Leaving Naumann the unenviable task of pointing out to Central Records that they had made a mistake, knowing full well that they had actually been deceived.
I should have called in sick.
31 |
Friedrichshain People’s Park Berlin, Nazi Germany
Joachim sat up in the tree, a favorite hiding spot of his in the park near their new home. He had discovered it the first week they had been there while exploring with his brother. Their new home was large, far larger than their previous, and in a part of the city where he knew no one.
He had hated it.
But once he had realized how important his father’s new position was, and how powerful he had become within the SS, the organization he once dreamed of serving in, perhaps for the great Himmler himself, he had softened to the idea of living here.
Yet he still found it hard to make friends.
The school year was just about to begin, but the Hitler Youth went strong all year round, especially during the summer, where he thrived. His was an elite unit, filled with the sons of senior officers, and he quickly learned he was nothing special, as his father was merely one of many colonels in the organization.
School would be a different story. There he might not be at the top in the hierarchy fathers brought, but he’d be close, and certainly far higher than most.
There he would gain the respect he deserved, and once he finished university, he’d be an officer, and with his father’s rank and contacts, he’d work his way up quickly.
You have to volunteer for the front.
It was the quickest way for advancement. Prove your bravery, your capability, your willingness to serve and die for the Führer, and you’d soon find yourself a senior officer.
His stomach growled.
Yet none of that was possible now.
And who was he kidding? He was a coward.
He had shot that bastard corporal, yes, but he had done it with his eyes closed, tossing the gun moments after firing as he ran off into the night, sobbing.
Real soldiers don’t cry.
He wasn’t officer material.
He wasn’t even corporal material.
He was nothing. A pathetic coward who had run away crying, rather than standing proudly over the body of the vanquished enemy that had dared embarrass his family.
He had found his perch quickly, losing whoever was pursuing him when the air raid had begun. Oddly, the thought of dying from bombs dropped by Allied aircraft overhead never bothered him. It would be a waste to die like that, though it never troubled him. His attitude might change if he actually saw any bomb damage, as where they lived hadn’t suffered any as of yet. It angered him to no end that the Allies would dare bomb his city, the capital of the great Third Reich, and beating heart of what would soon be the greatest empire the world had ever known.
Yet it wouldn’t be led by people like him, people who vomited at the mere thought of having killed a man, despite his guilt.
He groaned as his stomach rumbled again.
I’m starving.
The city was alive around him. People strolled through the park, some under the very tree that was now his hiding place, and the sounds of cars and trucks going about their business as if last night’s events hadn’t occurred had lulled him to sleep on more than one occasion.
What are you going to do?
He couldn’t go home. Not with what he now knew. They were all traitors, liars, deceivers. If he were to go home, it would be to rescue his brother from the clutches of those who would call themselves loyal to their Führer.
Yet it was too dangerous.
He could only think of one thing to do. Report his deed to the SS. After all, it was one of theirs he had killed, and they should know exactly why he had done it, then report what he had discovered about his family. They deserved it for what they had done.
His stomach flipped as he pictured his mother, smiling, his brother giggling, and his father reviewing paperwork at his desk.
They’ll all die.
Yet shouldn’t they?
He gasped.
I’ll die!
He shook his head, refusing to believe it. They don’t kill for that. Not the children. His parents, possibly. His father would lose his position, certainly, though deservedly so. He had lied, he had hidden the truth. He couldn’t be trusted with the position he had been granted.
Would they kill his mother?
They might. It was ultimately her fault, wasn’t it?
He wasn’t sure. Certainly his father played a part, did he not?
He sighed.
Why did I have to see that photo?
He closed his eyes. Life had been so much simpler yesterday, his future planned out, and now he was losing it all, all because of something that wasn’t his fault.
He growled.
He had to reclaim his future.
He had to take responsibility for his actions, and hope that his actions would be praised by those superior to him, that he’d be given a second chance, perhaps adopted by another family that could be trusted to serve the Führer, with no secrets to hide, no lies to tell.
No love to give him.
His eyes burned, his heart ached, and he grabbed his knees, pulling them close to his chest.
What am I going to do?
“Hey, you there!”
He flinched, enough to lose his balance and fall from his perch, hitting several branches on the way down before coming to a painful halt as he was caught by the unforgiving ground.
A police officer in his green uniform towered over him. “Are you all right, boy?”
He groaned, not entirely sure.
Hands roamed his body and he winced a few times, though there were no yelps that might indicate something broken. He was hauled to his feet.
“What’s your name?”
“Joachim.”
“Joachim what?”
“Konrad.”
“Konrad?” The officer’s eyes narrowed and he pulled out his notebook, flipping through it. “Ahh, I thought so. You’re the boy who ran away from home last night. Your parents are worried sick about you.”
