Jeffery Deaver - Garden Of Beasts

Together, they walked out the door.

After they had gone Janssen frowned and said, “Sir, how can you let him go? Did you believe his story?”

“Some of it. Enough to allow me to release him temporarily.” Kohl explained to the inspector candidate his concerns: He believed that the killing here had been in self-defense. And it did indeed appear that Taggert was the killer of Reginald Morgan. But there remained unanswered questions. If they had been in any other country, Kohl would have detained Schumann until he verified everything. But he knew that if he now ordered the man held while he investigated further, the Gestapo would peremptorily declare the American to be the guilty “foreigner” Himmler wanted and he’d be in Moabit Prison or Oranienburg camp by nightfall.

“Not only would a man die for a crime he probably did not commit but the case will be declared closed and we’ll never find the complete truth – which is, of course, the whole point of our job.”

“But shouldn’t I at least follow him?”

Kohl sighed. “Janssen, how many criminals have we ever apprehended by following them? What do they say in the American crime shockers? ‘Shadowing’?”

“Well, none, I would guess, but-”

“So we will leave that to fictional detectives. We know where we can find him.”

“But the Metropol is a huge hotel with many exits. He could escape from us easily there.”

“That does not interest us, Janssen. We’ll continue to look into Mr. Schumann’s role in this drama shortly. Our priority now, though, is to examine the room here carefully… Ach, congratulations, Inspector Candidate.”

“Why is that, sir?”

“You have solved the Dresden Alley murder.” He nodded toward the body. “And, what’s more, the perpetrator is dead; we need not be inconvenienced by a trial.”

Accompanied by an SS bodyguard, Colonel Reinhard Ernst had taken Rudy back home to Charlottenburg. He was grateful for the boy’s young age; the child hadn’t completely understood the peril at the stadium. The grim faces of the men, the urgency in the pressroom and the fast drive away from the complex had been troubling to him, but he could not fathom the significance of the events. All he knew was that his Opa had fallen and hurt himself slightly, even though his grandfather had made light of the “adventure,” as he called it.

The highlights of the afternoon for the boy, in fact, had not been the magnificent stadium, nor meeting some of the most powerful men in the world, nor the alarm over the assassin. It had been the dogs; Rudy now wanted one himself, preferably two. He talked endlessly about the animals.

“Construction everywhere,” Ernst muttered to Gertrud. “I’ve ruined my suit.”

True, she wasn’t pleased but she was more troubled that he’d taken a fall. She examined his head closely. “You have a bump. You must be more careful, Reinie. I’ll bring you ice for it.”

He hated to be less than honest with her. But he simply would not tell her that he’d been the target of an assassin. If she’d learned that, she would implore him to stay home, no, insist. And he would have to refuse, as he rarely did with his wife. Hitler may have buried himself beneath corpses during the November ’23 rebellion to remain out of harm’s way, but Ernst would never avoid an enemy when his duty required otherwise.

Under different circumstances, yes, he might have remained home for a day or two until the assassin was found, which surely he would be, now that the great mechanism of the Gestapo, SD and SS was in motion. But Ernst had a vital matter to attend to today: conducting the tests at the college with Doctor-professor Keitel and preparing the memo about the Waltham Study for the Leader.

He now asked to have the housekeeper bring him some coffee, bread and sausage in the den.

“But Reinie,” Gertrud said, exasperated, “it’s Sunday. The goose…”

Afternoon meals on the day of rest were a long tradition in the Ernst household, not to be broken if at all possible.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I have no choice. Next week I will spend the entire weekend with you and the family.”

He walked into the den and sat at his desk, then began jotting notes.

Ten minutes later Gertrud herself appeared, carrying a large tray.

“I won’t have you eating a coarse meal,” she said, lifting the cloth off the tray.

He smiled and looked over the huge plate of roast goose with orange marmalade, cabbage, boiled potatoes and green beans with cardamon. He rose and kissed her on the cheek. She left him and, as he ate, without much appetite, he began to peck out a draft of the memo on his typewriter.

HIGHEST CONFIDENTIALITY

Adolf Hitler,

Leader, State Chancellor and President of the German

Nation and Commander of the Armed Forces

Field Marshal Werner von Blomberg,

State Minister of Defense

My Leader and my Minister:

You have asked for details of the Waltham Study being conducted by myself and Doctor-Professor Ludwig Keitel of Waltham Military College. I am pleased to describe the nature of the study and the results so far.

This study arises out of my instructions from you to make ready the German armed forces and to help them achieve most expeditiously the goals of our great nation, as you have set forth.

He paused and organized his thoughts. What to share and what not to share?

A half hour later he finished the page-and-a-half document, made a few penciled corrections. This draft would do for now. He would have Keitel read the document as well and make corrections, then Ernst would retype the final version tonight and personally deliver it to the Leader tomorrow. He wrote a note to Keitel asking for his comments and clipped it to the draft.

Carrying the tray downstairs, he said good-bye to Gertrud then left. Hitler had insisted that guards be stationed outside his house, at least until the assassin was caught. Ernst had no objection to this but he now asked that they remain out of sight so as not to alarm his family. He also acquiesced to the Leader’s demand that he not drive himself in his open Mercedes, as he preferred, but be driven in a closed auto by an armed SS bodyguard.

They drove first to Columbia House, at Tempelhof. The driver climbed out and looked around to make sure the entry area was safe. He walked to the other two guards, stationed in front of the door, spoke with them and they looked around too, though Ernst couldn’t imagine anyone being so foolish as to attempt an assassination in front of an SS detention center. After a moment they waved and Ernst climbed out of the car. He stepped through the front door and was led down the stairs, through several locked doors, and then into the cell area.

Walking down the long hallway again, hot and dank, stinking of urine and shit. What a disgusting way to treat people, he thought. The British, American and French soldiers he’d captured during the War had been treated with respect. Ernst had saluted the officers, chatted with the enlisted men, made sure they were warm and dry and fed. He now felt a burst of contempt for the brown-uniformed jailer who accompanied him down the corridor, softly whistling the “Horst Wessel Song” and occasionally banging on bars with his truncheon, simply to frighten the prisoners.

When they came to a cell three-quarters of the way down the corridor Ernst stopped, looked inside, his skin itching in the heat.

The two Fischer brothers were drenched with sweat. They were frightened, of course – everyone was frightened in this terrible place – but he saw something else in their eyes: youthful defiance.

Ernst was disappointed. The look told him they were going to reject his offer: They’d chosen a spell in Oranienburg? He’d thought for certain that Kurt and Hans would agree to participate in the Waltham Study. They would have been perfect.