Philip Kerr - Prussian Blue

“What do you think, Johann?”

Colonel Rattenhuber twisted his broad face into a semblance of deep thought. It looked painful, like one of those sixty-four canonical grimaces recorded in marble and bronze by Franz Messerschmidt, and almost as uncomfortable as my own face. But when it finally came, his answer was the most perfect example of Nazi justice that I’d ever heard outside of a novel by Franz Kafka:

“Back in the day, when I was a young copper in Munich, we used to say you’ll find out that everyone’s guilty if you hit him hard enough. In my book, a confession is never, ever to be doubted. Once you’ve got that, it’s up to the damn lawyers. You let them sort it out. It’s what they’re paid for. Perhaps Brandner didn’t do it. Perhaps what happened to Brandner seems coercive and amoral to someone like the commissar. That’s not our problem here. The point is that he could have shot Flex. He certainly fits the profile that the commissar described himself. And that’s what surely counts. So I say we keep him in the bag for now and let Commissar Gunther carry on his investigation for a while longer. To see if he can’t find someone who’s a better fit, the way he says. And if he doesn’t, well then we can all say we have done our duty and we have someone in custody who deserves to be there. Because make no mistake, this fellow is guilty of something, otherwise we wouldn’t have sent him to Dachau in the first place. Frankly, I think perhaps the commissar is in danger of losing sight of the main picture. In a perfect world it would be nice to catch the culprit and be absolutely one hundred percent sure about that. But as I’m sure he will agree, such a thing rarely ever happens in police work. And in the real world we sometimes have to do what is pragmatic. I believe it’s more important that the Leader is completely reassured than that we are completely satisfied that Brandner is our man.”

I was beginning to see how Rattenhuber had made colonel. And Bormann seemed to appreciate this argument. He was nodding.

“I like your thinking, Johann,” he said. “I knew there was a reason why you were in charge of the RSD. Because you think the right way. The practical way. Hitler’s way. So that’s decided. We’ll keep this man Brandner on ice but meanwhile we’ll let the commissar carry on working diligently toward a different outcome, if that’s possible. But given the circumstances we ought to have some sort of time limit on his detective work. Yes, I think that would be best. You have twenty-four hours to find a better candidate than the one we have now. Is that clear, Commissar? After that we’ll have to assume it was Brandner who shot Flex and act accordingly.”

“Yes, sir. This is your mountain. And I’m under your orders. But back in Berlin? Well, let’s just say I’m not sure what I’ll be able to say if Himmler and Heydrich ever ask me about this particular case. And the fact is that you’re too smart not to know that Karl Flex was shot because he worked for you. I’m sorry to say this to you, sir, but it’s my impression that around these parts you’re hated even more than he was. Which means that next time the assassin — the real assassin — might be more ambitious in his choice of targets. The next time he might take a potshot at you.”

Bormann stood up slowly and came round the desk to face me and instinctively I stood. His whole head was beginning to turn red with anger, which must have pleased Högl. He was a powerful-looking man with pink hands that were quickly becoming white fists.

“Will you listen to this bastard?” he asked Rattenhuber and Högl. “Talking to me like I was just some Fritz who’d walked off the street and into the Alex for help. Me. You should have sewed up your fucking mouth, Gunther, when you tied up your jaw like a Christmas pudding.”

The National leader took hold of my tie — the one around my neck — and pulled me to his level until I was close enough to smell the cigarette on his breath. That would have been bad enough, but he now produced a Mauser automatic from the pocket of his tunic and pressed it hard against my swollen cheek.

“You’ll say what I fucking well tell you to say, Gunther. Is that clear? I have Adolf Hitler’s ear, which means I own the fucking police in this country. So you’d best forget any noble ideas you might have about German jurisprudence. Adolf Hitler’s the law now; and I’m his judge and jury. You got that? And if I hear you’ve so much as hinted to that slippery Jew bastard Heydrich that things are any different from what I’ve said, then I’ll have you in a fucking concentration camp so quick you’ll think you were the last yid in Berlin. I’ll break your jaw into ten pieces, make you swallow them, and then hang you with that necktie. You take your orders from me, you fucking pig hound.”

I was alarmed to hear myself answer back. There was just half a chance in a hundred that this wasn’t a mistake. And anyway, I was so tired I’d stopped caring very much about what happened to me. I needed some more magic potion, and fast. But only if I stayed alive.

“In my experience most people want to know when someone’s out to kill them,” I said, swallowing my fear. “But I guess you’re just braver than most people. Maybe that’s not such a surprise. With the RSD and the SS to protect you, sir, you must be the second-best-protected man in Germany. And the terrace in front of the Berghof must be the most secure place in the whole German Reich. At least it was before Karl Flex was shot dead. They say lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice, but I say, why take a chance?”

For a moment I thought Bormann was going to hit me. But then he stepped back, smiled, relaxed his grip on my tie, and even started to straighten it for me, as if he now remembered who the tie had belonged to. I’d seen psychopaths behave in similar fashion and it was plain to see why Hitler kept him around; Bormann was fascism incarnate, carrot and stick on the same black lanyard. He could just as easily have been a crime boss as a senior member of the German government, although, in my estimation, there was little difference between the two. Germany was in the grip of a gang just as ruthless as Al Capone’s Chicago Outfit. Bormann even looked like Capone.

“I hear what you say,” he said, pocketing the Mauser again. “Maybe the real assassin is still out there. Maybe Flex was shot because he was working for me. Hey, I know I’m not liked up here. These fucking Bavarians are not as smart as us Prussians, Gunther. They have no idea what’s necessary and what isn’t.” He paused. “You know, it took a lot of guts to say that to my face, Gunther. I’m beginning to see why that horse-faced Jew Heydrich keeps you on his key chain. Maybe you’re even as good as he says you are and you really can find the Fritz who shot Karl Flex. But until then we’re keeping Brandner in the cells. For the Leader’s peace of mind, like Colonel Rattenhuber here says. And you know what? If he is innocent, then he’s relying on you every bit as much as the Leader is. Because if you don’t find someone else to put on a charge sheet, I’m going to have him shot. Just like those other two clowns from Linz. And not because Heydrich said so. But because I don’t like anyone who thinks they can come up here to the Leader’s Territory without my permission and arrest people who are working for me. So you can forget that fucking telex you wanted to send to Heydrich, Gunther. There’s to be no mercy for them. They’ll be shot first thing in the morning as soon as I’ve had my breakfast and there’s the end of it. I want you there to see it, too. As for Kaltenbrunner, I can promise you and Heydrich that he will get the sharp edge of my tongue when next I see him. Don’t you worry about that.”