Paul ignored the question, looking around him. He ran to the wooden entrance door in the center of the U of the building; it was closed and locked. The first-floor windows were eight feet off the ground, a tough climb. Most were closed but Paul saw one was open and the apartment it let onto appeared deserted.
Morgan noticed Paul's glance and said, "We could hide there, yes. Pull the blinds. But how do we climb up?"
"Please," Paul called to one of the boys who'd been pitching rocks, "do you live here?"
"No, sir, we just come to play."
"Do you want to earn a whole mark?"
"Greet God, sir," one said. His eyes went wide and he trotted over to the men. "Yes, we do."
"Good. But you must act quickly."
Willi Kohl paused outside the courtyard entrance.
He waited a moment until he was sure Janssen would be in position in the back and then turned the corner. No sign of the suspect from Dresden Alley or the man with the suitcase. Only some teenage boys standing around a pile of wooden milk crates across the courtyard. They glanced up uneasily at the officers and began to walk out of the courtyard.
"You, boys!" Kohl called.
They stopped, looked at each other uneasily. "Yes?"
"Did you just see two men?"
Another uncomfortable shared glance. "No."
"Come here."
There was a brief pause. Then simultaneously they began sprinting, vanishing from the courtyard, raising puffs of dust beneath their feet. Kohl didn't even try to pursue them. Gripping his pistol, he looked around the courtyard. All of the apartments on the ground floor had curtained windows or anemic plants resting on the sills, suggesting they were occupied. One, though, was curtainless and dark.
Kohl approached it slowly and noticed that on the dusty ground below the window were indentations--from the milk cartons, he understood. The suspect and his companion had paid the boys to carry the crates to the window then replace them after the men had climbed into the apartment.
The inspector, gripping his pistol tightly, pressed the button for the building's janitor.
A moment later a harried man arrived. The wiry, gray janitor opened the door and glanced with a nervous blink at the pistol in Kohl's hand.
Kohl stepped inside, looking past the man into the dark corridor. There was motion at the far end of the hall. Kohl prayed that Janssen would remain vigilant. The inspector had at least been tested on the battlefield. He'd been shot at and had, he believed, shot one or two enemy soldiers. But Janssen? Though he was a talented marksman, the boy had fired only at paper targets. How would he do if the matter came to a gun-fight?
He whispered to the janitor, "The apartment on this floor, two to the right." He pointed. "It is unoccupied?"
"Yes, sir."
Kohl stepped back so he could keep an eye on the courtyard in case the suspects tried to leap out the window and run. He told the janitor, "There's another officer at your back entrance. Go fetch him at once."
"Yes, sir."
But just as he was leaving, a stocky old woman in a purple dress and blue head scarf waddled toward them. "Mr. Greitel, Mr. Greitel! Quickly, you must call the police!"
Kohl turned to her.
The janitor said, "The police are here, Mrs. Haeger."
"Ach, how can that be?" She blinked.
The inspector asked her, "What do you require the police for?"
"Theft!"
Instinct told Kohl that this had something to do with the pursuit. "Tell me, ma'am. Quickly now."
"My apartment is in the front of the building. And from my window I noted two men hiding behind the stack of milk crates, which I must point out you have been promising for weeks you will cart away, Mr. Greitel."
"Please continue. This matter could be most urgent."
"These two were skulking. It was obvious. Then, just a moment ago, I saw them stand and take two bicycles from the rack next to the front entrance. I don't know about one of the bicycles but the other was clearly Miss Bauer's, and she has had no male companion for two years, so I know she would not have been lending him the bicycle."
"No!" Kohl muttered and hurried outside. Now he realized that the suspect had paid the boys simply to drop a couple of the crates beneath the window to leave the marks in the dust but then to return them to the pile, behind which the men had hidden. The boys then were probably told to act furtive or uneasy, making Kohl think this was how the suspects had gotten into the building.
