Luke McCallin - The Man from Berlin

‘So, what you’re saying,’ Reinhardt said, eventually, ‘is Vukic may have had information about someone senior in German military circles and she wanted Hendel to have this information, but wanted to give it to him in the presence of another person. Who may or may not have been the person Hendel was investigating. Or she might have had information about something or someone completely unconnected to all that, but who was guilty of something or other.’

Thallberg grinned brightly. ‘Sounds about right,’ he said as he finished his beer. ‘What has Krause said about all this? I haven’t talked to him yet.’

‘Krause?’ repeated Reinhardt.

Thallberg looked straight at him. ‘Krause. Lieutenant Peter Krause. He usually partnered Hendel in any operations. I told Hendel to take someone with him.’

Reinhardt stared back at Thallberg. ‘Krause was GFP as well?’

Thallberg frowned. ‘ “Was”?’ he repeated.

Reinhardt shook his head, annoyed at himself. ‘I misspoke. You’re telling me Krause, Lieutenant Peter Krause, transport company, is a GFP agent?’ Thallberg nodded, frowning at him. ‘No, I haven’t talked to Krause,’ Reinhardt said, finally. So that was the link. Obvious, shy;really. Once you had all the pieces. ‘He’s missing. Hendel drove out to Ilidza with a motorcycle and sidecar. I presume Krause went with him. If he was killed there, his body hasn’t shown up, and he’s now reported as a deserter by the Feldgendarmerie. They’ve been looking for him since Sunday.’

Thallberg ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth and raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, well, well. More work for you?’ Reinhardt stared at the tabletop as Thallberg began picking up his equipment and made to get to his feet. ‘Me, I need a shower and some food. I’m here tomorrow then I’ve got to get back to Foca. I presume you’ve had someone look at Hendel’s files, but this stuff wouldn’t have been in them. I’ll see what we’ve got and get back to you.’

‘Unless you know of a secret place where Hendel stashed his good stuff, good luck finding it. And watch your back,’ said Reinhardt.

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning the Feldgendarmerie are after whatever Hendel had. They think Krause might have it and have been kicking in doors since Sunday.’

Thallberg grunted, curling his lower lip under his teeth. It was the first apparently unconscious gesture Reinhardt had noticed him make. ‘Well, when Krause turns up he’ll be able to explain it all.’

‘Thallberg, I may be wrong on this, but I wouldn’t give a pfennig for Krause’s chances if the Feldgendarmerie, or whoever is behind this, gets to him before we do.’

‘Oh?’ said Thallberg. He put his helmet back on the table and rested the MP 40 against his leg. ‘You have someone in mind?’

Reinhardt looked at him a moment, then breathed in deeply and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve given you enough. You bring me something tomorrow, and we’ll talk more, but I’m not saying anything else.’

Thallberg looked back at him expressionlessly, then flashed his grin. ‘Fair enough,’ he exclaimed, slapping his thighs. He took a little notebook from his pocket, jotted down his office and extension, tore the page out, and left it on the table. ‘You can find me at State House.’

Reinhardt ran his eyes over Thallberg’s uniform. His unit insignia marked him down as 118th Jager Division, and he wore the close combat clasp in gold, and on his right arm the patch that signalled he had destroyed at least one enemy tank with handheld explosives. ‘Captain, are those awards real?’ said Reinhardt suddenly. He pointed at Thallberg’s Winter Campaign medal, fishing in his pocket for his handkerchief. ‘Were you in Russia?’

‘That’s what the frozen meat medal says,’ he replied, brightly, referring to the award by its army slang. ‘Although I’ll grant you, as GFP can wear any uniform we like, it’s a pertinent question.’

Reinhardt rose and proffered the filter from the papirosa. ‘Do you know what this is?’

Thallberg leaned over and sniffed, then put his helmet down again and took the handkerchief in his hand, looking closely at it. ‘There’s a blue smudge down the side… I’d say that’s a Belomorkanal papirosa. The authentic poor man’s cigarette.’ He handed it back.

‘It was found at the scene of the murder. A witness reported a man, possibly a chauffeur, smoking them outside the victim’s house shortly before the estimated time of death.’

‘None of my chaps smokes anything like that. I suppose if you find the smoker, you’re halfway there.’ He hefted his equipment, flipping his belt over his shoulder, and paused. ‘Dreadful stuff, that papirosa tobacco. You’ve got to really love that to smoke it out here. Can you believe, of all the things a man could bring back from Russia, he’s got to bring that? Something on your mind, Reinhardt?’

Reinhardt stared at him, at his Winter Campaign medal. He hesitated, running his tongue along the bottom of his teeth. ‘Look, there is strong reason to believe Vukic was killed by someone she met in Russia. And that that person has recently transferred here.’

‘Oh? You know that how?’

‘Never mind that. You gave me something, about the papirosa. I’m giving you something back, that you can do something about. Get a list of recent senior transfers. Officers who have served in the USSR. Something along those lines. And get a list of all officers who attended the recent planning conference in Ilidza. The one they just held for Schwarz.’

Thallberg grinned. ‘Sounds like good old-fashioned detective work to me.’

Reinhardt almost smiled back. ‘It is. It’s slow. Methodical. Sometimes it pays off.’

‘I can do that. You used to be a big shot in Kripo, didn’t you?’ Reinhardt blinked at him, taken aback by the question. Thallberg grinned at his discomfort. ‘I’ve read your file. Gregor Sebastian Reinhardt. One of the best criminal inspectors in the Alexanderplatz. A half dozen big crooks to your name. We liked the look of you for the GFP at one point. That’s how I know. Brauer was your partner, wasn’t he? You two went through the first war together. Eastern Front. Western Front. Iron Cross First Class. At Amiens, right? 1918? You got the first- and second-class Crosses the same day, didn’t you?’ he said, answering his own question. Thallberg looked at him, his eyes bright and inquisitive in the white patch of clean skin his goggles had left. ‘Quite something. How does Brauer take being a sergeant again? You were both inspectors, weren’t you? Now here’s you, a captain, and him, a sergeant.’

Reinhardt sat back down and reached for his glass. He looked up at Thallberg as he took a careful sip from it and put it back down. ‘You’re right about Kripo.’ He felt a flush of anger, remembering his conversation with Claussen about being an NCO. Christ, was it only yesterday? He acknowledged nothing else. Nothing about the east in 1916, the transfer to the stormtroopers and the Western Front in 1917, the attacks of 1918 when they seemed to have victory in their grasp, the wound that saw him hospitalised for the last months of the war and almost cost him his leg, the riotous years following it. To do so, it seemed, was an admission that it was fine to distill a man’s life down to a few choice nouns, but it grated on him that he was allowing this Captain Thallberg to draw his own conclusions about him. ‘As to how Master Sergeant Brauer feels, you’d have to ask him.’ His voice seemed to come from far away.

Thallberg grinned that boyish grin. ‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow,’ he said, and with that he was gone.

Reinhardt stayed in his chair a while longer after Thallberg had gone. The man was something of a whirlwind, for sure. He was certainly different from most of the officers around here, and Reinhardt could not but feel strangely attracted to the thought of working with someone like him. As GFP, he would be of invaluable assistance, as long as Reinhardt could manage him and for as long as the GFP saw value in a partnership. The GFP could do pretty much anything. Go anywhere. Be anyone. Wear any uniform, or none at all. Use whatever they needed, when they needed it. What was that English expression… ? Holding a tiger by the tail… ?