“They’re not my parents. Not anymore.”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
Joachim realized this wasn’t the man to tell his secret to. He needed to talk to someone in the SS. He shoved his hands on his hips. “Take me to Reichsführer Himmler.”
The officer tossed his head back, roaring with laughter. “Oh, sure, and after that, how about I take you to see the Führer!” He grabbed Joachim by the arm and led him from the park. “Before your meeting with Himmler, I think we’ll make sure your parents approve.”
Joachim tried to break free, but the grip was like iron. He finally saw no choice. “I killed someone.”
And with those three words, everything changed.
32 |
Konrad Residence Berlin, Nazi Germany
“Shouldn’t we have heard something by now?”
Konrad frowned as he wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “I would have thought so, but there were quite a few casualties last night, so it might take time.”
“You should have gone to the morgue. You could have identified him already.”
He shook his head. “I needed to stick to the story that he was cut by the glass, otherwise they might suspect Joachim in the shooting.”
“I suppose.” She looked at him. “Those policemen. Will they cause problems?”
He sighed, his soup forgotten as he leaned back and took in his wife’s concerned expression at the other end of the table. He should never have told her what had happened, but she had badgered him until he finally gave in.
Then spent the rest of the morning worrying. He finally left for the office for a couple of hours, returning with the faint hope there might have been word about Joachim or Griese delivered here instead of at work.
Neither hope had been fulfilled.
“They might.”
She dropped her spoon in the bowl, its contents splashing on her unnoticed. “Could we have made things worse?”
He frowned. “I might have.”
“It was my idea.”
“An excellent idea at the time, and one that I agreed with, and I executed.”
She finally noticed the soup on her blouse and dabbed at it with her napkin. “What will happen?”
“Well, assuming the man at the morgue is Griese, and you and I both know it likely is, then Central Records will have been sent his fingerprints. They will eventually match them to his file, and note him as dead. More likely, they will have already noted he was dead, because the identity papers I took from his quarters and planted on the other man will have been used to identify him already. This discrepancy will be noticed by someone, and they will investigate. The police said the man they found had two gunshot wounds. That means murder, so this matter won’t be dropped.”
Renata returned her napkin to her lap. “Wouldn’t they assume the murderer took the papers and placed them on another body? I mean, you were lucky to find his papers in his quarters, weren’t you?”
He shrugged. “Not particularly. He was at his post, a private residence. There was really no need for him to have them on his person, and thank God for that.” He frowned. “Though perhaps I shouldn’t thank Him, since it looks like this might backfire on us.”
“But in the end, it’s the same result, isn’t it? As soon as you have official word that he’s dead, you can inform General Graf, and then we don’t have to worry about him launching his own investigation. That was the entire point of this, wasn’t it? To deal with his twenty-four-hour deadline?”
“Yes, though with the murder investigation, it could invite the same questions.”
She scratched behind her ear then shifted in her chair. “What should we do?”
“We rid ourselves of any evidence.” He stared at her. “Any.”
She paled. “You can’t be—”
“Would you prefer death?”
Tears filled her eyes. “But it’s all I have left.”
His heart ached at her pain, and he rose then knelt beside her, taking her hands. “I know, my love, but we have no choice. We have to think of the children. Joachim is still out there, filled with rage and confusion, and Griese has been murdered, and the police are investigating. And my poorly thought out actions last night have just made things worse. We could have Graf’s men and perhaps even the Gestapo swarming over this house at any moment. If they find anything, and I mean anything, we’re done for.”
She sighed, finally acknowledging he was right. “I’ll take care of it.” Her shoulders shook. “I always knew this moment would come, though with each passing day we weren’t found out, a small part of me thought it might not.”
He patted her hand. “Let’s take this one day at a time. Nobody knows I planted the papers on Griese, and everyone will assume he had them on his person, as the law requires. That means they’ll think the murderer tried to deceive the police by planting them on someone else. This is the only logical conclusion they can make. That means there should be nothing to make them suspicious of us. If for some reason they do become suspicious and search the house, they’ll find nothing. That will hopefully assuage any concerns, and they won’t bother doing a deep dive into our records.” He smiled. “If we make it through the next few days, we should be fine.”
“You’re forgetting one thing.”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”
“Joachim.”
33 |
Strausberger Straße Berlin, Nazi Germany
“So, what did you find out?”
Sergeant Hellwig flipped open his notebook as Vogel and Stadler approached. “Well, it was a good thing we went back. Nobody agrees on whether there were two or three shots, but all agree there was more than one, and that at least one shot sounded different than the others. Certainly sounds like two different weapons, two different calibers.”
Vogel smiled slightly, elbowing his partner. “See, footwork pays off sometimes.” He turned back to Hellwig. “And did you have to beat this information out of anyone?”
Hellwig chuckled. “Not today.”