He burst from the courtyard and looked up and down the street, seeing living proof of a statistic that he, as a diligent police officer, knew well: The most popular form of transportation in Berlin was the bicycle, hundreds of which clogged the streets here, hiding their suspects' escape as effectively as a cloud of dense smoke.
They'd ditched the bikes and were walking down a busy street a half mile from November 1923 Square.
Paul and Morgan looked for another cafe or tap room with a phone.
"How did you know they were in the Edelweiss Cafe?" Morgan asked, breathing hard from the fast cycling.
"The car, the one parked on the curb."
"The black one?"
"Right. I didn't think anything of it at first. But something clicked in my mind. I remembered a couple of years ago, when I was on my way to a job. It turned out that I wasn't the only one going to visit Bo Gillette. Some cops from Brooklyn got there first. But they were lazy and parked outside, halfway up over the curb, figuring it was an unmarked car, so who'd notice? Well, Bo noticed. He shows up, understands they're looking for him and vanishes. It took me a month to find him again. In the back of my mind I was thinking, police car. So when the younger guy stepped outside I realized right away it was the same man I'd seen on the patio of the Summer Garden."
"They've tracked us from Dresden Alley to the Summer Garden to here.... How on earth?"
Paul thought back. He hadn't told Kathe Richter he was coming here and he'd checked a dozen times to make sure nobody had been following him from the boardinghouse to the cab stand. He'd told nobody at the Olympics. The pawnbroker might have betrayed them here, but he wouldn't have known about the Summer Garden. No, these two industrious cops had trailed them on their own.
"Taxis," Paul finally said.
"What?"
"That's the only link. To the Summer Garden and here. From now on, if we can't shank it, we have the driver drop us two, three blocks from where we're going."
They continued away from November 1923 Square. Some blocks farther on they found a beer hall with a public phone. Morgan went inside to make the call to his contact while Paul ordered ales and, edgy and vigilant, kept watch outside. He wouldn't have been surprised to see the two cops hurrying up the street, still on their trail.
Who the hell were they?
When Morgan returned to the table he was troubled. "We have a problem." He took a sip of the beer and wiped his mustache. He leaned forward. "They're not releasing any information. Word came from Himmler or Heydrich--my man's not sure who--but no information about public appearances of Party or government officials is to be released until further notice. No press conferences. Nothing. The announcement went out just a few hours ago."
Paul drank down half the beer. "What do we do? Do you know anything about Ernst's schedule?"
"I don't even know where he lives, except somewhere in Charlottenburg. We could stake him out at the Chancellory maybe, follow him. But that'll be very hard. If you're within five hundred feet of a senior party official you can be expected to be stopped for your papers and detained if they don't like what they see."
Paul reflected for a moment. He said, "I have a thought. I might be able to get some information."
"About what?"
"Ernst," Paul said.
"You?" Morgan asked, surprised.
"But I'll need a couple of hundred marks."
"I have that, yes." He counted out bills and slipped them to Paul.
"And your man in the information ministry? D
o you think he could find out about people who aren't officials?"
Morgan shrugged. "I can't say for certain. But I can tell you one thing without doubt--that if the National Socialists have any skill at all, it is gathering information on their citizens."
Janssen and Kohl left the courtyard building.
Mrs. Haeger could offer no descriptions of the suspects, though, ironically, this was due to literal, not political, blindness. Cataracts in her eyes had allowed the busybody to observe the men hiding, then and making off with the bicycles but rendered her unable to give any more details.
Discouraged, they returned to November 1923 Square and resumed their search, making their way up and down the street, talking to shop vendors and waiters, flashing the etching of the victim and inquiring about their suspect.
They had no success--until they came to a bakery across from the park, hidden in the shadow of Hitler's statue. A round man in a dusty white apron admitted to Kohl that he'd seen a taxi pull up across the street an hour or so ago. A taxi here was an unusual occurrence, he said, since residents could not afford them and there was no earthly reason for anyone from outside the neighborhood to come here, at least not in a cab.
The man had noticed a big man with slicked-down hair climb out, look around and then walk to the statue. He'd sat down on a bench for a short time then left.
