Marek Krajewski: Death in Breslau

Marie’s observations were partially accurate. In so far as Piontek and Mock were performing a work of art at that moment, it was the art of subtle blackmail, veiled threats and ingenious provocation.

“Counsellor, I know from my chief that Nebe can be stubborn and decide to place his own man as chief of Breslau’s C.I.D., even in defiance of Heines or Bruckner. But you can strengthen your position considerably and become the one and only, unrivalled candidate …”

“How?”

“Oh, it’s so simple …” Piontek took Mock under the arm. “A successful case, loud and spectacular, would raise you to that position. Of course, a successful case plus Heines’ and Bruckner’s support. And then even the Chief of Prussian Police, the uncompromising Nebe, will give in …”

Mock stopped, removed his hat and fanned himself with it for a moment. The sun glistened on the roofs of the houses on the other side of the moat. Piontek took the Counsellor by the waist and whispered in his ear:

“Yes, dear sir, success … And we both have no doubt that your greatest success at this moment would be capturing the murderer of Baron von der Malten’s daughter.”

“Hauptsturmfuhrer, you’re presuming that I want nothing more than Muhlhaus’ position … But maybe that’s not the case … Maybe I have other plans … Besides, we do not know that I will find the murderer before Muhlhaus leaves.” Mock knew this sounded insincere and would not deceive Piontek. The latter leaned over to Mock’s ear once more, shocking the women overtaking them.

“You’ve already found the murderer. It’s Isidor Friedlander. He confessed last night. At our quarters, in Brown-Shirt House on Neudorfstrasse. But only I and Schmidt, my subordinate, know about it. If you so wish, Counsellor, we’ll both swear it was you who forced Friedlander to confess at the Police Praesidium.” Piontek grasped Mock’s small hand and folded it into a fist. “There, you’re holding your career in the palm of your hand.”

BRESLAU, TUESDAY, MAY 16TH, 1933

TWO O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING

Mock woke with a stifled cry. The duvet pressed down on his chest as if it weighed a hundred kilograms. His nightshirt, soaked in sweat, was twisted around his limbs. He threw the duvet violently aside, got up, went to his study, lit the lamp with a green shade on his desk and set out his chess set. In vain, he wanted to chase away the nightmare of his bad conscience. The dream he’d had a moment ago re-appeared before his eyes: the lame girl was looking straight at him. Despite the river separating them, he clearly saw her eyes full of passion and hatred. He also saw the steward’s wife heading towards him. She approached with a swaying gait. He looked with surprise at her face covered in a rash. She sat down, hitched her dress up high and spread her legs. From her thighs and stomach grew syphilitic cauliflowers.

The Counsellor threw the window wide open and returned to the safety of the green circle of light. He knew he would not be able to sleep before the morning. Both women in the dream had faces he knew well: the girl, that of Marietta von der Malten; the syphilitic Phaedre, Francoise Debroux.

Schlesische Tageszeitung of May 19th, 1933

Page 1: Counsellor Eberhard Mock of Breslau’s Criminal Police, after several days of investigation, apprehended the felon who killed the Baron’s daughter, Marietta von der Malten, her governess, Francoise Debroux, and the conductor of the saloon car, Franz Repell. It turned out to be the sixty-year-old, mentally sick dealer, Isidor F. Further details on p.3.

Page 3: Isidor F. murdered the Baron’s 17-year-old daughter and her guardian, 42-year-old Francoise Debroux in an exceptionally brutal manner. He raped both women, then quartered them. Prior to that, he took the life of the carriage conductor. Stunning the victim, he slipped three scorpions under his shirt which fatally stung the unfortunate man. The perpetrator of the crime decorated the carriage with writing in a Coptic tongue: ‘Both for the poor, and for the rich — death and vermin.’

The epileptic Isidor F. had long been treated by Doctor Weinsberg from the Jewish Hospital. Here is the doctor’s opinion: ‘Following an attack of epilepsy, the sick man would remain in a state of unconsciousness for a long time, although giving the impression of being fully aware. After an attack of epilepsy, the schizophrenia which plagued him ever since he was a small child would re-appear. He would then be unpredictable; he would shout in strange tongues, and have horrifying, apocalyptic visions. In such a state, he was capable of anything.’

The accused is being held in a place known only to the police. The trial will take place within a few days.

Volkischer Beobachter of May 20th, 1933

Page 1: The abominable Jew defiled and quartered two German women. Prior to that, he killed a German railwayman in a perfidious manner. That blood cries out, demands vengeance!

Berliner Morgenpost of May 21st, 1933

Page 2: This last night, the vampire of Breslau, Isidor Friedlander, committed suicide in his cell. He killed himself in a manner as macabre as that in which he killed his victims: he bit through his veins …

Breslauer Zeitung of July 2nd, 1933

Extract from an interview with Criminal Director Eberhard Mock, the new Chief of the Criminal Police in the Police Praesidium of Breslau, page 3:

“Where did Friedlander know Coptic from?”

“He learned Semitic languages at the Talmud High School in Lublin.

“The murderer expressed the Coptic text in the ancient Syrian alphabet. This is a difficult task even for an eminent Semitist, but for the average graduate of a Jewish high school — unfeasible …

“After an attack of epilepsy, the accused would have apocalyptic visions, speak in various languages, apparently unknown to him, fall into a trance. Dangerous schizophrenia, from which he suffered ever since childhood, would then re-appear. He revealed more than natural abilities, skills in resolving tasks which were, in fact, impossible to resolve.”

“One last question. Can the people of Breslau now sleep in peace?”

“The inhabitants of such a large city as Breslau face various dangers more frequently than people in the provinces. We will counteract these threats. If, God forbid, other criminals manifest themselves, I will most certainly apprehend them.”

BERLIN, WEDNESDAY, JULY 4TH, 1934

HALF-PAST FIVE IN THE MORNING

Herbert Anwaldt opened his eyes and then immediately shut them. He had the vain hope that when he opened them again all around would turn out to be a dismal mirage. It was a futile hope: the drunkard’s den where he found himself was an unshakeable reality, pure realism. In Anwaldt’s head, a small gramophone replayed the refrain he had heard yesterday, over and over again — Marlene Dietrich’s “ Ich bin von Kopf bis Fu? auf Liebe eingestellt …”

He moved his head several times. The dull ache slowly spread beneath the vault of his skull; cigarette fumes filled his eye sockets. Anwaldt screwed up his eyes. The pain had become intense and unremitting. In his throat nestled a thick, burning mass tasting of vomit and sweet wine. He swallowed it — through the dry pipeline of his gullet pressed a red-hot bullet. He did not want to drink; he wanted to die.

He opened his eyes and sat up on the bed. The brittle bones of his temples crunched as if squeezed by a vice. He looked around and concluded that he was seeing this interior for the first time. Next to him lay a drunken woman in a dirty, slippery petticoat. At the table slept a man in a vest; his massive hand, with its tattoo of an anchor, caressingly crushed a fallen bottle against the wet oilcloth. On the window, a paraffin lamp was dying. A light streak of dawn filtered into the room.