Hans Kirst: The Night of the Generals

Liesowski did so. Wionczek flinched almost imperceptibly, opened his mouth and promptly closed it again. Raising his head, he stared fixedly at the network of cracks that ran across the ceiling.

“Nothing,” he gulped, “absolutely nothing. Nothing special, anyway, and the light on the landing was bad. I really didn’t see anything. May I go now?”

Liesowski closed his eyes momentarily. Major Grau’s gaze narrowed as though it had suddenly fallen on a painting of particular interest. Engel laughed delightedly, like a boy who has just seen a deck-chair collapse under a fat old lady.

“It looks as though I’ll have to go to work on this lad,” he said. “He obviously thinks we’re a bunch of idiots—and I don’t like that.”

“I feel the need for a short breather.” Major Grau got up, carefully smoothing a few imaginary creases from his immaculate tunic. “Meanwhile, Engel will continue the conversation with our witness. Make him an offer, Engel, and don’t be stingy. Herr Liesowski, may I ask you to accompany me?”

Grau stepped out into the corridor followed by the Inspector. It was a long, narrow passage with a high ceiling and pale green, peeling walls. Several Polish detectives stood there in the semi-darkness like stone sentinels. There were no civilians in sight.

Grau glanced at Liesowski’s worried face and gave a fleeting smile. “Don’t worry, Inspector. You mustn’t forget that there are certain differences between us and the S. D. or the Gestapo—differences which we set store by. Engel’s methods are a picnic by comparison, I can assure you.”

He went into the communal lavatory on the floor below, sat down on the seat and peered through the keyhole. The whole corridor was visible. He could even hear, with comparative ease, snatches of apparently amiable conversation drifting down from the room once inhabited by the murdered woman. Engel was administering one of his guaranteed cures for a defective memory. He was haggling like a horse-trader, offering foodstuffs in exchange for a full and immediate statement.

“Let’s go back,” Major Grau suggested, glancing at his watch. Little more than five minutes had elapsed, but past experience told him that this was long enough for Engel’s efforts to yield preliminary results.

They found Engel standing in the centre of the room. In front of him, not far from Maria Kupiecki’s body, stood the witness, wearing a more co-operative expression.

“I’ve had a few words with our lavatory-man.” Engel clapped his hands. “Now then birdie, start singing! What did you see?”

Wionczek shuffled self-consciously. Detective-Inspector Liesowski leant against the wall as though seeking support. Major Grau sat stiffly erect in his chair.

“Well, I sat there listening to the screams. At first I thought, Maria’s tight again. She was always drinking and making a racket, you know. But then it struck me that she sounded really frightened. Then everything went quiet.”

“Go on,” prompted Engel. “You looked through the keyhole.”

“Yes, because I heard steps coming downstairs from the floor above.”

“What exactly did you see?”

Wionczek hesitated. “I must have been mistaken.”

“Why not?” said Engel cheerfully. “You’re only human, after all. Anyone can make a mistake. The main thing is, tell us what you saw—mistakenly, of course.”

“There’s no need to be afraid,” Liesowski said gently.

“I caught sight of a man,” Wionczek blurted out. “He was wearing uniform—the sort of uniform the Germans wear, grey or greenish—the light in the corridor was too dim for me to see clearly.”

“You don’t say!” exclaimed Engel. “A German soldier? He’ll be telling us it was a German officer next.”

“Kindly don’t interrupt him,” said Major Grau. “And don’t make any leading remarks. Let him speak for himself.”

“It could well have been a German officer,” said Wionczek. Words suddenly gushed from him like water from a spring, “At least, that’s what I thought at the time. Of course, I could be wrong. I was in a bit of a state—not feeling too good—that’s why I was sitting there in the first place. Anyway, I caught sight of something else, something red, like a red stripe running down the man’s trouser-leg—a wide red band. And there was something that looked like gold up by his collar.”

“Great balls of fire!” exclaimed Engel. “Can you beat it? He goes the whole hog and describes a German general. I’ve half a mind to withdraw my generous offer and…”

Major Grau cut him short. “You can forget that idea, Engel,” he said curtly. “Let the witness repeat his statement.”

“The man must be wrong.” Liesowski looked shocked. “These alleged patches of red could have been bloodstains.”

“It’s possible,” said Major Grau ruminatively, “but you can’t deny that his description fits a German general to a tee.”

Engel gazed round somewhat dismayed, vainly looking for someone to share his consternation. “But that’s utterly absurd!”

“I agree,” said Liesowski with some emphasis.

Major Grau sprang to his feet. His lean and expressive features betrayed an odd glimmer of satisfaction. “What’s to prevent us from taking this witness’s statement seriously?” he inquired. “Personally, I’m inclined to believe in the man’s sincerity. He may be mistaken, but why should he be lying? His evidence is unusual, but that only makes it more interesting. We shall draw our own conclusions and act on them—exhaustively and without compunction, as our sense of duty demands. Am I right, Engel?”

“As always, sir. After all, nothing’s impossible in our line of country.”

“I still find it difficult to take this witness’s statement at its face value,” said Liesowski.

Grau led the Inspector aside and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I think we should proceed as follows. You, my dear Liesowski, will record every detail of this inquiry. Do so without fear or favour. Bear in mind that the truth is all that matters, however unpleasant it turns out to be. Also bear in mind that I am prepared for any eventuality. Act as though justice were the one factor involved. No exceptions are to be made, even if a general’s head has to roll.”

Excerpts from conversations dealing with events in Warsaw, 1942. These conversations took place eighteen years later and were recorded on tape.

Place: Cologne

Speaker: Engel, Gottfried, ex-sergeant, now employed by a firm of carriers in Cologne. What follows is an abstract of Engel’s statement, omitting the interviewer’s questions: “Did I know a man called Roman Liesowski? Yes, that’s right. We used to call him ‘tortoise’ or ‘gnome’. We took Liesowski over from our predecessors for the simple reason, I seem to remember, that he was one of the few senior members of the Warsaw police force who spoke fluent German. That’s all I know about him.

“I can’t remember much about Maria Kupiecki’s body. I ask you, there were so many bodies lying around! It was just another lousy murder—in a crummy lodging-house somewhere off the main street, as I recall. It was three flights up and well after midnight. I was out on my feet.

“This Kupiecki woman was a tart of the first order. It’s quite possible she worked for us—not as a tart, of course. She was more of a post-box for secret agents. Anyway, someone bumped her off. There wasn’t the slightest indication of any political motive.

“I don’t know how the case turned out. Major Grau took over all the particulars, so it wasn’t my affair any longer.”

Somuch, thus far, for Gottfried Engel. A further meeting was arranged with his consent, of which more later.