As their footsteps echoed loudly in the empty hallway, the master sergeant looked up from his newspaper with vigilant eyes. His intense stare and clamped jaw said he took his gatekeeping job very seriously.
Mason spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “I imagine we’re about to violate any number of army regulations.”
“Even if we get in there, Colonel Walton’s gonna have our hides when he finds out.”
“Who said anything about telling Colonel Walton?”
“Yes?” the master sergeant said when Mason and Wolski stopped by the desk.
“I’m Chief Warrant Officer Collins from the CID, and this is Warrant Officer Wolski—”
“Yes, sir,” the master sergeant said and shot to his feet. “I was expecting you.” He retrieved a ring of keys from the desk drawer and turned to a heavy wooden door.
“She definitely has the juice,” Wolski said under his breath.
The master sergeant unlocked the door and led them down a set of stairs to the basement level. “There are a couple of privates, file clerks, at your disposal if you need them. You shouldn’t be disturbed. Things are pretty quiet down here.” He unlocked another door at the end of the hallway and entered.
Mason and Wolski followed close behind then stopped in their tracks. The dimly lit room held fifteen long rows of file cabinets. Wolski whistled at the size of it.
“We’ve got most of the army personnel records for the southern and western U.S.-occupational districts. The only one bigger is in Frankfurt. Well, I guess D.C.’s got the biggest. You’ll find medical personnel files on rows four, five, and six.” As the master sergeant walked back to the door, he said, “If you need anything just holler.”
“A bottle of aspirin and a gallon of coffee,” Wolski said.
“Excuse me?”
“We’ll be fine for now,” Mason said. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
They both surveyed the room. Mason felt sure that Wolski, like he, was trying to steel his will for the coming task.
“Well, let’s get to it,” Mason said.
They spent the next eight hours poring through the files, and after three hours they enlisted the two privates for help shuffling files back and forth. The day’s search brought more frustration than suspects. They found a few doctors described as deviant. Some had been accused of physical or sexual abuse of patients, but few were still posted in Germany by the time the murders began. As it turned out, only five files provided any kind of vague suspects, and without crime scene fingerprints or other clues, they couldn’t justify digging any deeper without alerting Colonel Walton that Mason had “sidestepped” direct orders. And by the end, it turned out Wolski’s request to the master sergeant had proved prescient: They both came away with a great need for aspirin.
• • •
Mason entered his office and dropped his briefcase on the desk. The clatter of typewriters and the nagging phones made the spikes in his head dig deeper into his temples. The pain, plus the frustration of a full day spent without concrete results, made his foul mood boil over. He stared a moment at the stack of files covering his desk and was tempted to shove everything off and grind them into the floor.
A knock on the open door stopped him.
“Don’t do it,” Wolski said, stepping in and closing the door.
“I’d just have to turn around and pick them up anyway.” Mason sat at his desk and rubbed his forehead. “Five files and nothing earth-shattering. We’ll check out the suspects, but it’s looking like we should start thinking in terms of Germans or DPs. Becker’s team is checking all the civilian doctors and surgeons, so let’s take a more serious look into U.S.-issued night passes and permits, then cross-check them with identification and denazification papers. Maybe something will turn up.”
“Assuming the killer didn’t get a counterfeit, there could easily be ten thousand legitimate ones. That could take weeks if it’s just the two of us. We need more manpower.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“I can imagine Colonel Walton’s face when you ask him about that.”
Through the pebbled glass on Mason’s office door they could see the silhouette of a private hesitating just outside. Wolski opened the door. The private snapped to attention. “What is it, Private?”
“Sir, the colonel wants to see Mr. Collins right away. He’s at OMGB headquarters, General West’s office.”
“Friday evening at the general’s?” Wolski said. “That can’t be good.”
Mason gathered his coat and hat and said to Wolski, “Contact public affairs at OMGB about those night passes.”
“Oh, sirs,” the private interjected, “the colonel told me to ask everyone if they know the whereabouts of the colonel’s cognac and several bottles of scotch.”
Mason and Wolski exchanged looks, and Mason said, “No, we sure don’t.”
“The colonel’s been in a killing mood since he found his bottles gone.”
“Well, good luck with that investigation,” Wolski said.
• • •
Mason entered a large conference room with full-wall wood paneling, marble flooring, and a sedan-sized fireplace. A long table of mahogany dominated the room. At the far end sat Colonel Walton; General West, the Third Army’s provost marshal; and a major whom Mason did not know. They were in the middle of a heated discussion when Mason stopped at the head of the table and saluted. Colonel Walton waved him to come forward.
“You know the general, don’t you?” Colonel Walton said.
Mason acknowledged the general. “Yes, sir. How are you, sir?”
The general finished a sip of coffee. “That remains to be seen.”
“And this is Major Bolton, of OMGB civil affairs,” Colonel Walton said.
