Cay Rademacher - The Murderer in Ruins

‘I shan’t underestimate you again,’ she murmured.

Stave suppressed a smile. ‘So what were you really doing out there in the ruins on the night of the twenty-fifth of January? And what did you see?’

‘I didn’t see anything in the rubble on the evening of the twenty-fifth of January. In fact, I wasn’t even there.’

Stave opened his notebook and leafed through this scribbles. ‘But you reported the murder on the twenty-fifth? At the nearest police station.’

‘But that wasn’t when I found the body.’

‘So when did you find it?’

‘Five days earlier, on the twentieth of January. I was coming along the footpath in the rubble, from Collau Strasse as it happens, though that hardly matters now. I saw the body, but didn’t report it to the police.’

‘Why not?’

‘I was afraid. I didn’t want any trouble. I’ve never had anything to do with the police in my life. I’m not from Hamburg. I don’t know anyone here who would help me if things got difficult. I thought I could just leave it to somebody else. There was nothing anybody could have done for the dead man anyhow.’

‘But nobody else reported it.’

‘It was unbelievable. I read the newspapers, expecting each day to see a report about a naked corpse. Nothing. Eventually I realised that the body still hadn’t been discovered. It wasn’t really that surprising. Probably very few people used that path. And even if anyone did, they wouldn’t necessarily spot the body. It was lying in a bomb crater, a bit to one side of the path. I started feeling guilty. After five days I could take it no longer. I reported it to the police and let on that I had just discovered it. Ever since I’ve been thinking about the lie and wondering if it might somehow have hindered the search for the murderer. So I came here to tell you everything, I just hope it’s not too late.’

The chief inspector sat there silently for a while. Then he said, ‘If it wasn’t easy to spot the body from the path, how did you come across it?’

‘I was looting,’ she said. ‘I had left the path and was searching the rubble.’

Stave didn’t react.

Anna von Veckinhausen gave a sad smile. ‘I wasn’t looking for what you might think,’ she continued. ‘I come from Konigsberg, as you can probably guess from my name. A noble family. The usual estate, the usual education. The usual hasty flight.’

‘When did you arrive in Hamburg?’

‘I fled in January 1945. On the Wilhelm Gustloff. 4 When it sank, I was picked up by a minesweeper and taken to Mecklenburg. From there I made my way onward as best I could and got here in May 1945.’

‘On your own?’

‘On my own,’ she answered quickly, decisively.

Stave stared down at the pale line on her finger. He would have liked to know if she had been alone when she boarded the Wilhelm Gustloff . And if she had got to the west before the Red Army reached the east.

‘And ever since you have lived in a Nissen hut on the Elbe canal?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s a long way from Lappenbergs Allee.’

‘I was a specialist looter. Most people are after wood or bits of metal or electrical goods. I was looking for antiques.’

The chief inspector couldn’t believe his ears. ‘In the bomb wreckage of ordinary people’s rental apartments?’

‘Obviously they weren’t villas with art collections hanging on the walls. But almost every family has one inherited piece of some sort in their apartment. And each block of ruins once housed hundreds of apartments. You wouldn’t believe what you can find, if you have a trained eye. Medals from the Kaiser’s time, silver coffee spoons, grandfather’s pocket watch.’

‘And you have a trained eye?’

‘I grew up amongst valuable antiques. And over the past few years, I have trained myself to spot things like that, often bent, grimy, inconspicuous, lying amidst bricks and tiles.’

‘Then what?’

‘I clean them up, write on a piece of paper what I know about them: age, origin, et cetera – and then I sell them to British officers. Or to Hamburg business people who’ve come through the war okay.’

The word ‘bottleneck’ flashed across Stave’s mind. ‘Do you sell valuable bottles? Old glass? Perfume bottles or stuff like that?’

She gave him a surprised look. ‘No. You don’t normally find stuff like that in these ruins. At least not undamaged items.’

‘Do you know a Dr Martin Hellinger? An industrialist from Hamburg-Marienthal? Maybe a customer of yours?’ He showed her the man’s photograph.

‘Never seen him. Never heard the name either. Why do you ask?’

‘It was just a passing thought. Had you just sold something on the black market when we arrested you? You were carrying 500 Reichsmarks.’

‘I’d just met a British officer outside the Garrison Theatre next to the station, and sold him an oil painting. A piece of colourful kitsch, German pine trees, treetop view, you know the sort of thing. But he liked it. I was on the way home when I got caught up in your raid. It was pure chance.’

Stave made a note; MacDonald needed to look into it. ‘So on the evening of the twentieth of January you were looking for kitsch paintings and old pocket watches in the ruins off Lappenbergs Allee?’

‘You have to survive somehow. It was the first time I had been there. It’s a long way from the Elbe canal, but I hoped to find something that would make the trip worthwhile.’

‘And did you?’

‘Didn’t have time. As soon as I got there I saw this shadow move on a wall.’

‘Shadow?’

‘A shape. It was dusk already. I’d underestimated the distance and got there later than I intended. It wasn’t exactly a person I saw, more a movement. Do you know what I mean? Something threatening, glimpsed out of the corner of my eye. I hid behind a pile of rubble.’

‘Why?’

‘I was new to the area. I was looting. That’s reason enough, don’t you think?’

‘Then what happened?’

‘I waited for a bit until I thought there was no more sign of movement. Then I got to my feet, walked on and came across the naked corpse. You know the rest.’

‘Can you remember anything about this shape you saw? What it was wearing? Was it big, small, fat, thin? A man? A child?’

‘It wasn’t a child, that’s for sure. Not especially big, not tiny either. More like large and thin. At the time I thought it was a man. But it might also have been a woman. Whoever it was had a coat on.’

‘A wool overcoat? A man’s coat? A Wehrmacht greatcoat?’

‘A long, dark coat. Black or dark brown.’

‘Or dark blue?’

‘Possibly. There was a scarf around the face, or a headscarf. Or maybe even a cap with cloth wrapped around it.’

‘Do you remember anything else? Shoes for example? Hands? Was the person wearing gloves?’

‘I didn’t notice.’

‘Did you hear anything? Any sound at all?’

‘Sound?’

‘Like someone calling out or being beaten, cries for help. Perhaps muffled?’

Anna von Veckinhausen shook her head. ‘On the contrary, now that you mention it. It was quiet, unnaturally quiet. I think it was this weird silence that made me nervous. That was why I was scared, even though I could hardly see the figure.’

Stave closed his eyes and thought hard. Anna von Veckinhausen had arrived at the ruins relatively late. It was getting dark already, the light would have been bad, visibility poor. Perhaps that was the best time of day for looters, just light enough for a trained eye to spot something in the rubble, but dark enough for people not to notice you.’

She sees the murderer, at least in outline. Then she finds the body. She doesn’t report it to the police – maybe because she’s afraid to, like she said. Also because she doesn’t want to invite awkward questions that would reveal her to be a looter.