The Stranger From Berlin

by Melissa Amateis

  Please, she prayed. Don’t let anyone see.

  She grabbed the diary, then slowly pulled away from Max, hiding the book under the overskirt of her peplum dress.

  Max didn’t take his eyes off her, and in that moment, the thought that she’d never see him again terrified her. But that was silly. He’d be in jail, safe, and then they would figure it out. Wouldn’t they?

  ‘Go, now,’ Max murmured.

  One last touch to his cheek, and then she darted through the crowd, head down, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. The most important thing now was to get the diary to safety.

  Jenni headed towards the cloakroom and nearly collided with a man in the hallway.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, regaining her balance. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘No harm done, ma’am.’

  She started to smile but then froze. Those glasses. The beard. The intense brown eyes. The man from the museum.

  ‘You!’

  She saw panic flash in his eyes and he tried to move.

  No. He could not escape. Not this time.

  Acting purely on instinct, Jenni kicked him in the shins, and the man yelped, falling against the wall. She blocked his path, hovering over him like an angry, vengeful spirit.

  ‘You’re the one who stole the diary! Did you put it in Max’s coat? Did you frame him?’

  Holding on to his leg, the man appeared on the verge of tears, but whether from his injured leg or something else, Jenni didn’t know. And she didn’t care.

  ‘Answer me!’ she demanded.

  ‘Yes, I put it in his coat,’ he admitted, unable to meet her eyes, ‘but I didn’t think this would happen. I swear to you.’

  ‘Did you vandalize the town too?’

  ‘No.’ He lifted his head, and she could see he was telling the truth. ‘I did not.’

  Confused, she took a step back. If not him, then who? She could prove Max was innocent of the diary’s theft, but what about the vandalism? Someone had put the paint and the posters in the cottage, and if she didn’t find out who, none of this would matter.

  ‘But…’ Here the man hesitated, and Jenni resisted the urge to shake him. ‘I know who did.’

  Her breath caught. ‘Who? Who was it?’

  The man rubbed his hand over his mouth, as if trying to decide whether or not to confess, when finally, he took a deep breath and said, ‘It was the mayor.’

  * * *

  Max held on to the memory of Jenni’s lips on his for as long as possible. It made reality easier to bear somehow, knowing she had retrieved the diary, had sacrificed her reputation to do so. His brave, fiercely loyal Jenni. Mein Gott, but he loved her.

  His love gave him the courage to brave the crowd’s censure. Such hatred, such ugliness. Fuelled by righteousness and the safety of numbers, they continued to hurl abuse at him, some even going so far as to throw peanuts and pretzels. Still, it was better than bullets.

  ‘Nazi bastard!’

  ‘Dirty Kraut!’

  Some, though, avoided his gaze, and looked away. They were afraid to come to his defence, afraid of the prevailing winds in the crowd turning on them. Oh, how familiar it was. How many times had he stood by in Berlin when a Jew or a communist felt the wrath of the Brownshirts or Ernst and his fellow SS thugs? Was this his comeuppance at last?

  But in the midst of it all, he actually felt sorry for these people. They’d given in to their fear, and were acting just like those who’d attacked Dietrich Stanwick’s church more than twenty-five years ago. Despite history’s warning, humanity did not change.

  Thompson led him out of the dance hall and cold air wiped away the last vestiges of warmth from Jenni’s kiss. A police car sat at the curb, red lights revolving, and Max forced himself to relax. At least he had the assurance of a trial, though whether it would be fair or not remained to be seen. He’d call Bruce, have him hire a good attorney to give him a fighting chance. The wheels of American justice, so different from the mock trials of Germany, would begin to turn. That, at least, was some comfort.

  ‘Not so fast, Thompson.’

  Max froze. Lowe approached them, hatred twisting his features, and he yanked Max away.

  ‘What the hell are you doing, Evan?’ Thompson demanded. ‘I have to take him into the station.’

  ‘No, you don’t. This has gone on long enough. We’ll settle this. My way.’

  The blood chilled in Max’s veins. My way.

  ‘Are you crazy? You can’t do this,’ Thompson said. ‘I won’t let you.’