Major Bolton was a small man with a wiry mustache. With quick, birdlike motions, he stood and leaned across the table to shake Mason’s hand. Colonel Walton invited Mason to sit. Mason pulled out a chair and angled it to face the three inquisitors. He immediately felt the warmth of the fire, knowing it wasn’t the only heat he was going to feel in the next few moments.
“Where are you with this investigation after last night’s discovery?” General West asked.
Mason filled him in, though there was little new since his last report. He mentioned the eyewitness, the reports of a wagon, and the priest’s idea that the victim’s arrangement on the chandelier symbol was of a Christian baptismal cross.
“This latest murder, of the young woman, is an act of cruelty and savagery,” General West said. “The first two victims, from the factory and sewer, we were able to keep pretty well under wraps, but accounts of the young woman last night are spreading around this city like wildfire. It’s upsetting the civilian population. I’ve got the Munich city council pressuring me to solve this, and they insist on giving the German police a more active role on the investigation. They claim we’re not doing enough because the victims are German.”
Mason glanced at Colonel Walton, but Walton didn’t bat an eye.
“Frankly,” General West went on, “I don’t care what the Munich city council thinks, but we’ve got enough problems on our hands without half the city’s population too afraid to come out of their homes, and the other half clamoring for justice.”
Mason wondered where in all this was the desire to solve this for the victims. “Sir, we need to double the MP patrols, especially in the backstreets. We need double or triple the checkpoints—”
Colonel Walton tried to object. “Mr. Collins—”
Mason cut him off. “General, I need more manpower if I’m to carry out a proper investigation. I need more MPs and investigators at my disposal, with a dedicated operations center. We need enough men to interview the female victim’s family and associates, we need periodic monitoring of the crime scenes and the victim’s paths and frequented places, and we need to ch
eck U.S.-issued civilian night passes. Now that we’ve almost exhausted our search through U.S. Medical Corps personnel files—”
“You what?” Colonel Walton blurted out.
Mason realized he’d just blown his undisclosed investigation into U.S. medical personnel files. “Right now, the German police are trying to cover all the doctors and hospitals, but I’d like to have at least two teams of ours cover them as well. And that doesn’t include DPs with surgical knowledge—”
“Mr. Collins, that’s enough!” Colonel Walton said. “This grandstanding of yours has gone too far. The very idea that you investigated U.S. Medical Corps personnel without my permission, that you think you can make demands or dictate terms to the general . . . You are one breath away from disciplinary action.”
General West raised his hand, and Colonel Walton stopped. There was a moment of silence in the large room while the general lit his cigar. A log in the fire snapped. Another broke apart at its burned-out center, sending sparks up into the chimney. Mason waited for the hammer to come down.
Instead, General West nodded and said, “If more manpower will get the job done then I’m prepared to put at Mr. Collins’s disposal all the investigative resources we can spare. Pull out all the stops and get this case solved.” He turned to Colonel Walton, whose face had turned crimson with anger. “Frank, I know you have your hands full out there. But this kind of case unnerves everyone. What this killer does to his victims riles up a population already weary of murder and death. The idea that a Jack the Ripper–type psychopath is roaming the streets could seriously disturb a population that’s already at wit’s end.”
Major Bolton cleared his throat for attention. “I’ve already recommended that we keep these stories out of the press. The Stars and Stripes has agreed not to publish any articles relating to this case, and since we control the German newspapers, there won’t be any printed in those, either.”
Mason glanced around the room hoping that no one noticed the look of guilt on his face. If anyone found out that he’d leaked information about the case to Laura, it would surely be the end of the line for him as a CID criminal investigator.
General West puffed on his cigar. Everyone waited for his final word. “You laid out a pretty big shopping list. We’re undermanned as it is, but I don’t see that we have any choice. Frank, see that Mr. Collins gets his wish for more investigators. I’ll notify the MP company commanders to beef up patrols and checkpoints.” He pointed his finger at Mason. “But I better have results. And fast. If I see you can’t handle this case with alacrity and efficiency, then I’ll find someone who will.”
FIFTEEN
At ten A.M. the next morning, Manganella dropped Mason off in front of the morgue. Wolski was waiting for him.
“I see you finally got my message,” Wolski said.
“What’s up?”
“The ME has his autopsy report, and Becker is bringing in the victim’s two roommates to identify the body. Where’ve you been?”
“Over at the JAG office talking to a lawyer about a major, a surgeon, who went nuts in Bad Tölz and killed two civilians.”
“Anything promising?”
Mason shook his head. “He made regular trips to Munich, but not the days around the killings.”
They entered the front offices of the morgue and proceeded down the hallway.
“How did the meeting with the brass go last night?” Wolski asked.
“The good news is we’re going to get a contingent of investigators to work with us and an operations room.”
“And the bad news?”
“We have to solve it fast or we’re off the case. Plus, I let slip that we’ve been snooping around Medical Corps personnel files.”
“You were an agent in military intelligence and couldn’t keep that under your hat?”
