  Conrad’s heart sank. ‘That sounds convincing. Constance told me Theo had arranged to meet Millie in the dunes that morning.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound convincing to me,’ said the inspector. ‘I haven’t interviewed the walker – I wasn’t allowed to – I just have a copy of his statement.’ Van Gils reached into the file and extracted a sheet of paper. ‘A Mr Frank Donkers. He’s not a local, he’s from Eindhoven. Apparently it was only after he returned home that he heard about the murder and got in touch with us, which explains the delay in coming forward. Or it’s one explanation.’ Van Gils snorted. ‘And that detail about his hands being covered with blood. Really! I think Mr Donkers has been watching too many Shakespeare plays.’

  ‘You said that’s one explanation. What might another be?’

  ‘It took them a day or two to manufacture him.’

  ‘“Them”? Who are “them”?’

  ‘I don’t know. Our people. Your people. Maybe even the Germans’ people.’

  ‘But why would they manufacture evidence?’

  ‘Who knows?’ said van Gils. ‘Perhaps it was just convenient to blame the German secret service, and then diplomatically forget what happened. I don’t know. But I do know that Hertenberg being the murderer does not fit with the one piece of hard evidence we do have.’

  ‘Which is?’

  Van Gils puffed at his cigarette, clearly turning over in his mind whether to pass on to Conrad what he knew.

  Conrad waited as the detective stubbed out his old cigarette and lit the fifth of the interview.

  ‘The knife in your sister’s chest,’ he said at last.

  ‘It had fingerprints on it?’ Conrad asked.

  The inspector shook his head. ‘No, it was wiped clean. But an identical knife had been taken the day before from the kitchens of the Hotel Kurhaus, where both your sister and Mrs Scott-Dunton were staying.’

  ‘Really?’ said Conrad. ‘Is that why you were asking me about Constance?’

&nbs
p; ‘Absolutely. It certainly raises questions about her. Did she have a motive? Did she dislike your sister? Was she jealous of Hertenberg? Constance mentioned that Millie and Hertenberg had some kind of romantic attachment.’

  Conrad shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. I have no reason to think so. Did you question Constance?’

  ‘Oh, yes. She denied all knowledge of the knife, which was hardly surprising.’

  ‘Could someone else have taken the knife from the kitchens?’

  ‘It seems unlikely that a professional spy like Hertenberg would do that. He would have his own knife, one would think.’

  ‘Unless he was trying to put blame on Mrs Scott-Dunton?’

  Van Gils shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You must have seen plenty of suspects lie in the past,’ Conrad said. ‘Was Constance lying? Perhaps she never saw Theo after all?’

  ‘I certainly have,’ said van Gils. ‘But actually, she was quite convincing. She is a strange woman, Mrs Scott-Dunton, very strange. She comes across as a naive, innocent English girl. She is very young, only twenty-three, and yet there is something else there, a kind of suppressed excitement. Passion. Most un-English.’

  ‘So you couldn’t arrest her?’

  Van Gils smiled. ‘No. I couldn’t even keep her in the country. Remember “my colleagues”, as you called them, had informed me they had evidence that Miss de Lancey had been murdered by a German spy. Hertenberg.’

  ‘And you don’t believe them?’

  ‘Not one bit. They let her go back to England. The investigation died. Our spies are happy and I suspect yours are too.’

  Could it have been Constance? Conrad wondered. There was certainly something distinctly odd about her. But why would she want to kill Millie? That was something Conrad could try to find out back in England, perhaps with Anneliese’s help.

  ‘There isn’t any chance that they could be right after all? That Theo von Hertenberg murdered her? Did you speak to him?’

  ‘In theory there is a chance. We did ask to see him at the German Embassy. He wouldn’t cooperate; he invoked diplomatic immunity, unsurprisingly. He was staying at the Hotel du Vieux Doelen in The Hague that evening, and flew to Berlin the following morning from Schiphol Airport. He has been flying back and forth a lot in the last few weeks. No one whom we spoke to, including the hotel staff on duty, saw him leave his hotel early that morning. Just this mysterious Mr Donkers whom I am not allowed to interview. And of course, if Hertenberg never left the hotel, then it implies he never arranged to meet Millie in the dunes in the first place.’