Hans Kirst: The Night of the Generals

“What a frightful smell there is in this house!”

“It’s the smell of war, Major.” Roman Liesowski’s tone was explanatory, like that of a sewer-worker speaking from professional experience. “Poor food, insufficient soap, windows hermetically sealed because of the black-out, clothes caked with months of sweat—and now blood as well. It’s the characteristic aroma of our time, at least in this part of the world.”

Major Grau smiled faintly in apparent agreement, then raised one pigskin glove. “For the moment I’m solely interested in facts, Inspector. You’ve told me your findings. Now I should like to know what conclusions you’ve drawn.”

The Major seemed reluctant to lavish undue attention on the body, which still lay in its original position on the carpet. His gaze rested on a portrait hanging between the two windows. It depicted a Polish noblewoman of Chopin’s day, mysteriously dark and graceful but endowed with a pale, almost transparent skin and provocatively scarlet lips, a blend of delicate sensitivity and passionate abandon.

“There’s not much doubt about the motive,” declared Engel, who lost little of his boyish enthusiasm even in the presence of his superiors. “It looks as though one of her more energetic boy-friends was at work here. She’s as full of holes as a dummy after bayonet-practice. Maybe she drove him to it.”

“She was remarkably uninhibited,” remarked Grau. He turned to Liesowski with a look of bland inquiry. “I knew this lady. Indeed, who didn’t?”

“I didn’t,” said Engel gloomily.

“Our associates are a mixed bunch, Engel. You ought to devote a little more attention to them,” recommended Grau with extreme amiability. “Have you had the room searched, Inspector?”

“There were no documents of any kind,” answered Liesowski, “nothing in any way suspicious, no sign of papers having been removed and not the slightest indication of any so-called patriotic motive. It’s murder, that’s all, probably the ugliest I’ve ever come across—and I’ve seen plenty.”

“Very good,” said Major Grau. “Maria Kupiecki was a valuable collaborator of ours, but the reason for her death probably lay in her personal mode of life.”

“You may well be right, Major.”

“Are you in any doubt?” Grau put the question in a gentle voice. He smiled expectantly, almost as though he hoped for an affirmative answer.

Of all the Germans with whom Liesowski was compelled to work, Major Grau of Abwehr was the oddest. He fell into none of the predominant categories. He was neither cold-bloodedly brutal nor cynically condescending, neither officious nor prosaically bureaucratic. Roman Liesowski had every reason to think himself a good judge of human nature, but Grau remained an enigma and he found this disconcerting.

“Shall I repeat my question, Herr Liesowski? I should be glad to know if you feel any doubts about my line of reasoning?”

Liesowski’s gnomelike figure seemed to shrivel up even more and his eyes dimmed like two guttering candles on the verge of extinction. “Does that mean,” he asked with suspicious diffidence, “that you intend to take the case under your jurisdiction? For my part, I’m quite happy to regard the matter as closed.”

“The man’s incorrigible!” Engel grimaced at Major Grau and fished another cigar out of his breast pocket. “We’re dealing with an out-and-out patriot, Major. He may not realize it himself, but that’s what he is. I’m pretty sure he’s planning to drop us in the dirt. I don’t know exactly how yet, but that’s his game—I felt it the moment I got here. Something smells fishy round here, but what?”

“Your cigar, among other things, Engel. It’s worse than any corpse.”

Engel’s laugh was unabashed. He took the remark in good part, especially as his chief gave an impression of cheerful expectancy. Whatever his reasons, Major Grau seemed to be enjoying the situation.

“Engel is not only a valued colleague but a professional funny-man.” Grau smiled encouragingly at Liesowski. “I hope you’ll bear with him.”

“Then the case is closed as far as I’m concerned,” said the Inspector with alacrity. “I’ll put all the available details at your disposal, if you wish, also the witness my men have unearthed.”

“Witness? What witness? That’s news to me.” Engel shook his head. “This isn’t the first time an informer has been killed, you know. It could always be a simple case of robbery with violence, of course, but it’s far more likely to be revenge for reasons of misguided patriotism—and I admit that patriotism means different things to different people. All right then, wipe these people out and keep mum about it—that’s the usual rule, Liesowski, so why don’t you stick to it?”

“I don’t quite follow you,” said the diminutive policeman.

“My dear Liesowski,” said Grau in his best drawing-room manner, “allow me to try and clarify the situation. Two things seem firmly established: first, the murdered woman worked for us, and, secondly, she was no better than she should be. The question is, was she murdered because she was a whore or because she worked for us? In the former instance the case becomes a criminal matter and one which does not concern my department; in the latter, it becomes something aimed more or less directly at us. And now you produce a witness like a rabbit out of a hat. Engel finds this suspicious, but I must confess that my only reaction is one of curiosity. If your intention was to intrigue me I must ask you to explain your motives.”

“My men have merely found a witness. I have no idea what his evidence consists of. All I know is that he was only too ready to make a statement at first, but when he heard that the German authorities were being called in he flatly refused to say another word.” Liesowski looked inquiringly at Major Grau. “Shall I have him brought in?”

“Please do,” said Grau.

Engel stood the witness against the wall with his arms above his head and felt him all over like a butcher examining a cow before slaughter. “All clear,” he announced. “Now we can pick his brains.”

The Pole ventured a faint smile, encouraged by the unwavering cheerfulness of Engel’s expression. Whatever Engel said sounded cheerful.

“Kindly put your questions, Herr Liesowski,” said Major Grau. “Engel will assist you if necessary.”

Liesowski nodded. He glanced at the Major’s hands, which lay folded in his lap as though in prayer. Engel sucked audibly at his cigar.

“Was it you who informed the police?” began the Inspector.

“Yes,” said the Pole, cautiously.

“Did you discover the body?”

“Yes.” The man’s eyes betrayed alarm.

“Monotonous, isn’t he?” remarked Engel.

“We have time,” said Major Grau amiably, “plenty of time. We’re prepared to be patient, too, provided it’s worth our while—and there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be.”

Further questions elicited the following facts: while the witness, whose name was Henryk Wionczek, was sitting in the communal lavatory on the second floor, he heard screams coming from the floor above. He had the distinct impression that they originated in the region of Maria Kupiecki’s room. It didn’t surprise him—she was an odd type, after all. Well, while he was sitting in the communal lavatory… “It’s right by the stairs,” Engel explained. “If you squat on the pan you can see through the keyhole quite comfortably. The keyhole’s big, too. Isn’t that so, Liesowski?”

“Quite so.”

Major Grau sat up slowly, the silky cloth of his uniform jacket growing taut as he inhaled deeply. With a touch of impatience, he said: “Well, now askhim what he saw through the keyhole.”