“None of it! None of it!” screamed Kluge. “I never touched the card, I never set eyes on it before your colleague gave it to me!”
“But Herr Kluge! You just admitted you dropped the card on the floor…”
“I didn’t! I never said anything like that!”
“No,” said Escherich, stroking his mustache and wiping away his smile. He was already enjoying the experience of getting this cowardly, whimpering dog to dance. It would turn out to be quite a nice statement with strong suspicion—for his superiors. “No,” he said. “You didn’t say it in so many words. What you said was that you were the only one who could have put the card down in that place, and that no one but you was there—which seems to me to come to the same thing.”
Enno stared at him with huge eyes. Then, suddenly mutinous, he said: “I didn’t say that either. Other people could have gone to that toilet too, only not from the waiting room.”
He sat down; in his excitement at the false accusations he had jumped to his feet.
“But I’m not saying any more now. I want a lawyer. And I’m not signing any statement.”
“Come, come,” said Escherich. “Did I ask you to sign a statement, Herr Kluge? Did I even take a note of anything you’ve said? We’re just sitting here like a couple of old friends, and the things we chat about needn’t concern anyone.”
He stood up, and threw the cell door wide open.
“You see, no one’s listening in the corridor, either. And there you are making such a fuss about a ridiculous postcard. Do you think I care about the postcard? The man who wrote it is obviously a complete imbecile. But with the doctor’s receptionist and my colleague making such a fuss, it’s no more than my duty to look a little deeper! Don’t be a fool, Herr Kluge, just tell me, A gentleman gave it to me on the Frankfurter Allee, he wanted to make trouble for the doctor, he said. And he paid me ten marks. You had a new ten-mark coin in your pocket when we took you in; I’ve seen it. You see, if you tell me that now, then you’re my man. Then you don’t make any trouble for me, and I can knock off and go home.”
“And me? Where do I go? Chokey! And then off to be beheaded! No, thank you, Inspector, I’m never ever going to confess to that for you!”
“You ask me where you go, Herr Kluge, when I go home? You go home too, haven’t you understood? You’re free either way, I’m letting you go…”
“Is that the truth, Inspector? I’m free to go now, without a confession, without a statement?”
“But of course you are, Herr Kluge, you can leave right now if you like. There’s just one thing I’d like you to think about before you go…”
And with one finger, he tapped Kluge—who had leaped to his feet again and had turned toward the door—on his shoulder.
“Listen. I’m going to sort out the thing in the factory for you, out of the kindness of my heart. I’ve promised you that, and I like to keep my promises. But now think about me for a minute, please, Herr Kluge. Think of all the trouble I stand to get from my colleague if I let you go. He’ll go on about me to my bosses, and I can get into hot water over you. I think it would be decent of you, Herr Kluge, if you would put your name to the story of the man on the Frankfurter Allee. Where’s the risk in it for you? It’s not as though we can find the man anyway, so how about it, Herr Kluge!”
Enno Kluge had never been a great one for resisting temptation. He stood there doubtfully. Freedom beckoned, and the factory would be sorted too, if he managed not to antagonize this man. He was terrified of antagonizing this nice inspector. Then that policeman would take over the case again, and he might pursue the matter to the point where one day he would force Enno to confess to the break-in at the Rosenthal’s. And then Enno Kluge would be lost, because the SS man Persicke…
He really could do the inspector such a favor—what would it cost him? It was a stupid card, something political, and he’d never gotten involved in any of that, didn’t know the first thing about it. And the man on the Frankfurter Allee would never be caught, simply because he didn’t exist. Yes, he would help the inspector out, and sign his name.
But then his timidity, his inborn caution, warned him again. “Yes,” he said, “and then when I’ve signed, you won’t let me go after all.”
“Oh, come, come!” said Inspector Escherich, and saw his game as good as won. “Because of a stupid card like that, and when you’re doing me a good turn? Herr Kluge, I give you my word of honor both as detective inspector and as a human being: As soon as you’ve signed the statement, you’re free.”
“And if I don’t sign?”
“Why, then, you’re free too!”
