Luke McCallin - The Man from Berlin

‘His staff,’ said Thallberg after a moment.

‘His staff,’ agreed Reinhardt. ‘A witness reported a car that night, parked in front of Vukic’s house. And a man. Almost certainly his driver.’

‘You think the driver killed the girl? And Hendel?’

Reinhardt shrugged, leaned back in his chair, and put his hands behind his neck. He thought for a moment. ‘Vukic’s cameraman said Verhein had a bodyguard or servant who was devoted to him. An Asian, apparently. From Russia.’

Thallberg grunted. ‘Probably a Tartar. I know a few who joined up. Mad buggers, all of them, capable of anything. Some of the stuff I saw them do in Russia you wouldn’t believe.’

‘No. Again, the timing’s wrong. Or at least, if he did it, he’d have had to come back to do it.’ He thought for a moment. ‘And it’s not exactly in a driver’s or servant’s job description, is it?’

‘What, to clean up an officer’s mess? I know a few who have done just that.’

‘But this is murder,’ protested Reinhardt. ‘You can’t exactly order a driver to do that.’

‘Someone else, then,’ said Thallberg.

‘Someone else,’ agreed Reinhardt. He fished in his pocket and took out the list he had made yesterday. ‘A general’s usually got his men close by him. Chief of staff for sure. For that planning conference, almost certainly his divisional intelligence officer. Maybe we could start there.’

Thallberg nodded. ‘Good a place as any, I suppose. Going to take some time, though.’

‘What can you do? Get access to personnel files? See who he’s got around him?’

‘Something like that. I’ll have to do it at the State House, so you may as well come with me. It’ll go faster if we’re together.’ Thallberg looked at his watch and Reinhardt stifled a sudden yawn, glancing behind him out the window. The sun was still up, but it was getting on for late afternoon. He realised he was exhausted. He rolled his head around on his neck, feeling the pull of tension on the muscles in his back. His shirt felt heavy and sticky, clinging tight around his neck and arms. ‘I think I was followed today.’ Thallberg raised an eyebrow but said nothing. ‘They weren’t yours, were they?’

Thallberg snorted. ‘No, Reinhardt. I don’t have anyone following you.’ He rose and stretched as well.

‘I’m also pretty sure that someone tried to get into -’

There was a knock at his door, and it began to open. Both Reinhardt and Thallberg froze, looking at the file on the desk. Thallberg made to move towards it, but Reinhardt shook his head before turning to see who was coming in. It was Freilinger. The major looked between the pair of them as they came to their feet, his eyes fastening on Thallberg.

‘You are?’

‘Captain Thallberg, sir. 118th Jager.’

Freilinger looked at Reinhardt. ‘Is this the one you told me about?’ Reinhardt nodded, ignoring the slightly accusatory look Thallberg sent him. Freilinger’s eyes fell on the file on the table, but he said nothing about it. ‘You are making progress?’ he asked Reinhardt. He held an envelope in his hands.

Reinhardt nodded, suddenly unsure how much he could confide in Freilinger. That difference in the lists came suddenly to mind. An oversight, perhaps. But perhaps something else. In any case, Reinhardt realised, where did he himself stand now? That morning’s talk with Freilinger had seemed pretty clear. Reinhardt was on his own with this. Who, Reinhardt asked himself, did he actually work for? ‘Yes, sir,’ he replied. ‘Good progress. I think I have the main suspect.’

‘Oh?’

Again, that hesitation. Reinhardt resisted looking at Thallberg. ‘I can confidently place General Paul Verhein at the scene of the crime that evening, and I know it was him who beat the woman, Marija Vukic.’

Freilinger’s expression did not change. ‘Verhein?’ he repeated. ‘Commander of… 121st Jager? You think he’s involved?’

‘I don’t think, sir. I know.’ Freilinger raised his eyebrows, inviting him to go on. ‘I have a film that shows him sexually involved with Vukic the night of her murder. I know they were having an affair in Russia and I now know Hendel was following and reporting on him to the SD in Berlin.’

Without taking his eyes from Reinhardt, Freilinger took his tin of mints from his pocket and put one in his mouth. ‘Well, well,’ he said, his voice a dry rasp. He looked at Thallberg. ‘Quite something, wouldn’t you say, Captain?’

‘Yes, I would say so, sir.’

‘I would say so,’ Freilinger repeated, quietly. He worked his mouth around his mint and turned those blue eyes on Reinhardt. ‘What now?’

‘Now,’ answered Reinhardt, with only the slightest hesitation, ‘we are going to continue our research. At the State House.’

‘Will you confront him? Verhein?’

Reinhardt and Thallberg looked at each other. ‘I don’t know, sir,’ answered Thallberg. ‘We still need more evidence, and we haven’t much time. So if you will excuse us… ?’

Freilinger nodded. ‘Carry on,’ he said.

‘Was there something you needed, sir?’ asked Reinhardt.

Freilinger put the envelope on Reinhardt’s desk. ‘This is for you.’ He stepped back, and it was then Reinhardt saw it. A tension in the major’s bearing, his arms stiff at his sides, and the knuckles showing white across his closed fists. ‘Perhaps you will let me know later what you find.’ He paused and swallowed, slowly. ‘Well done, Reinhardt. Well done, indeed. Gentlemen,’ he said to them both, and left.

Reinhardt felt a flood of tension wash out of him he had not known was there. He picked up the envelope and took out a sheet of typed paper. He read it with a mixture of relief and disappointment before folding it back up and putting it in his pocket. He looked at Thallberg, who was waiting for him, his face expressionless. ‘State House?’ shy;Reinhardt asked, picking up the file and the film case, not wanting to let them out of his sight. Thallberg nodded. ‘Then after you,’ he said.

Thallberg kicked his office door open, holding the rebound for Reinhardt. ‘Coffee?’ he asked, as he swept up the same two mugs from earlier that day. It seemed like Reinhardt had been drinking it all day long, but he nodded anyway. Thallberg leaned into the corridor and hollered someone’s name. As he waited, he pushed open his window and chucked the dregs out, apparently not caring on whom they might fall. Reinhardt found himself peculiarly struck by that act. Seemingly nonchalant, throwing coffee out of a window in a place like the State House, but he had seen him not a half an hour ago, crippled with sudden nervousness at the thought of where this case might actually lead him. What might it mean, he suddenly wondered, if it came to the crunch? Would Thallberg fold or stand tall?

Thallberg handed the mugs over to a noncom who knocked at the door. He shucked off his jacket, letting it drop over the back of a chair, and put his hands on his hips. ‘Right, then. Now what?’

Reinhardt took out his list of units in Schwarz and the list of conference participants that Thallberg had given him that morning. ‘With Verhein and his staff, like we said. Who does he have around him? Who came with him to Ilidza for the conference? Do we have anything on any of them?’

Thallberg gave a small smirk. ‘ “We”?’

‘Turn of phrase,’ said Reinhardt, keeping his eyes on his lists, but he felt himself colour. He took out his pen and began marking the names on the list of conference participants of officers from the 121st. Verhein. Colonel Ascher, his chief of staff. Colonel Gartner, divisional intelligence officer. Colonel Oelker, commanding the first regiment, probably the most senior of the combat officers. Major Jahn, divisional medical officer. And a Major Nadolski, divisional quartermaster. Six names. He jotted them down, then handed what he had written to Thallberg.