Philip Kerr - Berlin Noir

In the hope that I was wrong about this, I turned on the radio, and like 75 million other Germans, waited to find out what would become of us.

A lot of women say that whereas Goebbels merely seduces, Hitler positively fascinates. It’s difficult for me to comment on this. All the same, there is no denying the hypnotic effect that the Führer’s speeches seem to have on people. Certainly the crowd at the Sportspalast seemed to appreciate it. I expect you had to be there to get the real atmosphere. Like a visit to a sewage plant.

For those of us listening at home, there was nothing to appreciate, no hope in anything that the number one carpet-chewer said. There was only the dreadful realization that we were a little closer to war than we had been the day before.

Tuesday, 27 September

The afternoon saw a military parade on Unter den Linden, one which looked more ready for war than anything ever seen before on the streets of Berlin. This was a mechanized division in full field equipment. But to my astonishment, there were no cheers, no salutes and no waving of flags. The reality of Hitler’s belligerence was in everyone’s mind and seeing this parade, people just turned and walked away.

Later that same day, when at his own request I met Arthur Nebe away from the Alex, at the offices of Gunther & Stahlecker, Private Investigators – the door was still awaiting the sign-writer to come and change the name back to the original -I told him what I had seen.

Nebe laughed. ‘What would you say if I told you that the division you saw were this country’s probable liberators?’

‘Is the army planning a putsch ?’

‘ I can’t tell you very much except to say that high officers of the Wehrmacht have been in contact with the British prime minister. As soon as the British give the order, the army will occupy Berlin and Hitler will be brought to trial.’

‘When will that be?’

‘As soon as Hitler invades Czechoslovakia the British will declare war. That will be the time. Our time, Bernie. Didn’t I tell you that Kripo would be needing men like you?’

I nodded slowly. ‘But Chamberlain has been negotiating with Hitler, hasn’t he?’

‘That’s the British way, to talk, to be diplomatic. It wouldn’t be cricket if they didn’t try to negotiate.’

‘Nevertheless, he must believe that Hitler will sign some sort of treaty. More importantly, both Chamberlain and Daladier must themselves be prepared to sign some sort of treaty.’

‘Hitler won’t walk away from the Sudeten, Bernie. And the British aren’t about to renege on their own treaty with the Czechs.’

I went over to the drinks cabinet and poured a couple.

‘If the British and French intended to keep their treaty, then there would be nothing to talk about,’ I said, handing Nebe a glass. ‘If you ask me, they’re doing Hitler’s work for him.’

‘My God, what a pessimist you are.’

‘All right, let me ask you this. Have you ever been faced with the prospect of fighting someone you didn’t want to fight? Someone larger than you, perhaps? It may be that you think you’ll get a good hiding. It may be that you simply haven’t got the stomach for it. You try and talk your way out of the situation, of course. The man who talks too much doesn’t want to fight at all.’

‘But we are not larger than the British and the French.’

‘But they don’t have the stomach for it.’

Nebe raised his glass. ‘To the British stomach, then.’

‘To the British stomach.’

Wednesday, 28 September

‘General Martin has supplied the information about Streicher, sir.’ Korsch looked at the telegraph he was holding. ‘On the five dates in question it would seem that Streicher was known to be in Berlin on at least two of them. With regard to the other two that we don’t know about, Martin has no idea where he was.’

‘So much for his boast about his spies.’

‘Well, there is one thing, sir. Apparently on one of the dates, Streicher was seen coming from the Furth aerodrome in Nuremberg.’

‘What’s the flying time between here and Nuremberg?’

‘Couple of hours at the most. Do you want me to check with Tempelhof airport?’

‘I’ve got a better idea. Get on to the propaganda boys at the Muratti. Ask them to supply you with a nice photograph of Streicher. Better ask for one of all the Gauleiters so as not to draw too much attention to yourself. Say it’s for security up at the Reichs Chancellery, that always sounds good. When you’ve got it, I want you to go and talk to the Hirsch girl. See if she can’t identify Streicher as the man in the car.’

‘And if she does?’

‘If she does, then you and I are going to find that we have made a lot of new friends. With one notable exception.’

‘That’s what I was afraid of.’

Thursday, 29 September

Chamberlain returned to Munich. He wanted to talk again. The Sheriff came too but it seemed that he was only going to look the other way when the shooting started. Mussolini polished his belt and his head and turned up to offer support to his spiritual ally.

While these important men came and went, a young girl, of little or no account in the general scheme of things, disappeared while doing the family shopping at the local market.

Moabit Market was on the corner of Bremerstrasse and Arminius Strasse. A large red-brick building, about the same size as a warehouse, it was where the working class of Moabit – which means everyone who lived in the area – bought their cheese, fish, cooked meats and other fresh provisions. There were even one or two places where you could stand and drink a quick beer and eat a sausage. The place was always busy and there were at least six ways in and out of the place. It’s not somewhere that you just wander round. Most people are in a hurry, with little time to stand and stare at things they cannot afford; and anyway, there is none of those sort of goods in Moabit. So my clothes and unhurried demeanour marked me out from the rest.

We knew that Liza Ganz had disappeared from there because that was where a fishmonger had found a shopping bag which Liza’s mother later identified as belonging to her.

Apart from that, nobody saw a damn thing. In Moabit, people don’t pay you much attention unless you’re a policeman looking for a missing girl, and even then it’s just curiosity.

Friday, 30 September

In the afternoon I was summoned to Gestapo headquarters on Prinz Albrecht Strasse.

Glancing up as I passed through the main door, I saw a statue sitting on a truck-tyre of a scroll, working at a piece of embroidery. Flying over her head were two cherubs, one scratching his head and the other wearing a generally puzzled, sort of expression. My guess was that they were wondering why the Gestapo should have chosen that particular building to set up shop. On the face of it, the art school formerly occupying number eight Prinz Albrecht Strasse and the Gestapo, who were currently resident there, didn’t seem to have much in common beyond the rather obvious joke that everyone made about framing things. But that particular day I was more puzzled as to why Heydrich should have summoned me there, instead of to the Prinz Albrecht Palais on nearby Wilhelmstrasse. I didn’t doubt that he had a reason. Heydrich had a reason for doing everything, and I felt sure that I would dislike this one just as much as all the others I’d ever heard.

Beyond the main door you went through a security check, and walking on again you found yourself at the foot of a staircase that was as big as an aqueduct. At the top of the flight you were in a vaulted waiting hall, with three arched windows that were of locomotive proportions. Beneath each window was a wooden bench of the kind you see in church and it was there that I waited, as instructed.