Philip Kerr - Prussian Blue

“That’s correct.”

“I thought there would be more of you out there. According to my list there were twelve people on that terrace yesterday morning. Including the dead man. And yet there are only eight people here at the Berghof today.”

“Professor Fich, the architect — I believe he had to go to Munich to meet with Dr. Todt and Dr. Bouhler. As did Professor Michaelis.”

I shrugged. “How is it that people feel they can absent themselves so quickly from a murder investigation?”

“You’d have to ask them. And if you’ll forgive me for saying so, I’m not sure what else I can add to the statement I made to Captain Kaspel yesterday.”

In spite of his uniform he seemed uncertain of himself. He didn’t even pour himself a coffee.

“Probably not much,” I said. “Only your statement was about what happened. What you saw. I’m more interested to hear what the meeting was all about. Martin Bormann was rather vague about that. All these very well-qualified engineers meeting up at the Berghof. I’m sure there must have been something of real importance that brought you all together. And I’d also like to hear more about Dr. Flex.”

The state engineer looked thoughtful for a moment and played with a rather scabby-looking earlobe that he’d clearly worried before.

“So,” I said. “What was the purpose of the meeting?”

“It’s a regular meeting. Once a month.”

“And is this meeting well-known about, generally?”

“There’s nothing secret about it. In order to accomplish the transformation of the Obersalzberg in accordance with Herr Bormann’s wishes, it’s necessary that from time to time we meet to review the progress of construction work. For example, there’s the construction of the new Platterhof Hotel, which has required the demolition of almost fifty old houses. Also the construction of new technical installations, such as an electricity supply station. The current from Berchtesgaden has proved to be unreliable. At present we are laying new electrical and telephone cables in the area, widening access roads, and digging new access tunnels. This requires skilled workers of course—”

“I’d like to take a look at this work sometime,” I said.

“You’ll have to ask Bormann,” said Michahelles. “Some of the work is for the security of the Leader and therefore secret. I should need to see something in writing and signed by him in order to answer a question like that.”

“So it’s military then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“All right. That’s fair enough. I will ask Bormann. So tell me about Dr. Flex, instead. Did you know him well?”

“No, not well.”

“Can you think of a reason why anyone would want to kill him? Any reason at all?”

“Frankly, no.”

“Really?”

Michahelles shook his head.

“You know it’s strange, Herr Michahelles, I’ve been here in Obersalzberg for less than ten hours. And yet I’ve already heard that Karl Flex was one of the most unpopular men in the Bavarian Alps.”

“I wouldn’t know. But you’re speaking to the wrong person.”

“So who should I be speaking to? Ludwig Gross? Otto Staub? Walter Dimroth? Hans Haupner? Bruno Schenk? Hanussen the clairvoyant? Who? Give me a clue. I’m supposed to solve a murder here. If everyone on this damn list is as uninformative as you, that might take a while. For obvious reasons I’d like to be gone before summer.”

“I don’t mean to be unhelpful, Commissar Gunther. The two men who worked most closely with him and knew him best were Hans Haupner and Bruno Schenk. Schenk’s the first administrator and had worked closely with Flex. I’m sure he could tell you more than I can.”

“That wouldn’t be difficult.”

Michahelles shrugged, and suddenly I was having a hard job holding on to my temper, although quite possibly that was the magic potion kicking in again. My heart was already working like it was being paid treble-time.

“A busy man, is he? Dr. Schenk.”

“I should say so, yes. He’s what we call the fire brigade man for sensitive situations involving local construction work.”

“Let’s talk about you, Herr Michahelles. Are you popular in Berchtesgaden?”

“I have no idea.”

“Is it possible that someone would like to kill you, too? I mean, apart from me. Like someone who used to own one of those fifty houses you mentioned just now. The ones that were demolished.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Has anyone ever threatened you? Perhaps even told you they were going to shoot you?”

“No.”

I spread the four spent bullets across the tablecloth like a waiter’s crummy tip. “You see these? These are four bullets we found in the woodwork of the balcony immediately above the terrace. So it’s just possible the gunman took a shot at you, too. Maybe more than one. And missed. How about it?”

“No, I’m sure there isn’t anyone.”

“I hope you’re right, August. You’re a brainy fellow, I can tell. And I’d hate to see those brains end up on someone’s floor like Karl Flex’s, just because you couldn’t quite bring yourself to tell me if there’s anyone you know who’d like to kill you, too. If the shooter did try to murder you, then he might try again, you know.”

“Is that all?” he said stiffly.

“Yes, that’s all. Oh, ask Dr. Schenk if he’d mind coming in here next, would you?”

Bruno Schenk was about forty years old with a high forehead and an even higher manner. He wore a gray suit, a neat white shirt and collar, and a tie with a Party pin. He wasn’t much taller than his walking stick but he was the section head of Polensky & Zöllner, with responsibility, he quickly informed me, for building all of the connecting roads between the Kehlstein and Berchtesgaden, which made him feel taller, I suppose.

“I hope this won’t take too long,” he added to the pompous sum total of that. “I’m a busy man.”

“Oh, I know. And I appreciate you coming here to help me out with my questions.”

“What do you want to know, Commissar?”

“P&Z. That must be a rich company by now with all this construction work. Paid for by the state, I believe.”

“P&Z. Sager & Woerner. Danneberg & Quandt. Umstaetter. Reck brothers. Höchtl & Sauer. Hochtief. Philipp Holzmann. There are more companies contracted to do work here by the Obersalzberg Administration than you could possibly imagine, Commissar. And more work than anyone might reasonably conceive.”

I could tell that I was supposed to be impressed by all that. I wasn’t.

“As first administrator, you must be an important man.”

“I enjoy the confidence of the deputy chief of staff in all matters affecting building development on the mountain, that’s true. Between Martin Bormann and myself there’s only the chief administrator, Dr. Reinhardt, who’s tasked with more responsibility.”

Schenk’s voice and his grammar were no less correct than his appearance and most of the time he didn’t even look at me, as if I were beneath his influence and concern. Instead he turned his coffee cup on its saucer, one way and then the other as if he wasn’t sure which way the handle should face — toward him, or toward me — a bit like a snake trying to decide where it should park its rattle. He didn’t know it yet but he was looking for a slap.

“So tell me about the work,” I said. “I’m interested.”

“Perhaps another time,” he said. “But today’s my birthday. I have a number of appointments to keep before an important luncheon date. With my wife.”

“Congratulations,” I said. “How old are you anyway?”

“Forty.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you look older.”