Enno Kluge decided. “All right, Herr Inspector, I’ll sign, just so that you don’t have any unpleasantnesses, and to do you a favor. But you won’t forget the bit with my factory?”
“I’ll see to it today, Herr Kluge. This very day! I suggest you check in there tomorrow—and go easy on the disability! If you take the occasional day off, say one a week, none of the people I’m going to speak to will bat an eyelid over it. Will that suit you, Herr Kluge?”
“Down to the ground! I’m very grateful to you, Inspector!”
This exchange had seen them down the corridor of the cell block, back to the room where Deputy Inspector Schröder was sitting, curious to learn how the questioning had gone, but on the whole already somewhat reconciled to the probable outcome. He jumped to his feet as the two men walked in.
“Well, Schröder,” said the Inspector, smiling, and inclining his head at Kluge, who stood beside him small and timid, because the policeman looked so terrifying. “Here’s our friend back again. He’s just admitted to me that he left the card in the doctor’s corridor, having been given it by a gentleman on the Frankfurter Allee…”
A sound like a groan broke from the chest of the deputy inspector. “My God!” he finally said. “But he couldn’t…”
“And now,” the inspector continued serenely, “and now we’re going to draw up a little statement together, and after that Herr Kluge will go home. Is that right, Herr Kluge, or is that right?”
“Yes,” replied Kluge, but very softly, because the presence of the policeman filled him with fresh fears and anxieties.
The deputy inspector meanwhile stood there feeling dumbfounded. Kluge hadn’t left the card, never, not possibly, that was beyond a doubt for him. And yet here he was prepared to put his name to it.
What a fox Escherich was! How on earth did he do it? Schröder admitted—not without a twinge of envy—that Escherich was streets ahead of him. And then, following the confession, to let the fellow go! It passed comprehension, he couldn’t understand the game. Well, however clever you thought you were, there were always some people who were cleverer.
“Listen, Schröder,” said Escherich, having sufficiently enjoyed the bafflement of his colleague. “Do you feel like going on an errand for me to headquarters?”
“At your orders, Inspector!”
“You remember I’ve got this case going on there—what was it called again—oh yes, the Hobgoblin case. You do remember?” Their eyes met and understood each other.
“Well, I’d like you to go to headquarters for me, and tell a Herr Linke—oh, do sit down, Herr Kluge, I just have something to arrange with my colleague here.”
He walked with the deputy inspector to the door. He whispered: “I want you to pick up a couple of men there. They’re to come here right away, good, experienced shadowers. I want Kluge followed from the moment he leaves the station. Reports on all his movements at two-or three-hour intervals, phoned through to me at the Gestapo. Code word: Hobgoblin. Give both men a sight of Kluge; I want them to take it in turns. And you come back in here when you’ve got the men ready. Then I’ll let him go.”
“Understood, Inspector. Heil Hitler!”
The door banged, the deputy was gone. The inspector now sat next to Enno Kluge and said: “Well, that’s got rid of him! I take it you’re not overly fond of him, Herr Kluge?”
&nb
sp; “Not as much as you are, Inspector!”
“Did you see the face he made when I told him I was letting you go? He was pretty angry! That’s why I sent him away, I didn’t want him to be here for our little statement. He would have kept butting in. I won’t even have a secretary come in—I’d rather write it out myself. It’s just something between the two of us, so that I’m slightly covered with my bosses for letting you go.”
And after he’d quieted down the frightened little so-and-so, he picked up a pen and began to write. Sometimes he repeated what he was writing loudly and clearly (if indeed he was writing what he was saying, which was by no means a given with such a wily detective as Escherich), and sometimes he just muttered under his breath. Kluge couldn’t make out what he was saying then.
All he saw was that it wasn’t just a couple of lines: this statement took up almost four full letter-sized pages. But that didn’t interest him all that much just then—all he was interested in was whether they would indeed spring him right away. He looked toward the door. On a sudden impulse, he got up, walked over, and opened it slightly…
“Kluge!” came a call behind him, though not a peremptory one.
“Oh please, Herr Kluge!”
