Cay Rademacher - The Murderer in Ruins

‘Delluc?’

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

‘Can you describe the family to me? How many of them were there? Men, women, children?’

‘An old guy who walked with a stick. Two women, ladies, if you know what I mean. One of them young and pretty but a bit cheeky. The other was also pretty, but a bit older. And a kid.’

‘A little girl?’

‘How old?’

‘No idea. I don’t have children. Small, though.’

The chief inspector sighed. Thuman’s hardly going to be a great witness in court, he sighed.

‘More like six? Or more like 14?’

‘More like six.’

‘Any more members of the family?’

‘Just those four in the photographs. As far as I know.’

Stave pulled out one more photograph. From Maschke’s personnel file.

‘Is this the policeman who took the family away?’

‘That’s him. Filled the place with smoke, but didn’t offer me a single Lucky Strike. Arrogant bastard.’

‘Did the family go with him willingly?’

‘Whoever goes willingly with the police?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They both looked unhappy. But the policeman didn’t have to act tough. No handcuffs, no truncheon. Didn’t go around shouting at people.’

‘Both?’

‘The older woman and the little girl. Neither of the others were there at the time. But they never came back either.’

‘Is their cubicle occupied again?’

‘Yes, but I don’t know their name.’

‘Doesn’t matter. But are any of the French family’s possessions still there?’

Thuman looked at the ground. ‘No, everything’s gone,’ he mumbled.

‘Gone? Did the policeman take their stuff?’

‘No, when the French lot didn’t come back after a few days, a few lads from upstairs came down and snaffled all their stuff.’

‘Go the police headquarters on Karl-Muck Platz, and ask for Inspector Muller. He’ll take your statement.’

‘Why aren’t you coming with me?’

‘Because I have other things to take care of.’

‘And what if I don’t go?’

‘Then you’ll end up in a hole that’ll make this bunker look like a luxury hotel.’

Stave sped through the city. I just hope they’re not already out looking for this car, he thought. And I hope there’s enough fuel in the tank.

It took him more than an hour to get to the Warburg Children’s Health Home. He screeched to a halt before the gates, almost crashing into them, and parped his horn. The young man who had opened the gates for him before came running out.

‘What do you think you’re doing? We have children here,’ he remonstrated. But he opened the gates all the same.

‘I know,’ said Stave. ‘It’s one of them I’m here to see,’ and he put his foot down, and roared off up the drive sending gravel flying on either side.

Therese Dubois had been standing by the window of the veranda watching him, and opened the door a few seconds later.

‘You’ve caught him!’ she said.

‘I need to speak to Anouk Magaldi,’ Stave replied.

Five minutes later he was showing the girl the photos of the four victims. On his last two visits he hadn’t dared show the photos to the child.

And the warden had told him that the young children never left the villa grounds. So there would have been no way Anouk Magaldi could have seen the posters.

The little girl studied the photos, slowly, one by one. She looked sad but not particularly interested by the first three. Stave’s pulse raced. When he showed her the fourth, she flinched, and stared at it with tears in her eyes. It was the photo of the younger woman.

‘Mademoiselle Delluc,’ the little girl whispered.

The chief inspector sighed with relief and leaned back in the wicker chair.

‘An Oradour survivor?’ Therese Dubois asked.

‘Who finally met her murderer in Hamburg,’ Stave replied.

‘Your colleague?’

He nodded wearily. ‘My colleague, who joined the police under a false name. My colleague, who used to be an SS man and was probably the only surviving member of the brigade that committed the massacre. And here in Hamburg he came across a victim of his crime. He strangled her to eliminate a witness who could have landed him in court. Then stripped her naked so that nobody could identify her.’

‘What about the other three victims?’

Stave asked Anouk Magaldi, who told him that she had never seen any of Yvonne Delluc’s three relatives before. The young woman herself had not even been from Oradour. She had just been staying with friends. Her family had lived elsewhere.

‘Possibly in Paris,’ Stave murmured, thinking of the earrings. Then he remembered the medallions and showed the little girl a photo of one. She beamed at him, put her hand to her neck and from under her jumper pulled out an identical one.

Stave looked at the girl, then down at the little medallion in her hand, and muttered: ‘I was so close. So close, so often.’

Then he pulled himself together, and said, ‘What does it mean, the cross and two daggers?’

She answered, speaking fast, with pride in her voice. Therese Dubois translated. ‘It’s the coat of arms of Oradour. Don’t ask me what the symbols stand for, but the few survivors all wear it, and their relatives too. In memory.’

‘Their relatives too,’ the chief inspector noted, with satisfaction. ‘At last I have everything I need. Can she tell me anything more about Yvonne Delluc? If she had a job? If she was married? If she had children?’

Anouk Magaldi thought, then shook her head, smiled and said, ‘ Elle est Juive, comme moi .’

‘A Jew, like me,’ the warden translated. ‘Why would a Jew who had escaped a massacre come to the country of those who committed it?’ she asked.

‘I’m afraid I have no answer for that,’ Stave said grimly. ‘But be patient. In time all the details will come out. In the next trial at the Curio House.’

It was lunchtime. Stave hoped Erhlich wouldn’t be out at some restaurant or in one of the British officers’ clubs. He had a few interesting things to put before the public prosecutor. He was in luck and before long was sitting at the prosecutor’s desk, the man’s eyes behind his thick glasses upon him.

Stave recounted the previous life of Lothar Maschke, whose real name was Hans Herthge and who had been in an SS Panzergrenadier unit. He told him about the little orphan in the children’s home in Warburg, and about the map he had found in Maschke’s desk, without going into detail about how the map came to be in his hands.

Ehrlich just nodded, clearly recalling that night they had bumped into one another in the vice squad man’s office. Next to the map Stave laid the Search Office’s index card with Maschke’s name on it. He told him about the coat of arms of the village of Oradour and the medallions found on two of the victims, about the Paris jeweller, about the illiterate seaman in the bunker who paid no attention to posters because he couldn’t read what was written on them, and wasn’t surprised when a family living next door to him simply disappeared. A French family.

Ehrlich listened to him patiently, then smiled and polished his glasses. ‘So what is your version of the chain of events?’

‘Herthge alias Maschke bumps into Yvonne Delluc in Hamburg. I have no idea if he realised straight away that she was a survivor of Oradour. Or if it was her who recognised him and confronted him. Nor have I any idea what this young woman and the other members of her family were doing in our city. Nor do I know what relationship they bore to one another.

‘But they meet, and Herthge/Maschke realises she could send him to the gallows, and so he kills her. Probably not when they first meet. Maybe he runs off. Or maybe she doesn’t recognise him straight away. Or maybe he kidnaps her and holds her prisoner. Either way he has time enough to make a note of her name on his index card and the fact that she had relatives here. He obviously worked that out one way or another.