Philip Kerr - Prussian Blue

“What’s your name, handsome?” she asked.

“My name’s Gunther. Bernhard Gunther. And this is Captain Kaspel, from the RSD.”

“That’s a relief. I thought it must be a cowboy. What was the shooting about, cowboy?”

“Martin Bormann sent me,” I said. “Your clients were very impatient for your company and didn’t seem to understand that I’m not accustomed to waiting in line. I felt it was all the explanation I owed them.” I shrugged. “They’re outside, in their truck. I told them to wait an hour.”

“Thoughtful of you, I’m sure.” She lit a cigarette and blew some of the smoke my way, which was generous. “They’ve been a bit cranky since the local supply of Pervitin dried up. That’s the local drug of choice. Poor man’s cocaine, if you ask me.”

“So I hear.”

“If you’re here from Martin Bormann, then I assume Flex must not be coming. Besides, he’s usually here by now with the hand out for his lordship’s share.”

“Dr. Flex won’t be coming anymore on account of the fact that he’s dead. Someone murdered him. Put a bullet in his head.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. I’ve seen the body. And believe me, it’s not funny at all. Half his head was gone. And his brains were piled on the floor.”

“I see.”

The woman said no more about Flex’s death, and her expression gave away nothing. It seemed she wasn’t going to miss him very much. I’d yet to meet anyone who was.

“Tall, aren’t you? Almost as tall as Flex.”

“I was a lot shorter until I started working for the deputy chief of staff. Couple of weeks ago I was carrying a pickax, looking out for six brothers and answering to the name of Grumpy.”

“That happens a lot around here. But you’re thinking of Doc, aren’t you? Grumpy just scowled a lot and looked out for himself.”

“Like I said, Doc’s dead. Besides, I’m not that clever. Just the one with the biggest nose and the worst temper.”

“I’ve seen worse. As you’ve already discovered, some of these local dwarves like to play rough. But I can usually take care of it.” She lifted her gilet a few centimeters and let me catch sight of a little automatic she was keeping warm under there. “You see? I make an excellent wicked stepmother when the need arises.”

“I’ll bet you do,” said Kaspel.

“He’s not as nice as you,” she told me. “I expect it’s the uniform.”

I shrugged. “Captain Kaspel? He always tells the truth, I’m afraid. Just like the slave of the magic mirror. So be careful what you ask him. You might not like the answer, your majesty.”

“Am I supposed to pay you from now on? Do tell.”

“I’m not here to discuss the new arrangements. Frau?”

“Lola,” she said. “They call me naughty Lola. Like Marlene Dietrich, you know?”

But there the similarity ended. I nodded all the same, hardly wanting to earn her displeasure by laughing in her face, which looked like a wax orange, there was so much paint covering it. On the way to some information there was still room for a bit of common courtesy and good manners, especially after pulling a gun on her customers and making free with Bormann’s name like some pompous Party official. Surrounded by so much ruthless efficiency in the name of the Leader, it now fell to someone like me to try to redress that balance. Perhaps. I shot Kaspel a look, hoping to dampen his contempt. Maybe Lola wasn’t the fairest of them all but she was still the queen of the hut and I needed her talking.

“Sure,” I said. “I know. The Blue Angel is one of my favorites.”

“Then you’re in the right place, Herr Gunther. Maybe I’ll come sit on your knee and sing you a nice song, if you’re a good boy.”

I managed not to laugh at that one, too, but Kaspel was finding it harder to keep a straight face. I needed to get rid of him, and quickly, before he could upset her. Outside the grimy window it had started snowing again. Undeterred, the four P&Z workers were still awaiting our departure. A part of me was already feeling sorry for all the girls who were trapped in this awful love hut in the forest. At least Snow White never had to sleep with the seven dwarves. Not in the version I’d read, anyway.

“Can we talk somewhere in private?” I asked her.

“You’d better come into my office.”

“Captain Kaspel,” I said, “would you mind keeping an eye on the car? I wouldn’t put it past those bastards in the truck to do something to our tires.”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“Please.”

He frowned for a moment, probably considered arguing about it, and then remembered the inflexible reputation of the man who had sent me down to Berchtesgaden in the first place. “All right,” he said, and went outside.

Lola led me into a room with a bed, a shower, and a toilet, and closed the door. There were some religious prints on the walls and from these and from her accent I concluded that she might be Italian. On the bedside table was a bowlful of Gummis and I supposed she was not above handling a few clients herself, when things were busier. I sat on the only chair; she sat on the bed and finished her cigarette. The office part was probably the metal desk and the filing cabinet by the window. There was even an old candlestick phone. Meanwhile, Kaspel was walking back to the car.

“Sorry about him,” I said. “Von Ribbentrop he’s not.”

“If you mean he’s no diplomat, I’d say that’s true. But then Ribbentrop isn’t much of a diplomat, either. You’re different. Well, let’s just say we could have used you down here back in September, when Chamberlain came to eat Hitler’s shit. Maybe things would have turned out different. Then again, I’m Italian. We like everyone to be happy. That’s why we have Mussolini. He at least seems to enjoy his fascism in a way you Germans don’t.”

“You’ve been in Berchtesgaden for a while, then.”

“About a year. Seems a lot longer, especially when there’s snow on the ground. We get to keep half of what we earn on our backs. Flex used to take the rest, for our room and board, he said. If that’s what you can call this dump. I hope you’re not here to renegotiate that rate.”

“No, I’m not here to renegotiate anything. Look, Lola, I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I’m a police commissar from Berlin. A detective. I’ve come down here to investigate the murder of Dr. Flex. And I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

“Beyond the fact that I’m glad he’s dead, I don’t know what to tell you, Herr Commissar. Karl Flex was a chiseling son of a bitch and deserved that bullet. I just hope he didn’t suffer — for any length of time shorter than several hours.”

“Those are strong words, Lola. And, if you’ll take my advice, perhaps best moderated, given who he worked for.”

“I don’t care. I’ve had enough of this place. You can arrest me and throw me in a cell and I’ll say the same thing. But of course you won’t because nobody wants to hear what I’ve got to say. In the beginning, when Bormann ordered this place to be built, we were handing over only twenty-five percent. But about three months ago, Flex told us it was now fifty. When I protested he told us to take it up with Bormann if we didn’t like it. Not that we could. We can’t even go into Berchtesgaden. Once we tried it and the locals almost stoned us. Of course, none of us are German, so that makes us easier to spot. And easier to control, too. Flex knew damn well that we didn’t really have any choice but to do whatever he told us. And I do mean whatever he told us.”

“Meaning what — that he enjoyed the favors of some of these girls himself?”