“This isn’t your fault.”
Griese sniffed, tears flowing freely. “I-I don’t want to die, sir. I swear I’ll tell no one.”
Konrad’s hand shook. “I know you would never tell anyone. You’re a good boy. But this is my family.” He sighed. “If only I had gone to get her myself.”
“Please, sir. Let me return to my post. Transfer me if you have to.” His eyes widened. “The Eastern Front! Send me there. I won’t tell anyone, and I’ll probably be dead by Christmas.”
The sound of shoes scraping on the cobblestone behind Griese had Konrad leaning to get a better look. Suddenly Griese’s hands darted out and grabbed for the gun. Konrad stepped back as the hands gripped his wrists. He squeezed the trigger and Griese yelped though kept going, bending Konrad’s hand back painfully, causing the weapon to clatter to the ground. He reached for his sidearm but Griese delivered a kick to his midriff that had him doubled over, gasping for air. He looked up to see Griese draw his own weapon. Konrad lunged forward, grabbing for the man’s arm.
A shot rang out, deafening, then another, farther away. Griese’s eyes bulged and his chest surged forward as he fell toward Konrad. Konrad stepped aside, the young man collapsing to the ground, gasping for breath before falling silent. Konrad looked around, trying to find the shooter, yet only heard footfalls fading in the distance.
Who had saved him? And why hadn’t they revealed themselves?
There could be only one reason.
They hadn’t saved him. They had executed Griese.
It had to be Joachim.
He had to act fast. There was no way he could explain why Griese had been shot in the back if he was the one confronting the man. They would want to know who the second shooter was. They would eventually figure out Griese had been shot at the house because of the wound to his head inflicted by his son. Everyone at the house was accounted for except for Joachim.
Too many questions would be asked, and too much evidence remained.
No one could find Griese. Not yet, not until he had time to think.
He made sure he was alone, then dragged the body into a nearby alleyway. He covered his poor corporal in garbage, cringing at the disrespect. He retrieved his wife’s gun, then made for his house, drawing his sidearm, not willing to risk anyone else in the shadows coming for him.
And when he reached his house to find his wife outside, hiding in the shadows, another horrid thought had occurred to him.
Perhaps it wasn’t Joachim at all, but his wife.
And now, after all his efforts to keep his family out of it, it turned out that all along, Hoffman had known the truth.
At least some of it.
And he had no idea what to do about it. The list of staff and guests should be in the hands of the Kripo before the day was out, and once they started asking questions officially, would Hoffman maintain his silence? Would his duty to the Reich outweigh his duty to his commander?
He feared it would be the former.
That meant to save his family, he would either have to kill Hoffman, or somehow have the police solve the murder before they questioned his aide.
But how?
The two most likely murder suspects were Joachim or his wife.
Yet were they? There were looters in the area that night. Maybe one of them fired the fatal shot.
His jaw dropped.
Hoffman!
Hoffman had been there by his own admission. If he were in the shadows and witnessed everything, couldn’t he be the one to have taken the shot? Joachim was definitely not the shooter. He was certain of that. Joachim was unarmed, and the likelihood of him finding a second weapon was nil.
His backup weapon.
It was in the bedroom, in plain sight. When Joachim had entered to steal his mother’s weapon, he might have found the second weapon as well. He shook his head. No, that wouldn’t make sense. Why take a .22 when a Luger was within reach?
But Hoffman would have had his sidearm. A Luger 9mm. The same type of caliber that had killed Griese, according to the police.
Could Hoffman be playing him?
It made so much more sense than the horrible theories playing out in his head over the past day. The very idea of Hoffman being involved had never entered his mind as he had always assumed his aide was at the house, seeing to the safety of his guests.
Was Hoffman the killer?
And if he was, could he somehow make the truth known to the police? Could they arrest him and solve his problem?
He chewed his cheek, thinking it through. What had Hoffman actually done? He had shot an assassin in a life or death struggle with his commanding officer. Was that a crime?
Yet if that were the case, why hadn’t Hoffman shown himself?
He growled.
“Sir?”
He flinched at the sound of his driver. “Nothing, just thinking of all the paperwork I have on my desk.”
48 |
Vogel Residence Berlin, Nazi Germany
Vogel sat in his chair, his wife serving up tea to their guests sitting on the couch opposite them. His eyes became heavy and he drifted.
A swat on his arm startled him.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep while we have guests!”
He grunted, shifting in his chair and taking his cup. “I’m sorry. I’ve been up since yesterday morning.”
Their next-door neighbor, Hermann Lang, put his tea down. “Important case?”
“It’s a murder!” called his wife from the kitchen.
Vogel grunted. “They usually are.”
Erika shook her head. “I can’t believe there are still murders at a time like this. If you want to kill, go kill the enemy! We’re at war, for Heaven’s sake.”
Sofia took her seat. “What was it you said, darling? Cooks still cook, bakers still bake, and murderers still murder?”
