Max Collins - The Hindenburg Murders

“But an accurate one, Ernst. So what do the boys back home have to say? What’s the good word from Marshal Goering? Am I being enlisted to help cover up?”

Erdmann flicked ash onto the saucer where his coffee cup rested. “Neither Captain Lehmann nor myself will make the decision as to whether or not this apparent murder is revealed to the world at large.”

“Hasn’t someone back at Nazi Central made that decision already?”

Captain Pruss shifted in his seat, gesturing toward the grayness out the windows. “Mr. Charteris, we are currently in an electromagnetic storm. These conditions have created a complete radio blackout.”

“How long will that last?”

“As long as the storm. Possibly many hours.”

“Until we have a decision,” Erdmann said, “until we have our orders, from the Air Ministry, we would… appreciate your help.”

“In keeping Eric Knoecher alive and well and sick with a cold in my cabin, you mean?”

“Yes.” The Luftwaffe colonel glanced at Lehmann; there was something pained about it. “That, and something more.”

“What, gentlemen?”

Lehmann sighed pipe smoke. “I have discussed your offer with Captain Pruss and Colonel Erdmann.”

“What offer, Ernst?”

“To help in our… investigation.”

“Isn’t that Colonel Erdmann’s job?”

Erdmann said, “I understand you worked as a police constable.”

“Yes-briefly. Didn’t handle any murder cases, to speak of.”

“And that you studied criminology at school. And obviously, as a writer of mystery novels-”

Charteris interrupted with a laugh. “It might be dangerous assuming Zane Grey can punch cattle, my friends, or H. G. Wells pilot a spaceship. But if there is some manner in which I can help-certainly I’m at your service.”

Lehmann nodded, smiling a little. “Thank you, Leslie.”

“But I don’t offer this to help the brownshirt boys. I feel it’s obviously an unsettling thing that we may have a murderer among us-however aptly chosen his victim may have been. Still, this seems more appropriate for the colonel, here-”

“The colonel,” Lehmann said, with a wag of the head toward Erdmann, “cannot risk exposing the true nature of his presence here-which is to say, security.”

“We’re back to the bomb threat, again.”

Lehmann nodded gravely. “Yes. Furthermore, if the colonel actively investigates, the disappearance of Knoecher will become known. What we need, from you, Leslie, is something more along the lines of a… sub-rosa investigation.”

“A sort of discreet poking around, you mean.”

“Precisely. Asking ‘innocent’ questions, assessing reactions, without letting anyone know about Mr. Knoecher’s apparent dire fate.”

“Understood.”

“For example, Leslie, this morning, when you mentioned Knoecher’s cold, and confinement, to your cabin-did anyone react to this in any way that might be considered suspicious?”

“No. And I have to admit, I had that thought in mind. After all, the murderer would know I’m lying.”

“What I would suggest,” Erdmann said, shifting in his seat, “is striking up friendships with the handful of passengers we consider our most likely suspects.”

Charteris frowned. “You have thirty-some passengers, and at least as many crew members, plus stewards and officers… how can you narrow that group to a handful?”

Erdmann swallowed, his glum expression taking on a glazed cast. Finally he said, “I believe the names are all you need. How we arrived at them are irrelevant.”

“No.”

Erdmann looked up sharply. “What do you mean by that?”

“Actually, Fritz, ‘no’ is a word that requires precious little parsing. However, I’ll gladly explain my meaning: I won’t cooperate with you unless you’re forthcoming. And if you refuse to answer the first question I have for you, well, then-I suggest you comb the passenger list for some other former-police-constable-trained-in-criminology-turned-mystery-writer.”

And Charteris gave them a big smile, stubbed out his cigarette on his saucer, and rose.

“Please sit, Leslie,” Lehmann said, motioning with his pipe in hand. “Sit, please!”

“Before I do, let’s hear what the colonel has to say.”

Erdmann sucked on the cigarette, which was presently about an inch and a half long. “First of all, could I beg another cigarette from you, Mr. Charteris?”

“All right.” Still standing, he dug out his silver case and passed it over to Erdmann.

“When I knew we had an S.D. man aboard,” Erdmann said, tamping the tip of the smoke on the case, “I took him aside and made him tell me who his… subjects… were to be.”

Nodding, Charteris sat. Taking back his cigarette case, lighting Erdmann up with a match, and then doing the same for himself with another Gauloise, the author said, “Was Mr. Knoecher… forthcoming?”

“Yes. He didn’t like it, but I was a ranking officer, with a problem rather larger than his.”

“Sabotage.”

“Yes. We’d had a bomb scare.”

“And you wanted to know who your potential bombers were.”

Erdmann nodded, once.

“What are the particulars of this bomb scare, Colonel?”

Erdmann glanced at Lehmann, who said, “Before you stand and threaten to leave again, Leslie, let me answer that…. It is what I consider to be a crank letter from a woman in Milwaukee.”

“Milwaukee!”

“Yes. We know precious little about this woman at present, other than that she is friendly to the German cause-a member of a local Bund group.”

“What did her letter state?”

Lehmann grinned nervously, drew smoke from his pipe, which drifted out of his mouth lazily as he said, “That this airship, on this passage, would be destroyed by a time bomb.”

Charteris frowned, gesturing with the cigarette in hand, making smoke trails. “ Could we have a time bomb aboard this ship? I find the prospect very credible, personally, having seen all the possible hiding places on my little tour.”

The Reederei director shook his head. “Thanks to those precautions in Frankfurt that so offended you, Leslie, the presence of a bomb on the Hindenburg is a virtual impossibility. Every lighter, flashbulb, flashlight, every matchbook was confiscated.”

Charteris pointed to Lehmann’s own book of hotel matches in the middle of the table like a tiny centerpiece. “Not every matchbook.”

“Let’s not be absurd. As Colonel Erdmann will attest, the S.D. team that went over this ship did a painstaking, rigorous job of it. The mail and cargo has been examined with special equipment, the passengers’ baggage thoroughly checked, even the crew was subject to stringent searches. No one had the opportunity to smuggle a bomb aboard this ship.”

Charteris turned to Erdmann. “Do you agree, Colonel?”

“I do. There is no bomb aboard the LZ-129. Our security is far too comprehensive.”

“Is it? Let me ask you-on Eric Knoecher’s list of ‘subjects,’ which is now your list of likely murder suspects… was Joseph Spah by any chance included?”

Erdmann shrugged with his eyebrows. “Yes. Spah travels as an American, with a French passport, though he was born a German. As an artist, a performer, he frequently travels throughout Germany, and is known to spend time in the company of antiparty people.”

“People in your anti-Hitler resistance movement.”

“Mr. Charteris…”

“Oh, I forgot. There is no resistance movement in Germany. Please go on, Colonel.”

Erdmann gestured with an open hand. “That’s all the information I have on Mr. Spah, other than I understand he is considered potentially a dangerous spy by the S.D.-and that he has been a troublemaker on this flight.”