Another elbow. “See?”
Stadler stepped out of reach. “Yeah, yeah. You made your point. But doesn’t that just confuse things?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if he was shot in the ear by a small-caliber weapon at the colonel’s residence, then why was he shot at again with the same or similar weapon, then killed with a larger caliber weapon, all the way over here?”
Vogel frowned, his joy short-lived. The kid was right. It didn’t make sense, though only if they assumed it was the same small-caliber weapon at both locations.
But if they weren’t, it was one hell of a coincidence.
“We need a motive.”
“The colonel didn’t provide one? What was this incident he spoke of?”
“I’m still deciding if it’s relevant.” Vogel had made a promise to not divulge anything that wasn’t necessary, and if he were to break that promise, it certainly wouldn’t be with Stadler, in public, where word would spread like wildfire if the wrong person overheard. “Unfortunately, he provided no motive for the murder of our victim.” His stomach was queasy. He hated lying, though this was technically an omission. A motive was never part of their discussion, nor, frankly, the murder.
The incident, however, did provide possibilities. If everyone had been operating under the assumption that Griese had taken a shot at the guests, then that in itself could be a motive.
Justice.
Yet if he were killed because of his criminal actions, then why hide the fact? Shoot him, drag his body back to the residence, and pronounce the incident resolved.
Though that wasn’t the truth. Someone had tried to shoot Griese last night, at the residence. He was convinced of that. And whoever that someone was, had a motive for that initial shooting, a motive that could easily have carried over to the second shooting. And that was perhaps exactly what happened, since the witnesses reported hearing two different caliber weapons.
A thought occurred to him and he turned to Hellwig. “Did the witnesses indicate how much time elapsed between shots?”
Hellwig nodded. “They were almost on top of each other, maybe a second in between, perhaps two.”
Vogel chewed his cheek, disappointed with the answer. If the shooter had pursued Griese, fired a warning shot, then disarmed the corporal, relieving him of his sidearm, he could have then shot the man with the higher caliber weapon. But that took time, and one or two seconds certainly wasn’t enough.
There had to be two shooters.
There had to be.
“There has to be two shooters then.”
He glanced at Stadler. “Agreed, but that’s about all we know. We don’t know who did it, why, or how. All we really know is when.”
“We know he was shot.”
“Yes, but that’s only a partial answer to the how. Were there indeed two shooters, or just one with two weapons? Or perhaps the second shot was from Griese himself. He would have been carrying a sidearm.”
Hellwig shook his head. “He’d have a nine millimeter, or something equivalent. Not a small-caliber weapon. Didn’t you say before that he was shot in the back with something bigger? If his weapon fired, there would have had to have been a third weapon involved if he was shot fatally, and all the shots happened within a second or two.”
Stadler’s jaw dropped. “The third shot!”
Vogel sighed loudly. “This just keeps getting more complicated by the hour. If Griese got off a shot with his weapon, and he was shot with something similar, and at the same time a shot was fired by a small-caliber weapon, then there were two shooters exchanging gunfire with Griese, all within a couple of seconds of each other.”
Hellwig scratched at his neck. “Wait. If this all went down within a couple of seconds, and he was shot in the ba
ck, then doesn’t that suggest he was shot at by the small caliber weapon from the front, and someone behind him shot him with the bigger gun?”
Stadler jabbed the air with a finger. “That makes sense. And he’s trained SS. Would he have missed?”
Vogel shook his head. “We don’t know the range. If the person with the peashooter missed, then perhaps it was from a distance.” He paused. “Unless…”
Stadler’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“What if they didn’t miss?”
“What?”
“What if there’s a third wound. Just a graze. It might have been mistaken as a rodent bite.”
Hellwig grunted. “Damned rats. With rationing, I’ve never understood how they can still survive and thrive.”
Vogel chuckled. “Good question.” He stared down the alleyway where the body had been found. “You know, if Griese fired his weapon, he might have found his target. There could be someone out there who’s wounded.”
Stadler nodded. “Or another body.”
34 |
Konrad Residence Berlin, Nazi Germany
Renata poked at the flames, making certain every last scrap was consumed as her shoulders shook with shame and horror. It was sacrilege what she was doing, destroying such memories, destroying all that she believed in.
This was the last of her family, the last bit she had held on to for so long.
Yet Rudy was right. It was too dangerous to keep anything from her past, from their past.
No matter how much it hurt.
She pushed the scraps toward the center of the flame, constantly looking over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone, despite the fact she had locked the door. She should be doing this in their bedroom, but starting a fire there during the day might raise questions, and this was the lone fire already going in the house where she could be alone.
And it had taken far too long. The only thing saving her from discovery was that the entire staff was tiptoeing around her, not wanting to upset her any more than she already was with Joachim still missing.
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