He grunted. “It sounds like something I might say.”
“Can you tell us anything?” asked Erika, leaning forward, clearly eager for any sordid details he might be willing to share.
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss an active investigation.”
Erika frowned and leaned back in her chair. “I suppose not.” She turned her attention to Sofia. “So, when are the children coming back?”
“Tomorrow.”
Vogel glanced over at a family photo sitting on a table at the far end of the room. It was taken near the river two years ago, just before the war had started.
A happy day.
His eyes narrowed at a thought, and he turned to Hermann. “Hermann, do you see that photo over there?”
Hermann looked at where he was pointing and nodded. “Of you and the family?”
“Yes. How did you know who was in it?”
Hermann’s eyes narrowed. “What do mean? It’s not you guys?”
“I’m not saying it isn’t, I’m just asking how you knew. Can you actually see our faces?”
Hermann grunted, leaning toward the photo in his chair, shaving a few centimeters from the many meters. “I guess not. I just assumed, I suppose.”
Vogel’s head bobbed, his mind racing. “You just assumed.” He leaned forward in his chair. “So, you can’t see any of their features?”
Hermann shook his head.
“And you, Erika?”
“No, not really. Hair color, perhaps.”
“So, if my daughter had a big scar on her face, or an oddly shaped nose, you couldn’t tell?”
Erika’s eyes narrowed as she gave him a look. “What an odd question!”
“Indeed,” muttered his wife. “Wolfgang, what is this all about?”
But he wasn’t listening to her anymore. To any of them. They were background noise to his racing mind as a piece of the puzzle fell out of place, a puzzle with so many pieces still missing, that anything that no longer fit stood out.
Glaringly.
What was it that Konrad had said? That Griese had caught his wife looking at the photo in her bedchambers? And he had seen her from the do
orway, ducking away before she could spot him.
Yet she had.
It meant she had to have been seated with her back to him, otherwise she would have seen him immediately and said something. And the photo was kept in her vanity. Likely she would have taken it from wherever it was kept, and looked at it before putting it back. With the danger that photo represented, he couldn’t imagine her strolling around the room with it.
She was likely near her vanity, which had to be across the room from the door, otherwise it would be on the same wall as the door, and she would have spotted Griese coming.
And the photo would have been facing away from him, so he couldn’t have seen who was in it.
He smiled slightly.
The photo had to be a good distance across the room. Even at three meters, he would have seen it for a mere split second. And then even if he recognized it as the Konrad family, there was no way he could spot a child with the facial features Down Syndrome brought.
“There’s no way he could have known their secret!”
Sofia groaned. “Oh no, he’s no longer with us.” She leaned toward her guests. “He gets like this when he makes a break in a case. He starts talking to himself.”
Hermann chuckled. “Fascinating. When I’m operating a train, I talk to myself all the time. Can’t say I’ve done it in front of anyone, though.”
Vogel stared at them for a moment, his brain catching up to their conversation. “I’m so sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me for a moment.” He rose, not waiting for a response, and headed into the bedroom, closing the door behind him, the floorboards creaking under his feet as he paced the room.
If Griese couldn’t see enough details in the photo to know Frida was handicapped, then what secret had he discovered? Why had he felt it necessary to retreat from the bedroom before fulfilling his orders? Why had he told Joachim that he knew the secret?
He smiled, turning and facing the mirror, staring at himself.
“He did know a secret.”
He dropped onto the bed.
“A different secret.”
That had to be it. Griese walked into the room, saw Konrad’s wife doing something so disturbing it would cause him to rush out. But what was it she had been doing? Was it something inappropriate? Sexual?
He shook his head. Whatever it was, it was something Griese thought Joachim had discovered as well. And with the boy so upset, he probably realized the boy had just discovered it.
And Griese would know Konrad’s wife was at the dinner party.
So, he probably assumed they had both seen the same thing, rather than overheard something.
Yet it couldn’t be a photo. It had to be something else she kept in her bedchambers, something Joachim hadn’t seen, for if Griese had seen it earlier, and it was indeed concerning, she would have absolutely taken care to hide it away properly.
Not just put it away in an unlocked drawer.
“But what can it be?”
There was a knock at the door before it opened and his wife poked her head in. “Darling, you’re being rude to our guests.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry.” He followed her back into the living area and returned to his seat.
“Solved the case?” asked Hermann.
Vogel chuckled. “No, but I may have just had a breakthrough thanks to you.”
Frida wasn’t the secret. It was something else.
“Frida!”
He bolted for the phone.
49 |
Central Records Berlin, Nazi Germany
Zimmer tugged as his shirt, pulling it off his sweat-soaked body. He had been running around the building all afternoon, applying as much pressure as he could to keep his staff working the phones, pouring over paperwork, trying to get the answers they needed.
And some were coming in.
After talking to the medical examiner, he had confirmed that indeed both bodies identified as Griese were connected. It was believed that the murderer of the real Griese had planted the identity papers on another body to throw the investigation off track.
