Philip Kerr - Prussian Blue

“Now, given Kindermann’s connection to Weisthor, I daresay he deserved it,” added Heydrich. “But all the same, it might be awkward if you were to have to explain your own acquaintance with this man to the police in Hannover.”

“When am I leaving?” I asked brightly.

“As soon as our meeting is concluded,” said Heydrich. “One of my men has already been to your apartment and packed some of your personal things. There’s a car waiting downstairs to drive you straight to Bavaria. My own car. It’s faster. You should be there well before midnight.”

“So what’s it all about, sir? You mentioned a murder. Who’s dead? I assume it’s nobody important, otherwise we’d have heard the bad news on the radio this morning.”

“I’m not sure, exactly. Bormann wasn’t too clear about that on the telephone when we spoke earlier. But you’re right, it was nobody important, thank God. A local civil engineer. No, it’s where this person was murdered that makes it important. The victim was shot with a rifle on the terrace of Hitler’s private home in Obersalzberg. The Berghof. The killer, who remains at large, must surely have been aware that the Leader was making a speech in Berlin last night. Which means it’s highly unlikely that this could have been a botched attempt to assassinate Adolf Hitler. But naturally Bormann is worried how this will make him look in the Leader’s eyes. The very fact that anyone could be shot at Hitler’s own home away from home — the one place where he can go to relax and retreat from the cares of state — this will be a matter of great concern to everyone who has anything to do with the Leader’s security, which is why Bormann wants this killer apprehended as soon as possible.

“It’s unthinkable that the Leader could go there until the assassin has been caught. If he’s not caught, this might even cost Bormann his job. Either way it’s a situation which is good for the SD and Kripo. If the murderer isn’t caught, then Martin Bormann will very likely be fired by Hitler, which will please Himmler enormously; and if he is caught, then Bormann will be substantially in my debt.”

“It’s comforting to know that I can’t fail, sir,” I said.

“Let me make one thing quite clear to you, Gunther: Obersalzberg is Martin Bormann’s domain. He controls everything there. But as a detective given the power to ask questions on Hitler’s mountain, you have a perfect opportunity to turn over a few rocks and see what crawls out from underneath. And you will certainly have failed me if you don’t come back here with some dirt on a stick about Martin Bormann. Clear?”

“Clear. How much time do I have?”

“Apparently Hitler plans to visit the Berghof immediately after his birthday,” said Nebe. “So there’s no time to lose.”

“Remind me,” I said. “When is that? I’m not very good at remembering birthdays.”

“April twentieth,” said Nebe patiently.

“What about the local police? Gestapo? Will I be working with them? And if so, who’s in charge? Me or them?”

“The local leather tops have not been informed. For obvious reasons Bormann wants this kept out of the newspapers. You’ll be in sole charge of the investigation. And you’ll report directly to Bormann. At least in principle.”

“I see.”

“Be careful of him,” said Heydrich. “He’s not half as dumb as he looks. Don’t trust the telephones at the Berghof. Life down there isn’t a place for riding miniature ponies. Quite possibly Bormann’s men will be listening to every word you say. I know because it was my men who installed the secret microphones in several of the rooms and all of the guest houses. The telex you can probably rely on; telegrams, too, but not the telephones. Neumann here will accompany you in the car as far as Munich. He’ll explain precisely how you can stay in touch with me. But I already have a spy in the RSD at Obersalzberg. Hermann Kaspel. He’s a good man. Just not very good at finding out things he shouldn’t know about. Unlike you. Anyway, I’ve provided you with a letter of introduction, signed by me. The letter states that he’s to assist you in every way he can.”

I knew Hermann Kaspel. In 1932, I’d helped to get him fired from the police when I found out that he’d been leading an SA troop during his off-duty hours; this after a police sergeant called Friedrich Kuhfeld was murdered by Nazi thugs. We hadn’t been sending each other any Christmas cards since then.

“I’ve heard of the SD, sir,” I confessed. “But I’m not sure what the RSD is.”

“The Leader’s personal security guard. Affiliated to the SD but not under my command. They report directly to Himmler.”

“I’d like to take along my own criminal assistant at the Alex, sir. Friedrich Korsch. He’s a good man. You might remember that he was very helpful with the Weisthor case last November. If solving this case is as urgent as you say it is, then I might have need of a good criminal assistant. Not to mention someone I can trust. Hermann Kaspel and I have a little bit of ancient history that goes back to his time as a Schupoman, before the government of von Papen. In 1932, he was the leader of a Nazi cell at Station 87 here in Berlin, which was a matter about which we disagreed.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” said Heydrich. “But you can rest assured. Whatever feelings of antipathy you might have for each other, Kaspel will carry out my instructions to the letter.”

“All the same, sir. Korsch is a proper detective. A bull with a good head on his shoulders. And two heads are better than one with an urgent case like this.”

He glanced at Nebe who nodded back. “I know Korsch,” said Nebe. “He’s a bit of a thug, but still, a Party member. Might make inspector one day. But he’ll never make commissar.”

“Bormann won’t like it,” said Heydrich, “and you may have to persuade the deputy chief of staff to let you keep the man, but take him, yes.”

“One more thing, sir,” I said. “Money. I might need some. I know fear is the Gestapo’s proven method. But in my experience a bit of cash works better than the Offenburg hot stool. It helps to loosen tongues when people get a smell of it. Especially when you’re trying to work discreetly. Besides, it’s easier to carry money about than instruments of torture.”

Heydrich nodded. “All right, but I want receipts. Lots of receipts. And names. If you bribe anyone I shall want to know who, so I can use them again.”

“Of course.”

Heydrich looked at Nebe. “Is there anything else we need to tell him, Arthur?”

“Yes. Kaltenbrunner.”

“Oh yes. Ernst Kaltenbrunner. We mustn’t forget him.”

I shook my head. This was another name I hadn’t heard before.

“Nominally at least, he’s the head of the SS and the police in Austria,” explained Nebe. “He’s also a member of the Reichstag. It seems he has a weekend home in Berchtesgaden, just down the hill from Obersalzberg. Neumann will provide you with the address.”

“It’s nothing more than a crude attempt to put himself within the Leader’s inner circle,” said Heydrich. “Nevertheless I should like to know more about what that lard-assed subaltern is up to. Let me explain. Until recently Kaltenbrunner and some others were trying to create an island of governmental autonomy in Austria. That could not be allowed. Austria is soon to disappear altogether as a political concept. Practically, all key police functions have already been brought under the control of this office. Two men loyal to me — Franz Huber and Friedrich Polte — have been appointed as Gestapo and SD leaders in Vienna, but it remains doubtful if Kaltenbrunner has quite accepted this new administrative reality. In fact, I’m more or less certain he hasn’t. So his influence in Austria requires that he be subject to constant scrutiny. Even when he’s in Germany.”