Mason shot him a dirty look, but Wolski ignored it. He seemed quite content with the artful jab to Mason’s ribs.
Mason and Wolski descended the stairs and found Major Treborn in the morgue.
Major Treborn greeted them. “Inspector Becker should be here any moment with the girls. I’ll give you a rundown of what I’ve found while we wait.”
“Do we have to look at the body?” Wolski asked.
“Nothing you haven’t seen already,” Treborn said with a sly smile. “Doesn’t matter. I fixed up the remains for the girls.”
Treborn retrieved a file off a table. “The time of death, best I can figure it, was about twenty-four to thirty-six hours before discovery. I found the same contusion on the back of the neck. The victim suffered the exact same wounds—tortured, dismembered. The only difference is, as you know, her lungs were surgically removed. The rest of her organs are intact. She has the same abrasions from being strapped down. . . .”
“Any sign of sexual assault?” Mason asked.
“None. However, there is one thing I noticed. One of her legs is shorter than the other. Sometime in her not-so-distant past, her left leg was severely fractured. The surgeon didn’t do a very careful job. Looked rushed. I don’t know if that has any significance.”
“Meaning she had a limp,” Mason said.
“With her leg like that, there’s no doubt.”
Mason thought a moment. “Dr. Hieber, the victim from the factory, you said he had arthritis in his lower back and hips, right?”
“Let me check,” Treborn said and went over to the shelves full of files. “I’ve seen so many bodies come through here, it’s hard to keep them straight.” He found the file he was looking for and opened it. “Yes, advanced arthritis, especially in the hip joints. There was wear on the knee joints from trying to compensate.”
“Then in all likelihood, he limped, too?”
Treborn looked up at Mason over his reading glasses. “Yeah, he probably would have. What are you thinking?”
“The killer chooses his victims for a reason. Could be a coincidence, but maybe something about the limping touches off the killer.”
Mason was about to say something else when the door to the autopsy room opened. Becker led in the two women and introduced them. They both looked to be in their midtwenties. Gisela was tall and thin with an angular face and black hair. Though she held tightly to the other woman, she gave the Americans a defiant expression. The other’s name was Irma, a pale, frail-looking woman, with softer features, who stood only to Gisela’s shoulders. They wore what were probably their best clothes, which showed signs of wear and were stiff from the crude detergents they were forced to use.
Mason greeted them in German and introduced Wolski and Major Treborn. “Major Treborn is the chief pathologist. He and Herr Oberinspektor Becker will accompany you to view the body.”
Becker placed his hands on their shoulders. “Are you ready?”
They both nodded. Irma shuddered. Gisela maintained her steely expression, though Mason could tell she was as frightened as her companion. Major Treborn led the way. They proceeded slowly past the desks and shelves and into the autopsy area. Mason and Wolski stayed behind and watched as the group approached the middle examination table. Becker stopped the pair six feet from the table. Major Treborn waited for Becker’s signal, then pulled back the sheet just enough to uncover the victim’s face. It was steely Gisela who cried out and turned away. Irma became the strong one and tried to comfort Gisela.
Becker asked them if they knew the victim. Through their tears, they both said yes, and again yes when Becker asked if they were sure. Major Treborn covered the victim and asked if they would mind going to his office so that the detectives could ask them a few questions.
As Becker passed Mason and Wolski, Mason said, “We’ll give them a few minutes.”
Back up on the ground floor, Mason, Wolski, and Treborn waited in Treborn’s office. Treborn kept looking at his watch.
“I’ve got three days’ worth of work to do between now a
nd eight o’clock.”
“You fixed up the victim’s face nicely,” Mason said.
“I couldn’t have those poor girls see their friend looking like she did when she came in. What that young victim went through . . . I have a daughter about her age.”
Becker opened the door and brought in the women. Gisela and Irma sat in chairs facing Treborn’s desk. Treborn took his place behind the desk, while Becker sat on the desk facing the girls to give them moral support. Mason and Wolski stood off to one side near the wall.
In a soft voice, Becker said, “Would you please tell these detectives what you told me?”
Gisela stared straight ahead and said nothing. Irma took Gisela’s lead and did the same thing.
Becker urged, “Gisela, Irma, please.”
“We don’t talk to Americans,” Gisela said.
“They are trying to find the killer. The more they know, the better chance of finding him.”
“I told you what we know. Now you can tell them.”
Becker said to Mason, “The victim’s name is Agneth Lehmann. She was a roommate of these women. They live in the Maxvorstadt district and have been together for two years.”
“Did Agneth say anything about someone following her? Someone who may have threatened her or wanted to harm her?”
Again, a wall of silence. Mason tried to check his temper. He sensed Wolski tensing up as well. Irma was about to say something, but Gisela put her hand on Irma’s arm. Irma stopped.
“I’m sure you have your reasons for not liking Americans,” Mason said, “but we’re here to stop these killings.”
Ruins of War Page 11