Luke McCallin - The Man from Berlin

Reinhardt reminded himself not to underestimate this man who seemed to have so many facts about his own past. ‘Becker and I were in Kripo together. He was a bad cop. A dirty one. He hasn’t changed. He runs the Feldgendarmerie here pretty much as he likes.’

‘ Becker? Well… he’s a bit squirrelly, but he’s harmless enough.’

Reinhardt shook his head. ‘He’s dirty. Whoever killed Hendel has got Becker looking for Krause. Like I told you last night, if he finds him before you do…’

‘Fine,’ said Thallberg, shortly. ‘I’ll deal with Becker if I have to.’ He seemed to dismiss it from his mind, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. Reinhardt wanted to stress the point: Becker was not someone you could just turn your back on like that, but he let it go. ‘So, what do we have, then?’

‘You’re supposed to have a list for me?’

‘Right.’ Thallberg pulled a folder towards himself and took a piece of paper from it. ‘Two, in fact. Transfers. And officers attending that planning conference. I had Beike working on that transfer list last night.’ He passed it across the table. He yawned and ran a hand over his face, stubble rasping beneath his palm.

Reinhardt looked at the transfer list, squinting past the smoke that spiralled up from his cigarette. Like Freilinger’s, it was only a half dozen names long. He ran his eyes down it, considering. He did not want to take out Freilinger’s to compare it. Something held him back.

There was a knock at the door, and a soldier came in with two mugs of coffee. ‘There’s only condensed milk. Sugar’s there,’ pointed Thallberg as he sat back in his chair with his mug held in two hands. ‘I had a look through Hendel’s files. These here,’ he said, pointing to a pile of paperwork. ‘There’s gaps. Nothing on what he was doing here.’

‘Is that usual? I mean, I don’t know how you GFP chaps work.’

‘You mean secret handshakes and Teutonic rituals? Silver daggers and oaths by moonlight?’ Thallberg smirked. ‘No, we leave that kind of crap to the SS. And no, it’s not usual. He was supposed to keep files and records. Just like any policeman.’

‘You’ve got nothing as to what he was on?’

Thallberg chewed his lip, that same small gesture he had used last night. ‘Nothing.’ Reinhardt could not tell whether he was lying.

‘So? What do you think?’

Reinhardt looked at Thallberg’s second list, which was longer. He folded them and put them on the table. He spooned sugar into his coffee. ‘I think it’s not much good to me anymore.’ Thallberg raised his eyebrows in query. ‘Freilinger told me this morning the investigation’s being halted. I’m supposed to stand ready to report for new duties.’ He sipped the coffee. ‘He’s being transferred to Italy.’

‘Investigation’s halted?’ repeated Thallberg. ‘Who ordered it?’

‘Banja Luka. After pressure from the Feldgendarmerie here.’

Thallberg took some coffee, worked his mouth around it. ‘ Fuck ,’ he said, pushing himself back in his chair. He rose and went over to the window. ‘Look, sod that. I don’t care what some poxy staff officer said. This isn’t over. One of my boys is dead, and I want to know why, and who did it.’ He drank more coffee, and seemed to hesitate over something. ‘You don’t want to give it up, do you?’

Reinhardt felt a lurch, a sudden tilt deep inside. He did not want to give this up, no. But what did that mean? Where would it take him? He looked back at Thallberg before slowly shaking his head. ‘No. No, I don’t.’

Thallberg grinned, the man Reinhardt had met last night coming out. ‘Want to work for me, then?’

Reinhardt forced himself to think slowly. ‘Work for you? What would that mean?’

‘Just that, Reinhardt. You don’t need to pussyfoot around with this.’ He came back over to the desk. ‘You keep going with your investigation. Find whoever killed Hendel. Give me a name. Anything. I’ll take it on, I promise.’

Reinhardt swallowed hard, letting his eyes drift away, then back. ‘And then?’

‘Then? Well, then we’ll have our man. Or at least we’ll have Hendel’s man. And someone in Berlin will be very happy with us.’

‘And that’s enough?’ asked Reinhardt, quietly.

Thallberg heard it as a statement. ‘That’s enough,’ he said, firmly. ‘More than enough.’

‘Enough to do what? For what?’

‘Christ, Reinhardt, who cares ?’ exclaimed Thallberg. ‘Enough to write your ticket out of this shithole, perhaps? Enough to catch the baddie? Isn’t that what you old-time coppers were all about?’

‘Nice of you to make the distinction,’ said Reinhardt, covering his confusion by drinking from his mug. Thallberg grinned, and shy;Reinhardt felt a growing excitement. The chance to pursue the investigation, perhaps even finish it. With someone like Thallberg backing him up, it could be done. But the risks, to dance with the devil on something like this. Behind Thallberg’s boyish exuberance there had to be someone ruthless, merciless. He could never afford to forget that. ‘All right, then,’ he said, riding roughshod over his own misgivings, reaching out to grab the tiger’s tail.

‘Good,’ said Thallberg. ‘Well done.’ He took a piece of paper from a drawer and wrote quickly on it, then walked to the door and called for Beike. He smiled, self-consciously, it seemed. ‘It’s strange, Reinhardt. You know, you and all those other Berlin coppers were heroes to me when I was a boy. And now, here I am, working with one of you! It’s a bit like living a dream.’

Thallberg handed his paper to his corporal and Reinhardt kept his face blank, even as he struggled to understand who Thallberg was, and what he had just done agreeing to work with him. The GFP officer seemed to lurch between almost childish enthusiasm and a semblance of ruthlessness. Reinhardt had not yet seen that harder side come out, but he knew it was there.

‘So, where will you start?’ Thallberg asked, closing the door.

‘At the beginning, I think.’ Reinhardt put his coffee down on the table. ‘I’ll start by retracing the moves the killer probably made. I’m going to go back out to Ilidza and start from Vukic’s house. But first,’ he said, smoothing out Thallberg’s transfer list, ‘let’s have a look at this. Where did you get these names from, did you say?’

The captain came around to Reinhardt’s side, looking over his shoulder. There were seven names. ‘From here. General staff records.’

‘So it’s about as reliable as it comes, then,’ said Reinhardt as he read the names off. He pulled out his list of units involved in Schwarz, comparing the COs to the list of transfers. Only two names matched up: those of Generals Verhein and Ritter von Grabenhofen. Two other names were listed as having served until fairly recently in the USSR – Generals Eglseer and von Le Suire – but their units were not involved in the operation. He circled all four names with a pencil. ‘What do you know about these ones?’

Thallberg raised his eyebrows. ‘Grabenhofen, not much. Pretty tough fighter. Got involved in some rough stuff in the USSR at the beginning of Barbarossa. Verhein, I know a bit more about. Up and coming. Very brave. Loved by his men, apparently. Le Suire… typical Prussian aristocrat. Also pretty brave. Good with the ladies, they say,’ he added. ‘And Eglseer. Well, he’s a rough old bastard. Been in the army all his life.’

‘Yes, I think I know him, as well,’ said Reinhardt. ‘From the first war. Very well,’ he sighed out. ‘We’ve got four names. We can place them all in Sarajevo at the conference. Now, we have to match them to Vukic.’

‘Steady on, Reinhardt,’ said Thallberg. ‘Back up a little. What’s the reasoning behind that?’