"He was wearing what?"
"Some light clothing. I didn't see very clearly."
"Any other features you noticed?"
"No, sir. I had a customer."
"Did he have a suitcase or satchel with him?"
"I don't believe so, sir."
So, Kohl reflected, his assumption was correct: most likely he was staying somewhere near Lutzow Plaza and had come here on an errand of some sort.
"Which way did he go?"
"I didn't see, sir. Sorry."
Blindness, of course. But at least this was a confirmation that their suspect had indeed arrived here recently.
Just then a black Mercedes turned the corner and braked to a stop.
"Ach," Kohl muttered, watching Peter Krauss get out of the vehicle and look around. He knew how the man had tracked him down. Regulations required that he inform the department's desk officers every time he left the Alex during duty hours and where he would be. He'd debated about not sharing this information today. But ignoring rules was hard for Willi Kohl and before he left he'd jotted down, November 1923 Square, and the time he expected to return.
Krauss nodded a greeting. "Just making the rounds, Willi. Wondering how the case is coming."
"Which case?" Kohl asked, solely to be petulant.
"The body in Dresden Alley, of course."
"Ach, it seems our department resources are diminished." He added in a wry tone, "For some unknown reason. But we think the suspect might have come here earlier."
"I told you I would check with my contacts. I'm pleased to report that my informant has it on good information that the killer is indeed a foreigner."
Kohl took out his pad and pencil. "And what is the suspect's name?"
"He doesn't know."
"What is his nationality?"
"He wasn't able to say."
"Well, who is this informant?" Kohl asked, exasperated.
"Oh, I can't release that."
"I need to interview him, Peter. If he's a witness."
"He's not a witness. He has his own sources, which are--"
"--also confidential."
"Indeed. I'm merely telling you this because it was encouraging to learn that your suspicions have been confirmed."
" My suspicions."
"That he was not German."
"I never said that."
"Who are you?" Krauss asked, turning to the baker.
"The inspector here was asking me about a man I saw."
"Your suspect?" Krauss asked Kohl.
"Perhaps."
"Ach, you are good, Willi. We're kilometers from Dresden Alley and yet you've tracked the suspect to this hellhole." He glanced toward the witness. "Is he cooperating?"
The baker spoke in a shaking voice. "I didn't see anything, sir. Not really. Just a man getting out of a taxi."
"Where was this man?"
"I don't--"
"Where?" Krauss growled.
"Across the street. Really, sir, I didn't see anything. His back was to me. He--"
"Liar."
"I swear to... I swear to the Leader."
"A man who swears a false oath is still a liar." Krauss gestured toward one of his own young assistants, a round-faced officer. "We'll take him to Prince Albrecht Street. A day there and he'll give us a complete description."
"No, please, sir. I want to help. I promise you."
Willi Kohl shrugged. "But the fact is you have not helped."
"I told you--"
Kohl asked for the man's identity card.
With shaking hands, he handed the inspector his ID, which Kohl opened and examined.
Krauss glanced at his assistant again. "Cuff him. Take him back to headquarters."
The young Gestapo officer pulled the man's hands behind him and clamped on the irons. Tears filled his eyes. "I tried to recall. I honestly--"
"Well, you will recall. I assure you that."
Kohl said to him, "We are dealing with matters of great importance here. I would rather you cooperated now. But if my colleague wants to take you to Prince Albrecht Street"--the inspector lifted an eyebrow to the terrified man--"things will go badly for you, Mr. Heydrich. Very badly."
The man blinked and wiped his tears. "But, sir--"
"Yes, yes, they will indeed..." Kohl's voice faded. He looked at the ID card again. "You are... where were you born?"
"Gottburg, outside of Munich, sir."
"Ah." Kohl's face remained placid. He nodded slowly. Krauss glanced at him.
"But, sir, I think--"
"And the town is small?"
"Yes, sir. I--"
"Please, silence," Kohl said, continuing to stare at the identity card.
Krauss finally asked, "What is it, Willi?"
