Philip Kerr - Prague Fatale

‘Thank you, sir.’ I smiled. ‘Do I have to be polite? Or can I just be myself?’

‘Why change the habit of a lifetime? You’re the most insubordinate fellow I know, Gunther, but sometimes that yields results. It might however be a good idea if, while you were conducting your investigation, and practising your habitual impertinence, you wore civilian clothes. So that you can’t be accused of something that would get you court-martialled in a uniform. Yes. I think that might be best. Have you any civilian clothes with you?’

‘Yes sir. They’re in my room.’

‘Good. And that reminds me, Gunther. You’ll need a suitable space from which to conduct your investigations. You can use the Morning Room. See to it will you, Captain Pomme?’

‘Yes, Herr General.’

‘Pomme will be your liaison officer for the inquiry. For SD, SS, Gestapo or military matters, go through him. Anything else speak to Kritzinger. Come to think of it, he’s the real Lower Castle expert, not von Neurath.’

Kritzinger bowed his head in Heydrich’s direction.

General Jury appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily. He was perspiring and looked pale, as if he really did have a severe hangover. He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh.

‘Ah, Jury, you’re here.’

Heydrich was trying to keep the smirk out of his voice but without success; it was obvious that he was enjoying the other general’s hangover as another man might have taken pleasure at watching someone slip on a banana skin.

‘What else would you like to know about the Captain?’ Jury asked biliously. ‘Beyond the fact that he’s dead and that there appears to be a gunshot wound in his abdomen, I can tell you very little, without examining his body in the morgue. And it’s been many years since I did that kind of thing.’

‘What made you think it was a gunshot wound?’ I asked. ‘Rather than a knife wound?’

‘There’s what looks like a neat bullet hole in his shirt,’ explained Jury. ‘Not to mention a neat hole on his body. And yet there’s very little blood on the Captain’s torso. Or for that matter, elsewhere. It’s rare in my experience that a man who is stabbed doesn’t bleed more. I saw no blood on the floor or the bed. But it was only an educated guess. And I could yet turn out to be wrong.’

‘No, I think you’re right,’ I said. ‘He was shot all right.’

‘Well then, Commissar,’ he said stiffly. ‘I fail to see the need for the question. Indeed, I’m inclined to consider it impertinent. I am a doctor, after all.’

I decided to let Jury have it between his oyster eyes. In his present, crapulous state — assuming it was for real — he was weak and vulnerable and it might take a while to find him like that again. Besides, I thought it important that I make a very early test of Heydrich’s declaration that I enjoyed his full confidence and that he didn’t care what I asked or indeed who I upset, just as long as I solved the case. If Heydrich stood by and let me bully General Jury then it would surely send out an early message to other senior officers in the Lower Castle that I was to be taken seriously.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘You’re a doctor. But that doesn’t mean you didn’t kill him. Did you kill him?’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘You heard me, Doctor Jury. Was it you who shot Captain Kuttner?’

‘If that’s your idea of a joke, Commissar Gunther, then kindly take note of the fact that no one in this room is laughing. Including myself.’

This wasn’t quite true. Heydrich was smiling, almost as if he approved of me putting Jury on the spot in this way, which at least told me he was serious about my investigating the murder.

‘I can assure you it’s no joke, sir. Yesterday afternoon, when we talked on the road up to the Upper Castle, you told me that you hated Captain Kuttner.’

‘Nonsense,’ spluttered Jury.

‘You told me you thought he was a cunt. And that you detested him. That was before you went on to describe Captain Kuttner as General Heydrich’s golem.’

Jury coloured with embarrassment.

‘Golem,’ said Heydrich. ‘That’s an interesting choice of words. Remind me, Gunther. What exactly is a golem?’

‘A sort of creature created long ago by a local Jewish mystic called Rabbi Loew, sir. To do his bidding on behalf of Prague’s Jews.’

Jury was still protesting his innocence, but, for the moment, Heydrich ignored him.

‘If Captain Kuttner was the golem, then I suppose that makes me comparable to this Jewish mystic. Rabbi Loew.’

‘That was certainly my impression, sir.’

‘General Heydrich, sir,’ said Jury. ‘I can assure you that I meant nothing of the sort. Commissar Gunther is entirely mistaken. In no way did I mean to compare you to — that person.’

‘Leaving that aside for a moment,’ I said, roughly. ‘Why did you detest Captain Kuttner?’

Jury advanced on Heydrich. Though I was the one asking the questions, all of his answers were directed, a little desperately, at the Reichsprotector.

‘It was an entirely private matter,’ he insisted. ‘And nothing at all to do with the Captain’s death. It’s true I did dislike the man. However, if the Commissar is suggesting that it was a reason for killing him then I really must protest.’

‘A man has been murdered,’ I said. ‘An officer of the SS, in circumstances that compel investigation, regardless of personal feelings. I’m afraid there is no such thing as a private matter in a situation like this, General Jury. You know that as well as anyone else. This is now a criminal investigation and I’ll decide if your reason was sufficient reason to kill him.’

‘And who made you judge and jury, Captain?’ demanded the doctor.

‘I did,’ said Heydrich. ‘Commissar Gunther is one of the most competent detectives in Kripo, with an admirable forensic record. He is only doing the job that I have asked him to do. And doing it rather bravely, I think.’

‘Can I see your gun, Doctor Jury?’

‘What?’

‘Your pistol, sir. I notice you’re wearing it, this morning. May I examine it, sir?’

Jury glanced at Heydrich, who nodded firmly.

‘I’m not sure why I put on my belts this morning,’ he muttered. ‘I suppose it was because I was suddenly roused from sleep by Captain Pomme. I mean, I wouldn’t normally-’

He unbuttoned his holster and handed over the Walther P38, standard issue for most SS officers unless, like me, they were anything to do with the criminal police, in which case they were given the PPK. He checked the safety, ejected the magazine quickly, and placed both in my hands. It was an impressively competent display for a man who was a doctor and an SS bureaucrat.

I inspected the breech, which was empty, sniffed the barrel, and then glanced at the single-stack magazine in the palm of my hand.

‘Only three rounds,’ I said. ‘And it’s been fired. Recently.’

‘Yes. I did some shooting practice with my gun yesterday afternoon. In the woods near the Upper Castle. It was just to keep my hand in. It’s my belief that one cannot be too careful, what with all these Czech terrorists from UVOD running around.’

‘And are you a good shot, sir?’

‘No. Not good. Competent, perhaps.’

I nodded at Kuttner’s body. ‘Obviously we won’t know the kind of gun that was used to kill the Captain until a postmortem has been performed. However, I’m afraid I will have to keep your weapon for now, sir.’

‘Is that really necessary?’

‘Yes. I may need to try to match the bullet that killed Captain Kuttner with a bullet fired from your gun. What were you using for target practice yesterday?’

‘Songbirds. Pigeons.’

‘Hit anything?’