This was all he needed to hear.
It was enough to let them officially correct the record, and the search was now on to determine who the man actually was, and Corporal Griese’s name now only appeared on one file.
The record was correct, and the error hadn’t been theirs. They were merely victims of the deception.
The paperwork had just been sent out to notify the corporal’s chain of command, and all the proper departments of his death, so pay could be stopped, relatives notified, and the other myriad of bureaucratic nonsense that constituted a modern government could move forward.
He loved it. He loved paperwork. He loved every minute of his job.
Except when dealing with terrifying sorts such as Captain Hoffman.
Nothing struck fear in him more than the sight of the jet black uniform, though perhaps the leather trench coat of the Gestapo might. Either in one’s office was never a good thing.
That was why, as soon as Hoffman had expressed an interest in the “Frida” search, he had redoubled their efforts, the tentacles of Central Records reaching out across the country to pull birth records, death records, hospital records. Anything that might have the two names they were searching for, anything that might link to the Konrad family.
There was a double-tap on his door then it pushed open and Ludwig, one of his clerks, entered. “I think I might have found something, but we just got a phone call.”
“What about?”
“The police have told us to call off the name search. They said they’ve figured out who she is.”
Zimmer sighed. Hoffman wouldn’t be happy about that, but with the search canceled by the department originally requesting it, there was nothing he could do. If Hoffman wanted the information, he’d have to file a formal request.
SS or not.
He is not going to like that.
“Then I guess we can shelve it. Tell the staff.”
“Fine, but, umm, I just got a hit, and I think you’re going to want to see it.”
Zimmer eyed the man then sighed, his curiosity winning out over the rule book. “What did you find?”
“Well, I decided to pull the colonel’s file and track down every place he’s lived since he was born. Quite the career he’s had, so it’s taken time. I was curious as to why they were asking us to search on his name and his wife’s maiden name, so it had me thinking that maybe this Frida person wasn’t just a relation, but maybe it was a child. Their child.”
Zimmer’s eyes narrowed. “His record shows two boys. Sixteen and ten.”
“That’s what the record shows, yes, but what if it was incomplete?”
“If it predated National Socialism, then it could be. What did you find?”
“Well, if we go from two years before they were married, just to take into account illegitimate children, then ignore the past fifteen years that he’s been in the Wehrmacht and SS where they would have kept meticulous records, we have only one possibility. Their hometown of Offenburg.”
Zimmer leaned forward, his heart rate picking up, a records search as exciting to him as the greatest mystery novel. “And?”
“And I found a birth record for a Frida Baum on April 14, 1925.”
Zimmer fell back in his chair, folding his arms. “Unbelievable! But wait. Why Baum? Was the child a bastard?”
“That’s just it. I talked to the administrator at the hospital that was listed, and he was there at the time. He actually remembers the Konrads because there were complications with the birth, and he swears they were married at the time.”
Zimmer’s eyes narrowed. “He remembers them after all these years? Surely there are plenty of complicated births.”
“I asked him that. And you know what he said?”
“What?”
“He said he remembers because Konrad visited the hospital about six years ago, asking to see his daughter’s file.”
“Did he say
why?”
“He doesn’t remember.”
“But he let him?”
“Yes.”
Zimmer took a drink of his coffee. “You think the colonel changed his daughter’s record to his wife’s maiden name.”
“Exactly. He wouldn’t have been able to just destroy it, since the record would have been requested then would have had to be returned. I think he changed the surname on the record so it would be more difficult to trace the child back to him. We rarely conduct searches for children under the maiden name. Not for senior officers.”
Ludwig was correct. The assumption was always that the children were legitimate when it came to officers. Especially SS senior officers. His eyes narrowed. “But why would he not want us to find out he has a daughter?”
“Well, remember I said there were complications?”
Zimmer nodded.
“Well, the kid was mentally handicapped. Down Syndrome.”
Zimmer’s eyes shot wide. “No wonder he doesn’t want anyone to know.” He opened Konrad’s file, pulled earlier in the day. “But he has two children. What happened to her?”
A shrug. “Could he be hiding her?”
“Impossible. An SS colonel? The vetting that would have been done? There’s no way he’s hiding her. Not these days.”
“Maybe she’s dead?”
“Could be. I don’t know how long those children live with that. You don’t see a lot of them around, especially now.”
“You don’t see a lot of people anymore.”
Zimmer tensed. “Watch yourself.”
Ludwig flushed. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
Zimmer dismissed the man’s fears with a sweep of the hand. “Forget it. We all say the wrong things sometimes. We just need to be careful who we say them in front of.”
“Thanks. Umm, what are we going to do with all this?”
“Officially, nothing. However, with it being a child covered under Aktion T4, we’re obligated to report her, then let them investigate Konrad.”
“I’ve got the birth records being sent here by phototeleautograph. We should have them shortly. I was told there was something I had to see on them.”
“What?”
The Colonel's Wife Page 17