I rolled onto my back and stared out of the window at the little pepper-pot dome on top of the building opposite.
The telephone started to ring again.
‘I told you,’ I said. ‘It always rings again when it’s trouble. Especially first thing in the morning, before breakfast.’
I picked up the receiver. It was Major Ploetz, Heydrich’s first adjutant. He sounded shaken and angry.
‘A car is coming to pick you up and bring you back here, immediately.’
‘All right. What’s up?’
‘There’s been a homicide,’ said Ploetz. ‘Here, at the Lower Castle.’
‘A homicide? What kind of homicide?’
‘I don’t know. But you should be outside your hotel in fifteen minutes.’
And then he hung up.
For one glorious moment I allowed myself to hope it was Heydrich who was dead. That one of those officers and gentlemen of the SS and the SD, jealous of Heydrich’s success, had shot him. Or perhaps there had been a machine-gun attack by Czech terrorists while Heydrich was out for his early morning ride in the countryside around Jungfern-Breschan. Perhaps even now there was a horse lying on top of his lifeless body.
And yet surely if it had been Heydrich who was dead, Ploetz would have said so. Ploetz wouldn’t ever have used the phrase ‘a homicide’ for someone as important as his very own general. The victim had to be someone of lesser importance or else Ploetz would have said ‘Heydrich has been murdered’ or ‘The General has been murdered’ or ‘There’s been a catastrophe, General Heydrich has been assassinated.’ A homicide didn’t begin to cover the lexicon of words that would probably be used by the Nazis if ever Heydrich was unfortunate enough to meet with a well-deserved but premature death.
‘Is it?’
‘Is it what?’ I answered her absently.
‘Trouble,’ said Arianne.
‘I have to go back to Jungfern-Breschan, immediately. There’s been a death.’
‘Oh? Who?’
‘I don’t know. But I’m sure it’s not Heydrich.’
‘Some detective you are.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, it certainly won’t be the gardener who’s dead if they want you to go back immediately. It must be someone important.’
‘I can dream, I suppose.’
Fifteen minutes later I was washed and dressed and standing outside the Imperial Hotel as a black sedan drew up. The driver wearing an SS uniform – it wasn’t Klein – stepped smartly out of the car, saluted, opened the door, and pulled down the middle row of seats because there were two men wearing plain clothes who were already seated in the back.
They were well-fed, hefty types, probably the kind who couldn’t run very fast but who could hand out a beating without breaking the skin on their knuckles.
‘Commissar Gunther?’
The man who spoke had a head as big as a stonemason’s bucket but the face carved on the front of it was small, like a child’s. The eyes were cold and hard, even a little sad, but the mouth was a vicious tear.
‘That’s right.’
A grappling iron of a hand came across the back of the seat.
‘Kurt Kahlo,’ said the man. ‘Criminal Assistant to Inspector Willy Abendschoen, from Prague Kripo.’
He looked at the other man and grinned, unkindly.
‘And this is Inspector Zennaty, of the Czech Police. He’s only along for the sake of appearances, aren’t you, sir? After all, technically speaking this is a Czech matter, isn’t it?’
Zennaty shook my hand but he didn’t say anything. He was thin and hawklike, with shadowy eyes and a hair style that looked like an extension of a short stubbly beard.
‘I’m afraid our Czecho friend doesn’t speak much German, do you, Ivan?’
‘Not very much,’ said Zennaty. ‘Sorry.’
‘But he’s all right, is our Ivan.’ Kahlo patted Zennaty on the back of the hand. ‘Aren’t you, Ivan?’
‘Very much.’
‘Mister Abendschoen would have attended himself,’ said Kahlo, ‘but almost everyone in Prague is now looking for this Moravek fellow. General Heydrich has made his apprehension the number one police priority in the whole of the Protectorate.’
I nodded. ‘So who’s dead? They didn’t say.’
‘One of General Heydrich’s adjutants. A captain named Kuttner, Albert Kuttner. Did you know him at all, sir?’
‘I met him for the first time yesterday,’ I said. ‘How about you?’
‘I only met him a couple of times. To me, one adjutant looks like another adjutant.’
‘I’d expect this one might look a bit different now, don’t you?’
‘Good point.’ Kahlo’s eyebrows were almost permanently at an angle, like a sad clown’s, but somehow he managed to raise them even higher up his forehead.
‘How about you?’ I asked Zennaty politely. ‘Did you know Captain Kuttner?’
‘Not very much,’ said Zennaty.
Kahlo grinned at this, which helped persuade Zennaty to stare out of the window. It was a kinder view than Kahlo’s sneering, ugly mug.
We drove east for a while, to Kripo headquarters in Carl Maria von Weber Strasse, where Zennaty briefly left the car and Kahlo informed me he had gone to fetch an evidence box. He and Zennaty had been across the river at the Justice Ministry when Abendschoen, Kahlo’s boss, had telephoned telling him to pick me up and then go to Jungfern-Breschan.
After a few minutes Zennaty returned and we drove north again.
