Philip Kerr - Prussian Blue

“I can only say this,” she said. “That Hitler is no ordinary man.”

“That much is obvious. There’s nothing very ordinary about a man who owns a rug that costs fifty thousand reichsmarks. But this is the only thing that’s obvious right now. This and the fact that Flex was clearly taking money from people listed in his ledger as employed by P&Z and Sager, who don’t actually seem to have been employed by P&Z and Sager. At least none who can show any normal employment record. And the trouble with this is that when someone has a job that doesn’t exist it’s only a racket if they’re being paid for that job. According to these files they’re not. I hate to say this but on the face of things, you’re right. There’s no obvious sign of criminality in these records. Clearly we’re missing something. But I don’t know what it is.”

“Let’s take a break,” said Gerdy. “I’m tired. I don’t have the stamina for this that you do. I’m just a designer, not a cop. I think you need an accountant.”

I followed her into the kitchen, where she filled a glass Silex with coffee and water and put it on the big gas stove. On the wall was a print of one of those awful fruit and vegetable portraits that make apples and grapes look like grotesque, erupting skin conditions. This one made me believe it was quite possible I had a marrow for a head and a tomato for a brain. But none of it looked any more ridiculous than having your jaw tied up with a necktie. I was a natural for a picture by one of those artists.

“You’re hoping I’m wrong about all this,” I said. “I can understand that.”

“Look, are you absolutely sure that Johann Brandner is innocent?”

“You have my word on it. When Karl Flex was shot, Brandner was three hundred kilometers away, in a hospital in Nuremberg. He went there suffering from the effects of malnutrition after spending six months in Dachau. Courtesy of Martin Bormann for obstructing the sale of his business premises in Obersalzberg to OA.”

“I remember him,” she said sadly. “When I first came here, I tried to support some of the local businesses by giving them work. He printed some films for me. Pictures my late husband, Paul, took that had never been processed. He certainly didn’t strike me back then as a man capable of murder.”

“I don’t know that he’s capable of anything now that the RSD have knocked him around. They made him sign a confession.”

“Who did that?”

“Rattenhuber. Högl.”

“Yes, they would.” Gerdy Troost frowned. “Look, there is one thing that might be relevant. I don’t know.”

“What?”

“Something Wilhelm Brückner once told me. Something he was a bit angry about — that Martin Bormann had arranged a while back. I’m afraid I’ve only just remembered it.”

“Which was?”

“Brückner’s the kind of man who believes in the army as an idea. Serving in the army and then the Freikorps was the best thing that ever happened to him until he met Hitler. You’ve got to remember that during the war he served in the Bavarian Army with great distinction.”

“And?”

“Well, about a year ago Brückner heard that any kind of work for the Obersalzberg Administration was to be classed as a reserved occupation. It was Bormann’s idea to make sure that all of the OA works proceeded as quickly as possible. It’s what he calls a Leader Priority. In other words, if you work for P&Z, or Sager, or Danneberg, or any of these other local construction companies, this work is classed as being as important as being a coal miner or a worker in a factory making airplanes, and you don’t have to serve in the army. At least for as long as you’re employed by the OA. Of course, Brückner thought that was outrageous and unpatriotic. That it was the duty of every good German to serve his country in the army, and not with a pick and shovel.”

“Tell that to the German Labor Front.”

“Not that he ever said any of this to Martin Bormann. Or Hitler, for that matter. I mean, he couldn’t. Wilhelm may be an SS general and the chief adjutant at the Berghof, but that’s still not enough cauliflower on his lapel to take on Bormann. Besides, ever since his car accident and the affair with Sophie Stork, things haven’t been going that well for poor Wilhelm. Bormann is just looking for an excuse to persuade Hitler to get rid of him. Crossing his lordship is simply not an option. Which reminds me, Gunther. If anything does come of your investigation, would you please make sure that you leave my name out of this? If Hitler finds out that I was behind the fall of his most trusted servant, I’ll be on the first train back to Munich.”

“That isn’t going to be much of a problem. Right now my investigation seems to be turning up absolutely nothing. I feel like the dumbest Fritz in the regiment. When I was in the army that was always the chaplain. In the trenches only the chaplain was dumb enough to believe in the existence of God. Today, well, I suppose it would be anyone who believes there isn’t going to be a war. I sometimes wonder what’s going to happen to all those naïve young men who put on an army uniform with such alacrity. I fear they’re in for a very rude shock. I did my bit, but you know, things were different then. Back in 1914, I think Germany was probably no worse than the Tommies or the Franzis. Now, if there is going to be another war there won’t be any doubt who started it. Not this time.”

“Maybe you’re not as dumb as you look,” she said, tugging playfully at the tie underneath my chin.

“That’s always possible. But I’m feeling a lot dumber than I expected to feel. I was quite sure that I’d have some answers by now. It’s beginning to look as though poor Johann Brandner is doomed to become a lead paperweight after all.”

“Bernie, you can’t allow that to happen.”

“I’m trying my best but I can’t see how even Bormann can take a cut from people for a job they’re not actually paid for.”

“Maybe the pay for the job isn’t the point.”

“That’s what I always tell myself when the Ministry of the Interior sends me my wages every month, but people won’t pay out for what they haven’t had. Even to Nazis.”

“Maybe they will. If there’s something else they’re getting instead of money.”

“Like what? A cup of tea with Hitler once a year?”

“Listen, Gunther, this might sound crazy—”

“Here, in Berchtesgaden? Nothing sounds crazy in a place where they spend thirty million on a lousy tea house. Nietzsche and Mad King Ludwig would feel right at home in this town.”

“You don’t suppose it’s possible that Karl Flex decided to take advantage of this reserved occupation status for OA employees, do you? On Bormann’s instructions, perhaps? To offer young men and their parents a way of avoiding military service in return for money. Could the B next to all these names stand for befreit ? Exempt?”

I thought about this for a moment and smoked another cigarette while she made the coffee. Surely it would have been courting disaster to operate such a scheme. Because it wasn’t just Wilhelm Brückner who regarded being in the army as something almost holy, it was Adolf Hitler, too. He was always running off at the mouth about how the German army had shaped his life and destiny.

“It could,” I said. “But Bormann would be running a hell of a risk, wouldn’t he? If Hitler found out about it.”

Gerdy shook her head. “Hitler isn’t the Lord of Obersalzberg, that’s Martin Bormann. Bormann’s like Cardinal Richelieu, Bernie. And Hitler is like King Louis XIII. The Leader isn’t a man who’s at all interested in details. He’s quite happy to leave everything like that to Bormann. Administration bores him. And Bormann takes advantage of that. The man has a genius for administration. Hitler appreciates that. In which case Bormann might easily feel sufficiently omnipotent on Hitler’s mountain that he could get away with a scheme like this, especially when it’s operated at arm’s length.”