  A fanatical gleam lit Lowe’s eyes, and Max recognized it at once. He’d seen it too many times in Berlin.

  ‘We’re at war, Thompson,’ Lowe snapped. ‘And this is going to happen. You won’t interfere unless you want to lose your job. Don’t forget what I know about you.’

  Max saw Thompson blanch. Scheiße. If the chief of police couldn’t stop Lowe, who would?

  And suddenly he knew. He wouldn’t live to see tomorrow.

  The fight or flight instinct took hold, and Max jerked free from Lowe, pushing his way through the crowd.

  Run. Escape. Hide. Live!

  Yelling, screams, and then someone tackled him, and they crashed onto the pavement, the slick ice scraping his skin, the weight of his assailant heavy on his back.

  ‘Think you can get away, eh, Kraut?’ Roy Carlton mocked, his words sharp in Max’s ear.

  Max lifted his head, tried to protest, but then one hard punch to the jaw, and blackness fell.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  In a dim, quiet storage room off the dance hall, Pete Mitchell told Jenni his story.

  ‘My pop was the one who led the mob at the Lutheran church in Meadow Hills in 1918,’ he said, holding his hat in his hands. ‘I was only a kid, maybe eleven or twelve. We lived in Lincoln. We was pretty poor folk, and my mom wasn’t real well. After Pop was convicted of arson and sentenced to jail for a year, Ma couldn’t take it, I guess. She had a heart attack and died.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Jenni murmured.

  Pete nodded. ‘Thank you. She was a good woman, my ma. After she was gone, I had to take care of my four brothers and sisters by myself. When Pop got out of jail, he was… different. Never talked about what happened and I never brought it up. Worked a lot and drank himself to sleep every night. I remember once he had a nightmare and started screaming. Said something about the fire, how he didn’t do it. I never thought about it much until last year.’ He paused, took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Pop got kicked by a horse, right in the chest. Broke his ribs and punctured both lungs. Nothing they could do for him, so they brought him home to die. And that’s when he told me.’

  ‘Told you what?’

  ‘That a man named Evan Lowe had hired him to go to Meadow Hills and terrorize the people at the Lutheran church.’

  Jenni gasped. Lowe had been the one behind that terrible night?

  ‘Pop only did it because Lowe offered him a lot of money. So I asked Pop why he didn’t tell the police when he was arrested. Pop said Lowe threatened to hurt our family if he said anything. So he stayed quiet. But I guess since he was dying, he couldn’t keep it a secret no more. But that’s not the worst of it.’

  There was more?

  ‘Go on.’

  Pete rubbed the back of his head. ‘Well, Pop said the fire started in the preacher’s study. Pop said while they were giving all the churchgoers trouble, he saw Lowe run out of the back of the church and sneak into the woods. The fire started soon after that, but Lowe wasn’t nowhere around.’

  ‘From what I know, Lowe was the one who brought the fire department,’ Jenni said. ‘But it was too late by the time they got there to save the building… or to save Dietrich Stanwick.’

  ‘Yeah, that sounds about right.’

  ‘So your father thought Lowe started the fire?’ ‘Yes. He swore me to secrecy, but I couldn’t keep it at that, could I? My pop may have done wrong by hurting those church folks, but he didn’t start the fire. He paid the price for it thou
gh.’

  ‘But why did you steal this?’ she asked, showing him the diary.

  ‘Pop said he called Mrs Stanwick before he went to prison. He said he couldn’t take the guilt. Said he told her someone else had started the fire and had arranged the whole mob, but he didn’t say it was Lowe because he had to protect us. When I read about them finding the diary in the paper, I thought maybe there might be something in there about my Pop’s call.’

  ‘And is there?’

  Here Pete gave a bitter laugh. ‘Wish I knew. Can’t read the darn thing. I was going to take it to someone to get it translated, but then all hell broke loose in this town and I got scared.’

  So. If this man was telling her the truth, Lowe had been behind everything, and not just recent events, but that night in 1918 too. But why vandalize the town and blame Max? Why take such drastic steps? Was he driven by the loss of his son in the Great War? Or was it something more sinister?

  ‘How do you know Lowe was the one behind the vandalism?’