To see Prague in the autumn of 1941 was to see a crown of thorns with extra points, as painted by Lukas Cranach. A city of church spires it certainly was. Even the spires had smaller spires of their own, the way little carrots sometimes grow bigger ones. These lent the unfeasibly tall Bohemian capital an unexpectedly sharp, jagged feel. Everywhere you looked it was like seeing a Swiss halberd in an umbrella stand. This sense of medieval discomfort was accentuated by the city’s omnipresent statuary. All over Prague there were statues of Jesuit bishops spearing pagans, heavily muscled Titans stabbing each other with swords, agonized Christian saints horribly martyred, or ferocious wild animals tearing each other to pieces. To that extent Prague appeared to suit the cruelty and violence of Nazism in a way Berlin never did. The Nazis seemed to belong here – especially the tall, spindly figure of Heydrich, whose austere pale face reminded me of a flayed-alive saint. The red Nazi flags that were everywhere looked more like blood dripping down the buildings that they hung on; the polished bayonets on German rifles at sentry points across the city glittered with an extra steely edge; and goose-stepping jackboots on the cobbles of the Charles Bridge seemed to have a louder crunch, as if beating down the hopes of the Czechs themselves.
That was shameful if you were a German but worse if you were a Czech, like the impotent Inspector Zennaty. Worst of all if you were one of Prague’s Jews. Prague was home to one of the largest communities of Jews in Europe, and even now there were still plenty of them left for the Nazis to kick around. Kick them around they duly did; and it remained to be seen if the legendary Golem that was reputed to dwell in the city’s Old New Synagogue would, as legend supposed, emerge from the attic one night and climb down the outside wall to avenge the persecution of Prague’s Jews. Part of me hoped that he had already put in an appearance at Jungfern-Breschan and that Captain Kuttner’s unexplained death was just the beginning. If things were anything like the silent movie called The Golem I’d seen not long after the Great War, then we Germans were in for some fun.
Twenty minutes later the car stopped outside the front door of the Lower Castle and we went inside.
Kritzinger, the butler, ushered Kahlo, Zennaty and me upstairs to Heydrich’s study, where he was waiting, impatiently, with Major Ploetz and Captain Pomme. Heydrich and Pomme were wearing fencing jerkins and it was clear from their flushed and still-perspiring faces that they had not long finished their absurd sport.
Since I was the only one wearing uniform I saluted and then introduced Kahlo and Zennaty.
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Heydrich looked coldly at Zennaty. ‘You can wait downstairs,’ he told the Czech policeman.
Zennaty nodded curtly and left the room.
‘You took your time getting here,’ said Heydrich, sourly.
The remark appeared to be directed at me so I glanced at my watch and said, ‘I received the call from Major Ploetz in my hotel just forty-five minutes ago. I came as quickly as I could, sir.’
‘All right, all right.’
Heydrich’s tone was testy. There was a cigarette in his hand. His hair looked dishevelled and uncombed.
‘Well, you’re here now, that’s the main thing. You’re here and you’re in charge, d’you hear? You’re the experienced man in this situation. Incidentally, I don’t want that fucking Czech involved at all. D’you hear? This is a German matter. I want this thing investigated quickly and discreetly, and solved before it can reach the ears of the Leader. I’ve every confidence in you, Gunther. If any man can solve this case, it’s you. I’ve told everyone that you enjoy my complete confidence.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ I said, although this wasn’t at all how I felt or indeed what he meant. I wasn’t about to enjoy Heydrich’s confidence for any longer than he took to say it.
‘And that I expect everyone to cooperate fully with your inquiry. I don’t care what you ask and who you upset. D’you hear? As far as I’m concerned everyone in this house is under suspicion.’
‘Does that include you, sir?’
Heydrich’s blue eyes narrowed, and for a moment I thought I’d gone too far and that he was going to bawl me out. I was relieved he wasn’t holding a sword. I had gone too far, of course, and it was clear the two adjutants thought so too, but just for now, neither man was prepared to protest my insolence. Unpredictable as always, Heydrich took a deep breath and nodded, slowly.
‘I don’t see why not,’ he said. ‘If it helps. Anything that will get this sorted out as quickly as possible, before my tenure in this position descends into farce and I become a fucking laughing stock in Berlin.’
He shook his head and then stubbed out his cigarette, irritably.
‘That this should happen now when we’re just about to put paid to UVOD.’
‘UVOD?’ I shook my head. ‘What’s that?’
‘UVOD? It’s the Central Leadership of Home Resistance,’ said Heydrich. ‘A network of Czech terrorists.’
He leaned down on the desk with both fists and then hammered the glass surface hard enough for the model plane to shift several centimetres nearer the lamp. ‘Damn it all.’
I lit a cigarette and drew down a lungful of smoke and blew it back at him hard, hoping it might help to distract him a little from what I was about to say and the way I meant to say it.
‘Why don’t you take it easy, General? This isn’t helping me and it’s certainly not helping you. Instead of beating up the furniture and biting my head off why don’t you or whoever else has the best grip on the story tell me exactly what happened here? The whole once-upon-a-time in a town called Hamelin. And then I can do what I do.’