“Yes?” he asked, and looked back. “May I not go then?” He smiled fearfully.
The inspector, pen in hand, smiled at him. “Are you having second thoughts about our little deal, Herr Kluge? Your firm promise? All right then, I’ve wasted my time.” He slammed down the pen. “Then get lost, Kluge—I see you’re no man of your word. Go along, I see you won’t sign! I’ll get by…”
And in this way, the inspector ensured that Enno Kluge really did sign the statement. Yes, Kluge didn’t even ask to have it read back to him. He signed it in complete ignorance of its contents.
“Now may I go, Inspector?”
“Of course. Thank you for your help, Herr Kluge, you did very well. Good bye. Or perhaps better not given the circumstances. Ach, one more moment, if you please, Herr Kluge…”
“Can I not go yet?”
Kluge’s face was starting to tremble again.
“But of course you can! Are you back to not trusting me again? You are a suspicious character! I just thought, wouldn’t you like to take your papers and your money away with you? There, you see! Let’s make sure there’s nothing missing, Herr Kluge…”
And they started to compare: employment book, army conduct book, birth certificate, marriage license…
“Why do you carry all those papers everywhere with you, if I might ask, Herr Kluge? Imagine if you mislaid them somewhere!”
… police registration, four pay stubs…
“You don’t make very much, do you, Herr Kluge! Oh, I remember, you’ve only been working three or four days a week, you little shirker, you!”
… three letters…
“No, don’t worry, I’m not interested in them!”
… thirty-seven Reichsmarks in notes, and sixty-five Reichspfennigs in coins…
“Ah, there’s the new ten-mark note you got from the gentleman. I’d better keep that back for the files. But, hang on, I don’t want you to lose out, so here’s ten marks out of my own pocket to replace them…”
The inspector kept this up until Deputy Inspector Schröder came in again. “I’ve carried out your instructions, Inspector. And Inspector Linke says he’d like a word with you on the Hobgoblin case.”
“Fine. Fine. Thanks again. Well, we’re all done here. Goodbye then, Herr Kluge. Schröder, please show Herr Kluge out. Herr Schröder will accompany you out. Good bye now, Herr Kluge. I won’t forget about the factory. Don’t worry about anything! Heil Hitler!”
“Well then, Herr Kluge, no hard feelings,” Schröder said on Frankfurter Allee, and they shook hands. “You know, a job’s a job, and sometimes things can get a bit rough. But remember I asked them to remove the handcuffs from you right away. And no ill-effects from where the sergeant hit you, eh?”
“No, none at all. I understand… I’m sorry to have put you to so much trouble, Inspector.”
“That’s all right. Heil Hitler, Herr Kluge!”
“Heil Hitler, Inspector!”
And weedy little Enno Kluge trotted off. He jogged at a fast clip through the crowds on Frankfurter Allee, and Deputy Inspector Schröder watched him go. He checked to see that both of the men he had set on his tail were there, and then he nodded and walked back into the station.
Chapter 24
INSPECTOR ESCHERICH GETS TO WORK ON THE HOBGOBLIN CASE
“There, read that!” said Inspector Escherich to Deputy Inspector Schröder, and passed him the statement.
“Hmm,” replied Schröder, handing it back. “So he’s confessed and is going to face the People’s Court and the executioner. I’m surprised.” He added thoughtfully, “And to think that someone like that is at liberty!”
“That’s right!” said the inspector, as he laid the statement in a file and dropped the file into his leather briefcase. “That’s right, someone like that is now at liberty—but, I trust, properly tailed by our people!”
“Certainly!” Schröder hastened to assure him. “I checked. They were both solidly on his tail.”
“So there he is, running around,” mused Inspector Escherich, stroking his mustache, “and our people are running after him! Then one day—maybe today, or in a week, or six months—and our enigmatic little Herr Kluge will run to his card writer, the man who gave him the instruction. Drop it at such and such a place. It’s as certain as the amen in church. And then I snap the trap shut, and only then will the two of them be properly ripe for prison and so on and so forth.”