  ‘I saw it with my own eyes.’ Pete shook his head. ‘He did it real early in the morning. I been keeping an eye on him. Maybe getting up the nerve to confront him, I don’t know.’

  Frustration gnawed at her. Because Pete had stayed silent, suspicion had grown and festered in this town like an unchecked infection. ‘Why didn’t you tell someone? Do you know what you’ve done? An innocent man has been blamed for all of this!’

  Flinching at her condemnation, Pete looked away and swallowed hard. ‘I know, miss. I’m a coward.’

  ‘You have to tell the police. If you don’t, then—’

  Shouts from the hallway, voices raised in excitement. Jenni cracked open the storage-room door and heard two men talking as they hustled down the corridor.

  ‘They’re dragging him to the courthouse!’

  ‘I heard someone say they should get a rope and string him up. Damn Kraut bastard. Would serve him right.’

  Terror flooded her body, and for a split second, she couldn’t move. Dear God. The lynch mob mentality had reared its ugly head, and she couldn’t count on saner heads to prevail, not in this town. Max’s life was in very real danger.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Pete said, behind her.

  She had to stay calm, but horrific images kept flashing in her mind. Max begging for his life. Max with a rope around his neck. Max swinging from a tree.

  No. She would not let this happen. She wouldn’t lose him.

  She turned to Pete and took him by the shoulders. ‘Listen to me. A very good man is going to die tonight unless you tell the police everything you know. Can you do that?’

  She saw the fear in his eyes, but he nodded. ‘I can.’

  * * *

  Cold. Dark. The sensation of moving. And then blinding pain.

  Max blinked open his eyes, shut them again. It felt like an axe had been driven through his skull. And why was the ground moving?

  No, the ground wasn’t moving, he was moving. He was being dragged along the street, his handcuffed hands above his head, his heels catching on the blocks of ice and snow littering the road. He twisted his head up, saw a crowd of people following them, jeering and pointing towards him.

  He could almost smell it, the malevolence, the insatiable need for revenge. It burned like sulphur in the air, catapulting him back to that day on the streets of Berlin when the Nazis had burned synagogues and destroyed Jewish businesses.

  Only now these people had one target: him.

  Pushing past the pain, he yanked his hands down, and Roy, caught off guard, let go. Max struggled to his knees, the world tilting dangerously, before someone jerked him to his feet.

  ‘Look who’s awake.’ Lowe peered at him. ‘Good. I wouldn’t want you to sleep through this.’

  ‘What are you doing? Where are you taking me?’

  ‘To your trial, of course.’

  ‘You can’t do this,’ Max rasped.

  ‘This is my town, Mr Koenig, and I won’t let you cause any more trouble.’

  ‘I tell you, I’m innocent!’

  But Lowe wasn’t listening. He shoved Max forward, and nearby onlookers hooted in approval. Max couldn’t quite accept what his eyes told him to be true. How could his happen, here in America?

  The mob mentality had taken over, and the crowd seethed and pulsated with bloodlust. Getting them to see reason would prove fruitless.

  They reached the large, imposing granite courthouse, and under the streetlights, Max could read the words carved into the building’s Greek-like façade: Lex uno ore omnes alloquitur. All are equal before the law.

  Except him, apparently. Oh what irony, that he’d counted on this great country’s foundations in justice to protect him, to offer him a chance to prove his innocence. But one man had made a mockery of that law. The similarities between what Lowe was doing and what was happening in Germany were frightening and all too uncanny.

  But that this town had put their faith in one man, had allowed him to control and manipulate them for years, frightened him even more. How could they be so blind?

  How could you have been so blind, as to think the Nazis would fall from power, that good people would rise up and overthrow them, and uphold the values of a Western society, when you didn’t lift a finger to help?

  The revelation shattered him. He, a passionate student of history, had forgotten Plato’s wise words: The price good men pay for indifference to public affairs is to be ruled by evil men.

  He would now pay the price for his years of indifference and cowardice. Perhaps it was fitting.

  But then he thought of Jenni and Marty, of how their ardent belief and acceptance had made him feel whole again. He couldn’t give up. Not now. He had so much to atone for, so much to do. It couldn’t end like this. It just couldn’t.