Kohl gestured the Gestapo inspector aside. He whispered, "I think the Kripo is no longer interested in this man. You can do with him as you wish."
Krauss was silent for a moment, trying to make sense of Kohl's sudden change of heart. "Why?"
"And, please, as a favor, don't mention that Janssen and I detained him."
"Again, I must ask why, Willi?"
After a moment Kohl said, "SD Leader Heydrich came from Gottburg."
Reinhard Heydrich, head of the SS's intelligence division and Himmler's number two, was considered the most ruthless man in the Third Empire. Heydrich was a heartless machine (he'd once impregnated a girl then abandoned her because he detested women with loose morals). It was said that Hitler disliked inflicting pain but tolerated its use if it suited his needs. Heinrich Himmler enjoyed inflicting pain but was inept at using it to further his goals. Heydrich both enjoyed inflicting pain and was a craftsman at its application.
Krauss glanced at the baker and asked uneasily, "Are they... are you saying they're related, you think?"
"I prefer not to take the chance. At the Gestapo you have a far better relation with SD than the Kripo does. You can question him without much risk of consequence. If they see my name connected to him in an investigation, my career could be over."
"But still... interrogating one of Heydrich's relatives?" Krauss looked down at the sidewalk. He asked Kohl, "Do you think that he knows anything valuable?"
Kohl studied the miserable baker. "I think there is perhaps more he knows but nothing particularly helpful to us. I have a feeling what you sense him being evasive about is nothing more than his practice of thinning flour with sawdust or using black-market butter." The inspector glanced around the neighborhood. "I'm sure that if Janssen and I keep at it here we can learn whatever information might be found regarding the Dresden Alley incident and at the same time"--he lowered his voice--"ke
ep our jobs."
Pacing, Krauss was perhaps trying to recall if he'd mentioned his own name to this man, who might in turn relay it to his cousin Heydrich. He said abruptly, "Remove the cuffs." As the young officer did, Krauss said, "We'll need a report on the Dresden Alley matter soon, Willi."
"Of course."
"Hail Hitler."
"Hail."
The two Gestapo officers climbed into their Mercedes, circled the statue of the Leader and sped into traffic.
When the car had gone Kohl handed the baker back his ID card. "Here you are, Mr. Rosenbaum. You may go back to work now. We will not trouble you again."
"Thank you, oh, thank you," the baker said effusively. His hands were shaking and tears dripped into the creases around his mouth. "God bless you, sir."
"Shhhhh," Kohl said, irritated at the indiscreet gratitude. "Now get back into your store."
"Yes, sir. A loaf of bread for you? Some strudel?"
"No, no. Now, your store."
The man hurried back inside.
As they walked to their car Janssen asked, "His name was not Heydrich? It was Rosenbaum?"
"Regarding this matter, Janssen, it is better for you not to inquire. It will not help you become a better inspector."
"Yes, sir." The young man nodded in a knowing way.
"Now," Kohl continued, "we know that our suspect got out of a taxi there and sat in the square before he went on his mission here, whatever that might have been. Let's ask the benchwarmers if they saw anything."
They had no luck with this crowd, many of whom were, as Kohl had explained to Janssen, not the least sympathetic to the Party or police. No luck, that is, until they came to one man sitting in the shadow of the bronze Leader. Kohl looked him over and smelled soldier--either regular army or Free Corps, the informal militia that was formed after the War.
He nodded energetically when Kohl asked about the suspect. "Ach, yes, yes, I know who you mean."
"Who are you, sir?"
"I am Helmut Gershner, former corporal in Kaiser Wilhelm's army."
"And what can you tell us, Corporal?"
"I was speaking to this man not forty-five minutes ago. He fit your description."
Kohl felt his heart pound quickly. "Is he still around here, do you know?"
"Not that I've seen."
"Well, tell us about him."
"Yes, Inspector. We were speaking of the War. At first I thought we were comrades but then I sensed something was odd."
"What was that, sir?"
"He spoke of the battle of St. Mihiel. And yet he was not troubled."