Heydrich looked at me and I sensed he knew I was taking advantage of him. Everyone else was looking at me too, as if surprised that I should dare to speak to the General in this way; but just as surprised that he should continue to hold off shouting me back into my shell. I was a bit surprised about that myself, but sometimes it can be interesting just how wide the door can open.
For a moment he bit his fingernails.
‘Yes. You’re absolutely right, Gunther. This isn’t getting us anywhere. I suppose, well, it’s a great shame that’s all. Kuttner was a promising young officer.’
‘Yes, he was,’ said Pomme.
Heydrich looked at him strangely and then said, ‘Why don’t you fill in some of the details for the Commissar?’
‘Yes sir. If you wish.’
‘Mind if I sit down?’ I said. ‘Like any copper I listen better when I’m not thinking about my feet.’
‘Yes, please gentlemen, be seated,’ said Heydrich.
I picked a chair in front of the Leader’s bust and, almost immediately, regretted it. I didn’t care for Hitler staring at the back of my head. If ever he learned about what was at the back of my mind I was in serious trouble. I reached into my fart-catcher’s pocket and took out my officer’s diary. It was more or less the same kind of diary the Gestapo had found on Franz Koci’s dead body in Kleist Park.
‘If you don’t mind,’ I said to Pomme, ‘I’ll make some notes.’
Pomme shook his head. ‘Why should I mind?’
I shrugged. ‘No good reason.’ I paused. ‘Whenever you’re ready, Captain Pomme.’
‘Well, Albert, that’s to say Captain Kuttner, was supposed to awaken me at six o’clock this morning. As usual. He awakens me, or Major Ploetz, or Captain Kluckholn, because it’s our job to awaken the General at six-thirty. I suppose that’s just the pecking order. Him being the fourth adjutant, you understand. However, this was no longer a satisfactory arrangement. Kuttner was never a good sleeper, and lately he’s been dosing himself with a sleeping pill, which meant he started to over-sleep in the morning. This made me late, and that made the General late. This morning was fairly typical in that respect. And anticipating some sort of a problem, I managed to awaken myself at six and then went to see if Kuttner was awake. He wasn’t; or so it seemed at the time. I knocked on the door several times, without success. Again, that wasn’t so very unusual. When he’s taken a pill it can be a while before he can be roused. But after ten minutes I was still knocking without a reply and, well, I suppose I began to worry a little.’
‘Couldn’t you just have gone in there and shaken him awake?’ I asked.
‘I’m sorry, Gunther, I didn’t make myself clear. He always locked his door. He was quite a nervous person, I think. Something to do with what happened to him in Latvia, he said. I don’t know. Anyway, the door was locked and when I bent down to take a look through the keyhole I saw that the key was still in the lock.’
Pomme was a handsome little martinet, not much more than thirty years old, lugubrious, with a wide but narrow-lipped mouth. In his white fencing jerkin he resembled a nervous dentist.
‘Having failed to awaken Kuttner I quickly awoke the General and then went to find Herr Kritzinger, to see if there was perhaps some other means of gaining entry to Kuttner’s room.’
‘What time was this?’ I asked.
‘It would have been about six-forty-five,’ said Pomme. He glanced at the butler, who was the only man in the room who remained standing, for verification.
The butler looked at me. ‘That is correct, sir,’ he said. ‘I went to find the spare key. I keep spare keys for all of the doors in my safe. I noticed the time on the clock on my mantelpiece when I was opening the safe. I went back upstairs with the room keys, but I was unsuccessful in using the spare to push the key out of the lock so that I could open Captain Kuttner’s door from the outside.’
I considered telling him about the key-turners we’d used at the Adlon Hotel for just such a situation but it hardly seemed relevant now.
‘I then instructed one of the footmen to go and find the gardener,’ said Kritzinger, ‘and have him fetch a ladder to take a look through the window and perhaps open it from outside the house.’
‘Meanwhile I resumed knocking on the door,’ explained Pomme. ‘And calling Captain Kuttner’s name. And by now I was late for my fencing bout with the General.’
Heydrich nodded. ‘Every morning I fence with one of the adjutants before breakfast. Kuttner was the best – he was outstanding with the sabre – but, of late, he had too much on his mind to be competitive. This morning when I arrived at the gymnasium there was no sign of Pomme, so I went to look for him and met the footman who’d been sent to fetch the gardener. When I asked him if he’d seen Captain Pomme he explained the situation. That would have been around six-fifty-five. So I went to see if I could assist and found Pomme still knocking on Kuttner’s door. It was now seven o?
??clock. I suppose I also became a little concerned for Kuttner’s safety. The fact is, he’d been rather depressed of late. And I ordered Pomme and Kritzinger to break down the door. Which they proceeded to do.’
‘That can’t have been very easy,’ I said. ‘The doors here are thick.’
Instinctively Pomme rubbed his shoulder. ‘It wasn’t. It took us all of five or ten minutes.’
‘And when the door was open what did you see?’
‘Very little,’ said Pomme. ‘The curtains were drawn and the room was quite dark.’
‘Was the window closed or open?’
‘Closed, sir,’ said Kritzinger. ‘The General ordered me to pull back the curtains so that we could see and I noticed then that the window was closed and bolted.’