“Inspector,” said Deputy Inspector Schröder, “I still can’t quite believe that Kluge dropped the card. I watched him when I put the thing in his hand, and it was certainly the first time he’d ever seen it. It was all made up by that hysterical bitch, the doctor’s receptionist.”
“But he says in his statement that he dropped it,” objected the inspector, albeit rather mildly. “Incidentally, if I were you, I would avoid terms like hysterical bitch. No personal prejudices, just objective facts. If you wanted to, though, you could question the doctor on the trustworthiness of his receptionist. Ach, no, I wouldn’t bother with that either. That would just turn out to be another personal opinion, and we can leave it to the examining magistrate to assess the various witnesses. We work completely objectively here, isn’t that right, Schröder, without any prejudice?”
“Of course, Inspector.”
“A witness statement is a statement, and we stick to it. How and why it came about, that doesn’t interest us. We’re not psychologists, we’re detectives. The only thing we’re interested in is crime. And if someone confesses to a crime, that’s enough for us. At least that’d be my way of looking at it, but I don’t know, perhaps you have another, Schröder?”
“Of course not, Inspector!” exclaimed Deputy Inspector Schröder. He sounded quite shocked at the idea that his view might differ from his superior’s. “My thoughts exactly! Always opposed to crime in all its forms!”
“I knew it,” said Inspector Escherich drily, and stroked his mustache. “We old school detectives are always of one mind. You know, Schröder, there are a lot of newcomers working in our profession nowadays, so it’s important that we stick together. There’s some benefit in that. All right, Schröder,” now he sounded strictly professional, “I’d like your report today on the Kluge arrest and the protocol of the witness statements of the receptionist and the doctor. Ah, yes, you had a sergeant with you as well, I believe, Schröder…”
“Sergeant Dubberke, based at the station here…”
“Don’t know the man. But I’d like a report from him too, on Kluge’s attempted escape. Short and to the point, no verbiage, no subjective personal opinions, got that, Schröder?”
“Whatever you say, Inspector!”
“All right then, Schröder! When you’ve handed in these reports, you won’t have anything more to do
with this case, unless there’s some further statement needed, to a judge, or to us at the Gestapo…” He looked thoughtfully at his junior. “How long have you been deputy now, Schröder?”
“Three and a half years already, Inspector.”
The eye of the “policeman” as it rested on the inspector had something rather wistful about it.
But the inspector merely said, “Well, it’s about time, then,” and he left the station.
Back at Prinz Albrecht Strasse, he had himself announced immediately to his direct superior, SS Obergruppenführer Prall. He had to wait almost an hour; not that Herr Prall was very busy, or rather, because he was particularly busy in a particular way. Escherich heard the tinkle of glasses, and the popping of corks, he heard laughter and shouting: one of the regular meetings of the higher echelons, then. Conviviality, booze, cheerful relaxation after the heavy effort of torturing and putting to death their fellow men.
The inspector waited without impatience, even though he still had a lot he hoped to do today. He knew what superiors were like, in general, and he knew this one superior in particular. Pestering him was no use. If Berlin was ablaze, and he wanted a drink, well, then he had his drink first. That was just the way he was!
After an hour or so, Escherich was finally admitted. The room looked the worse for wear, with clear evidence of a booze-up, and Prall, purple with Armagnac, looked rather the worse for wear himself. But he said cheerily: “Hey, Escherich! Pour yourself a glass! The fruits of our victory over France: real Armagnac, ten times better than cognac! Ten? Hundred times! Why aren’t you drinking?”
“I’ve still got quite a bit to do today, Obergruppenführer, and I want to keep a clear head. Anyway, I’m not used to drinking anymore.”
“Bah, not used to it! Clear head, pish! What do you want a clear head for? Let someone else do your work for you, and sleep late. Cheers, Escherich—the Führer!”
There was no getting out of this. Escherich raised his glass, and a second time, and a third, and he thought how the combination of alcohol and the company of his comrades had altered this man. Normally, Prall was pretty bearable, not half as bad as a hundred other fellows running around the building in their black uniforms. If anything, he was a bit skeptical, just “here to learn,” as he sometimes said, and by no means convinced of everything.