Andrew Williams - The Interrogator

As his head bent over the paper, Samuels caught Lindsay’s eye and gave a slight nod and a smile.

‘Did Kapitän Mohr instruct you to extract a confession from Heine?’

Dietrich muttered something Lindsay did not catch: ‘What did you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘Write it down.’

He wrote standing over the table, in an awkward schoolboy hand: the interrogation of Heine, the torture, his confession, the names of those who had played a part with him.

‘And after that you strung Heine up from the pipe.’

‘No. No.’ It rang round the room and out to the landing. ‘No.’

Dietrich denied murder. And he was not to be shaken. He was adamant that Heine took his own life.

‘I was shocked.’

‘You all but handed him the rope,’ said Lindsay coldly. ‘And then, Lange. Tell me, did Kapitän Mohr order you to execute him?’

Dietrich looked down at the paper and said nothing. The stuffing had been pulled from him, he was a sad figure, deluded, a weak man in the hands of the strong, a victim too in a way. And Lindsay could not help feeling some pity for him — a little. ‘Well?’

He looked up at Lindsay and his eyes were a watery blue, then he shook his head slowly.

‘You can’t protect him. It’s too late for that.’

‘Kapitän Mohr gave no such order.’

‘But that’s what he wanted you to do.’

Again a slow shake of the head: ‘No. We took the propaganda man.’

‘You’re protecting him.’

‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘No. We only wanted to scare Lange. He was going to give evidence against us. Somehow it got out of hand when the soldiers, when you broke the door down.’

‘I heard Kapitän Mohr give you the order myself.’

‘No.’

Lindsay sat down at the table again and looked at Samuels who gave him a knowing look. Was he betraying his disappointment? But what difference if Mohr did give the order? His guilt or innocence was neither here nor there. It would have been neater, that’s all.

‘All right take him away,’ said Samuels, signalling to the prison warders.

Dietrich looked surprised and a little distressed: ‘And you will speak to the judge? It was an accident, a mistake. We didn’t mean to hurt Lange. Just an accident. That’s the truth.’

Samuels gave him a withering look and turned to one of the guards: ‘Get him out of here.’

The door slammed behind them and Samuels got to his feet rubbing his hands with satisfaction, then leant across the table for the statement. Two sheets and Dietrich’s signature.

‘That went rather well. I like Captain Samuels, don’t you? Who’s next?’

‘I think I’ll see the navigator from Mohr’s boat on my own,’ said Lindsay, collecting his papers together. ‘Why don’t you take a break? There’s a small hotel a few hundred yards from the prison.’

Samuels looked puzzled: ‘But it worked well. Don’t you want to try again?’

‘Not with Bruns. I’ve spoken to him before. I want to see him alone in his cell. I think that will be better, Charlie.’

The MI5 man was on his feet and preparing to leave. He offered both men his large hand and a promise that he would be close by if needed again in the course of what was going to be a long night. Lindsay watched him leave, then turned to Samuels again: ‘Can I have that?’

Samuels glanced down at the statement quivering slightly in his hand: ‘This?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you planning to do anything with it now?’ Samuels sounded a little suspicious.

‘Reference.’

‘Ah.’ He leant forward with the document and Lindsay clasped the top of it between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Samuels did not release the bottom. They stood holding the statement together and Samuels’ soft brown eyes were searching his face:

‘Don’t do anything stupid, Lindsay.’

He said it softly and very deliberately.

‘Please. Nothing stupid.’

Obersteuermann Bruns was pacing his little rectangle of floor like a bear in a cage. Three steps to the wall and a smart turn to the door. There was a dark frown on his face, more belligerent than anxious. The little disc slipped back over the viewing window and with a jangling of keys the door swung open. When he saw Lindsay he snapped smartly to attention.

‘Easy, easy. How are you, Georg?’ Lindsay asked in German.

Bruns raised his eyebrows in surprise. A friendly ‘How are you?’ was not at all what he was expecting. A moment later and his features settled into a stiff scowl and Lindsay could almost hear the cogs of his mind slowly turning over: it was a trick, it must be.

‘Sit down, Georg.’

‘I want to stand.’

‘All right, if you feel more comfortable,’ but Lindsay sat at the bottom of his bed. He leant down to take a file from his briefcase, conscious that Bruns’s little brown eyes were following him closely. He had a curious face, long, with high cheek-bones and brown skin that would not have looked at all out of place in Zanzibar, his birthplace. But that was not an observation that would endear him to a devout Nazi like Bruns.

‘You know you’re in a great deal of trouble, Georg? Two charges of murder.’

Bruns was clenching and unclenching his hands as if he wanted to relieve his anxiety by taking a swing at something or someone.

‘Well, Georg, what will you tell the court?’ Lindsay asked him softly.

‘I will say I am not guilty.’ His voice shook a little. The defiant teenage scowl on his face was not enough to hide the fear growing deep inside him.

‘I feel the court should know the full facts, Georg. Would you like to write a statement?’

‘I have nothing to say.’

‘Your comrade Oberleutnant Dietrich had plenty to say. I have his statement here,’ and Lindsay opened the file to show him the confession written in a round childlike hand. ‘Yes. Listen to this: Bruns found the rope in the yard at the camp. It was his idea to use it on Heine…

Oh and here’s another bit: we talked about what we should do. Bruns was for executing Lange as a traitor, he had confessed to betraying us…

‘You see. Oberleutnant Dietrich has been very frank with us.’

Bruns was biting his bottom lip nervously, his dark skin a shade paler. He was clearly at a loss to know what to say: was it possible that Dietrich had betrayed him to the enemy?

‘Sit down here,’ said Lindsay, patting the bed. ‘It must be a shock. Yes, he has told us everything and not just about Heine and Lange. He’s answered all our questions. He could see it was in his best interests.’

Bruns did not move but stood with his back to the wall, clenching and unclenching his big hands. Always at the edge. And schooled by Mohr to say nothing. A simple order. Duty and loyalty to the Fatherland. Yes, a simple order to be followed even if he was left swinging from a rope.

‘Think about it,’ said Lindsay, slipping Dietrich’s confession back in the file. ‘Help me and I can help you. Your life depends upon it.’

He got to his feet and rapped on the door. It opened at once. Standing outside was the Security Service man, Robbins, his muscular frame a little too snug in his dark suit, black shoes polished with military perfection. The door clanked shut and he stepped forward to shake Lindsay by the hand.

‘We’re ready for you. The room’s on ‘C’ Wing where we keep the troublemakers.’

‘Thank you, Captain. One by one, starting with Bruns. Leave them for half an hour before you fetch Dietrich.’

‘And Lieutenant Samuels?’

Robbins’ knowing smile brought the colour to Lindsay’s face: ‘No. Lieutenant Samuels doesn’t need to be informed.’