  Lowe and another police officer pushed him up the steps, and Max felt a surge of energy course through him. Nein. He would not give up, he would not be the lamb that went meekly to the slaughter.

  ‘Well, now,’ Lowe said, clapping his gloved hands together, ‘it’s time to judge you before an audience of your peers.’

  Max looked down at the crowd gathering at the base of the steps, then back up at Lowe. ‘I assume I will be allowed to defend myself?’

  ‘Of course. This is America, after all.’

  Before Max could reply, Lowe turned to the crowd and held up his hands. The people fell quiet. At any other time, Max would have marvelled at the falling snow, the clouds streaming across the pale moon, the crowd’s silent vigil.

  ‘Citizens of Meadow Hills, in a time of war, when we must guard against enemy saboteurs, the safety of our community is paramount. Before you stands an enemy of America. Max Koenig is charged with treasonous activities against the United States through sabotage and anti-American activities. Following the actions of one of our most patriotic presidents, Abraham Lincoln, we can lawfully suspend the writ of habeas corpus when at war, which is why the citizens of this great town can act as judge and juror.’

  This was ludicrous! Why, Lowe didn’t even understand the law or how it worked, relying instead on hubris and appealing to the people’s patriotism. Worse, no one in the crowd challenged him.

  Lowe turned to him. ‘Max Koenig, you have heard the charges against you. What do you plead?’

  ‘Not guilty.’

  The crowd booed and hissed, but Max only raised his voice. ‘I demand to be taken to the jail and offered a fair trial with a lawyer to represent me. This mock trial is not justice.’

  ‘Traitors don’t deserve a fair trial!’ one man shouted. Others joined in agreement, but some looked around uneasily.

  Max seized that slight glimmer of hope and shouted, ‘This is not what America stands for! America stands for truth and justice! I am innocent. I have nothing to hide and I will willingly go to trial to defend myself. If you condemn me now, you condemn an innocent man!’

  He could see some in the crowd hesitate and Lowe, sensing the unease, shouted, ‘You see what
he does? You see how he twists his words? He is a German! He cannot be trusted!’ He pointed to a teenager in the crowd. ‘You, George Henning! Your brother was killed in Italy. And, you, Sally Black! Your fiancé died in North Africa! They died at the hands of the Germans! Haven’t I protected you all these years? Haven’t I made Meadow Hills a safe, American community? Don’t you trust me, a man who has dedicated his life as a public servant to this town?’

  Cries of agreement and support rose into the night sky, and Max shivered as much from the cold as the knowledge that he was fighting a losing battle.

  But he was fighting, and that’s what mattered.

  A lone voice shouted, ‘Mayor Lowe is lying to you!’

  And there, moving through the crowd, was Jenni, her jaw set in fierce determination. She jostled around those who didn’t get out of her way, ignored jeers from others, and refused to be stopped. His very own Queen Boudica.

  Jenni hurried up the courthouse steps, a man following close behind. ‘Before you do anything,’ Jenni said, turning to the crowd, ‘you need to know the truth about Mayor Lowe.’

  ‘Why, you little bitch,’ Lowe growled.

  Lowe took a step towards her, but the man who’d followed Jenni up the steps put a hand on Lowe’s chest. ‘You let the lady speak her piece.’

  ‘And just who the hell are you?’

  ‘I’m Frank Mitchell’s son.’

  To Max’s astonishment, terror flashed across Lowe’s face. Who was this man whose mere name could cause such a reaction in the mayor?

  Jenni looked at Max and mouthed, Trust me, before turning to the crowd. ‘We all know about the night in 1918 when the Lutheran church was burned down,’ Jenni began, the falling snow framing her beautiful profile. ‘But what you don’t know is that our “esteemed” mayor was the one who organized the mob in the first place.’

  Shocked gasps from the crowd, a hiss of indrawn breath from Lowe.

  Jenni continued. ‘This man beside me is Pete Mitchell. His father, Frank, was the leader of the mob that night. Frank said that Mayor Lowe paid him to terrorize the people at the church’s Oktoberfest. Frank was later convicted for his role. He was also convicted for arson. But Frank Mitchell didn’t start the fire.’ Jenni shot Lowe a scathing look. ‘Mayor Lowe did.’