Philip Kerr - Prague Fatale

‘So, what do you make of it, sir?’

‘Bloody fool,’ I muttered.

‘How’s that, sir?’

‘Heydrich. The way he drives around the city like he’s invulnerable. Like Achilles. As if daring the poor bastards to come and have a go.’

‘The Czechos are just mad enough to do it, too.’

‘You think so?’

Kahlo nodded.

‘How long have you been in Prague?’

‘Long enough to know that the Czechos have got guts. More than we like to give them credit for.’

‘Kurt, isn’t it?’

Kahlo nodded.

‘Where are you from, Kurt?’

‘Mannheim, sir.’

‘How did you become a cop?’

‘I’m not exactly sure. My dad was a car-worker at the Daimler-Benz factory. But I never much fancied being stuck in a factory myself. He wanted me to become a lawyer, only I wasn’t clever enough, so becoming a cop seemed like the next best thing.’

‘So what do you make of it?’

‘It’s a puzzle, sir. A man is found shot dead inside a first-floor bedroom that’s locked from the inside. The windows are bolted and there’s no murder weapon present. Down the corridor there’s a spent nine-millimetre Parabellum round on the floor, so clearly a gun was fired at some time between the hours of midnight and, say, five o’clock this morning. And yet you’d also expect someone to have remarked on that, because a P38 wasn’t picked as the Army’s choice of firearm because it’s so bloody quiet. They can’t all have been so pissed they didn’t hear anything. The staff weren’t pissed. Not with Kritzinger in charge. Why didn’t they hear something? And not just a gunshot, either. I can’t imagine Kuttner standing on the landing upstairs and saying nothing as someone is about to shoot him. Me I’d have shouted “Help” or “Don’t shoot”, or something like that.’

‘I agree.’

‘Kuttner was under the influence of a sleeping pill,’ he said. ‘Maybe he didn’t realize quite how much peril he was in. Maybe it was dark and he didn’t see the gun. Maybe he was shot outside and because he was drugged he didn’t realize the severity of his injury. So he comes back in the house, goes back to his room, locks the door, lies down, and dies. Maybe.’

I shook my head. ‘You’ve got more maybes there than Fritz bloody Lang.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘Frankly, I wouldn’t know where to start with this one, sir. However, I’m keen to learn from someone who does, such as you. That is, if General Heydrich is to be believed. Anyway, you have my full cooperation, sir. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it, with no questions asked.’

‘Questions are good, Kurt. It’s obedience I have a problem with. In particular, my own.’

Kahlo grinned. ‘Then I think yours should be an interesting career, sir.’

I opened Kuttner’s SD file and glanced over the details of the dead man’s short life.

‘Albert Kuttner was from Halle-an-der-Saale. Interesting.’

‘Is it? I can’t say I know the place.’

‘What I mean is, Halle is where Heydrich is from.’

‘So he could be taking this personally.’

‘Yes. True. Kuttner was born in 1911. That makes him seven years younger than Heydrich. His father was a Protestant pastor at a local church. But instead of pursuing a career in the Church, or in the Navy — like his boss-’

‘Heydrich was in the Navy? I didn’t know that.’

‘It’s said he got kicked out of it for conduct unbecoming when he knocked up some admiral’s daughter. But don’t tell anyone I said so.’

‘This admiral’s daughter. Is that the present Frau Heydrich?’

‘No. It’s not.’

‘So he is human, after all.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

‘Kuttner studied law at the Martin Luther University of Halle-Wittenberg and the Humboldt University of Berlin, where it seems he was a brilliant student. He received his doctor of laws in 1935 and worked for the ministries of justice and the interior before joining the SD.’

‘So far, so predictable.’

‘Hmm. Near the top of his class in officer school. Highly praised by everyone who assessed him; he was being groomed for one of the top jobs in Berlin. In May this year he was transferred to the Einsatzgruppen and ordered to Pretzsch, where he was assigned to Group A and sent east. Nothing unusual about that. Lots of decent men have been sent east. Decent men and some lawyers. On June 23rd he and the group were ordered to proceed to Riga, in Latvia, to help with “the resettlement of the indigenous Jewish population”.’

‘Resettlement. Yes, I know what that entails.’

‘Good. It will save me having to explain the distinction between “resettlement” and “mass murder”.’

‘Am I to assume that your appreciation of the distinction is based on personal experience, sir?’

‘You are. But please don’t assume that I did a good job. There are no good jobs out east. Albert Kuttner didn’t take to his work any more than I did. Which is why he felt guilty. Like me. And why he wasn’t sleeping.’

‘Thus the Veronal in his room.’

I turned the page in Kuttner’s file and read on a little before speaking again.

‘That guilt appears to have manifested itself for the first time just three weeks into his tour of Latvia when he put in for a transfer to the Army. But the request was refused by his commander, Major Rudolf Lange. Well, that hardly surprises me. I knew Rudolf Lange when he was with the Berlin police. The cat never stops catching mice. He was a bastard then and he’s a bastard now. Reason given for refusal of request for transfer: personnel shortages. But a week later he puts in for another transfer. This time he’s given an official reprimand. For conduct likely to damage morale.’

‘It’s a dirty job so someone has to do it, right?’

‘Something like that, I suppose.’

I turned another page in Kuttner’s file.

‘By August however, Albert is back in Berlin facing a disciplinary inquiry. It seems he threatened a superior officer with a pistol — it doesn’t say who, but I hope it was Lange, I’ve often wanted to stick a gun in that fat fucker’s face. Kuttner’s placed under close arrest, but not close enough because he then attempts suicide. No details on that either. But he’s sent back to Berlin for that disciplinary inquiry. A so-called SS court of honour. Only the disciplinary inquiry is suspended. No reason given.’

‘Do you think Heydrich might have pulled some strings?’

‘That’s what it looks like, because the next thing is that Albert is on the General’s staff in Berlin. Lighting his cigarettes, booking seats at the opera, and fetching coffee.’

‘Now that is a good job,’ said Kahlo.

‘You don’t strike me as an opera fan.’

‘Not the opera. The cigarettes.’ His eyes were on my cigarette. ‘The tobacco ration being what it is.’

‘Sorry.’ I opened my cigarette case. ‘Help yourself.’

Kahlo took one, lit up and then puffed with obvious satisfaction. Holding the cigarette in front of his eyes, like a rare diamond, he grinned happily.

‘I’d forgotten how good a cigarette can taste,’ he said.

‘There’s a page missing from this file,’ I said. ‘In my own SD file there’s a page headed “Personal Remarks”. I’ve only ever seen it upside down but it’s full of things my superiors have said about me like “insubordinate” and “politically unreliable”.’

‘You read good upside down.’ Kahlo grinned. ‘I’m a bit of a beefsteak Nazi myself, sir. Brown on the outside but red in the middle. Although I’m not as rare as my old dad. Being a car-worker he was red all the way.’

‘Mm hmmm.’

I handed Kahlo the file.

‘It’s not much to go on,’ he said, flicking through it.