Philip Kerr - A Man Without Breath

Krivyenko grinned again.

‘You guessed that if you used your rifle, we would give Professor Buhtz the bullet and he would tell us the kind of rifle that was used. Your rifle. So you borrowed Von Gersdorff’s gun. You knew it was in the door pocket of his car the same way you knew there was a bayonet in the glovebox – the same bayonet you used to kill Dr Batov and his daughter, and before them very likely the two signalsmen at the Hotel Glinka. I suppose Von Kluge put you up to that.’

‘Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t, but that’s my insurance policy, isn’t it? Because what you know, you could put in a fucking matchbox. And what you can prove to the field marshal wouldn’t butter a crust of bread.’

‘I don’t know that I have to prove anything, do I? Your word against a German officer’s? Soon as we’ve shaved your beard off in the prison hospital we can match you with the photograph in your NKVD file and prove to anyone’s satisfaction that you’re a major in the people’s commissariat. I doubt even the field marshal will want to help you once we’ve demonstrated that.’

‘Maybe he’ll think he has to help me. To keep my mouth shut. Have you thought of that? Besides, why would I kill Dr Batov? Or maybe you think he put me up to that, too. Have you thought of that?’

‘My guess is that you had something to do with what happened in Katyn Wood. Maybe you were even one of the team of murderers who executed all those Polacks. When you heard from the field marshal that I’d asked for asylum in Germany for Batov and his daughter you asked him a few questions, and Von Kluge told you what I’d told him: that Batov had documentary evidence of what happened back there in Katyn Wood. So you tortured and killed them both and took the ledgers and photographs from Batov’s apartment. I suppose Batov must have given away Rudakov and possibly you killed him, too. His brother, the doorman at the Hotel Glinka – well, maybe he just put two and two together and ran; or maybe you killed him, too, just in case. Besides, that’s what you do best, isn’t it? You’re good at killing wild boar and wolves, but you’re even better at killing people. As I almost discovered to my cost.’

‘Not that good. If I was any good like you say, captain, I would have put another round in your head before coming down from the tower.’

‘You may not be glad you didn’t kill me. But I’m delighted you’re still alive my friend. You’re going to be a very useful witness in Germany. You’re going to be famous.’

‘ Idl ti na fig. ’ Krivyenko shook his head. ‘ Chto za chepukha ,’ he said. ‘The boss isn’t going to allow any of that.’

‘Oh, he’ll have to allow it,’ I said. ‘You see, it’s not just me who’ll be there to convince him that he has to. There’s Colonel von Gersdorff, too. And even if Von Kluge doesn’t want to believe you were part of what happened to Batov and at Katyn, he’ll have to believe it if someone of his own noble class tells him.’

Krivyenko grinned. ‘Better for you that you should let me go. Better for you and better for me. It will be embarrassing for him and he won’t appreciate that. Ya tebya o-chen proshu. Let me go and you’ll never see me again. I’ll just disappear.’ He nodded to his right. ‘The river is that way. I’ll just walk over there and disappear. But there will be hell to pay – for us both – if you try to make this stick.’

‘You think I’m going to let you go just because it might cause some embarrassment for Von Kluge?’

‘He will let me go if you don’t. Just to avoid the chance of any scandal.’

‘I reckon that if it comes to you accusing him of inciting the murders of the signalsmen it’ll be your word – the word of an NKVD major – against the word of a German field marshal. Nobody will believe anything you say. The minute you’re in custody my guess is that Von Kluge will try to put as much distance between him and you as possible.’ I frowned. ‘By the way, how did you get through the checkpoint on the bridge without your name appearing in the field police records? You didn’t swim, so how did you do it? Every boat between here and Vitebsk was requisitioned last summer.’

‘Trouble with you Germans, you think there’s only one way to skin a cat.’

‘From what I’ve heard most people use a knife.’

‘I’ll tell you for another drink,’ he said, ‘as I suppose even you will manage to find out, sooner or later.’

I put the flask to his lips and tipped some into his mouth.

‘ Spasiba. ’ He shrugged. ‘About five hundred metres upriver from here there’s a simple wooden raft. Some lady friends made it for me. You’ve probably seen them – in the river, binding logs together to transport stuff up and down the river. And I had a long pole that I used to just push it across. Nothing more complicated than that. You’ll find a motorcycle hidden in some bushes on the other bank. Look, if you’re not going to let me go then I’d like to see a doctor. My shoulder aches and I’m bleeding. You mentioned something about a prison hospital?’

‘I ought to kill you right here.’

‘Maybe you should.’

I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet. ‘Get moving.’

‘What if I don’t want to walk?’

‘Then I can shoot you again. You should know, there are lots of ways to do it without injuring you too badly.’ I grabbed his ear and pushed the barrel of the Mauser inside it. ‘Or I could shoot your greasy fucking ears off, one at a time. I don’t think anyone but you and the hangman will mind very much if your head is minus a couple of spoons.’

*

I drove back to the Peter and Paul bridge and kicked my prisoner out of the passenger seat and onto the ground. I told the field police to take Krivyenko to the prison on Kiewerstrasse and, after the doctor had treated his wounds, to lock him up in solitary for the night.

‘I’ll be there with a list of charges first thing in the morning,’ I said, ‘just as soon as I’ve spoken with Colonel von Gersdorff.’

‘But this is Dyakov, sir,’ they said. ‘The field marshal’s Putzer .’

‘No, it’s not,’ I said. ‘The real Dyakov is dead. This man is an NKVD major called Krivyenko. He’s the one who murdered those two German signallers.’ I didn’t mention the Russians he’d murdered, or the Spaniard; Germans weren’t much concerned about people from a country other than Germany. ‘And he’s still dangerous, so treat him with care, do you hear? He’s a fox, that one. He just tried to shoot me, too. And almost succeeded. But for a rifle stock that got in the way, I’d be a dead man.’

My chest was still hurting so I unbuttoned my shirt to take a look, and under the kennel hound’s flashlight I saw a bruise that was the size and colour of a Friesian’s tattoo.

Back at Krasny Bor I noticed straight away that the colonel’s Mercedes was gone, and when I knocked on the door of his hut to tell him that Krivyenko had now revealed his hand there was no reply and none of the lights were burning.

I went to the officers’ mess in search of some information as to his whereabouts.

‘Didn’t you see the notice?’ asked the mess sergeant – a Berliner who was a bit on the warm side, I thought.

‘What notice?’

‘Most of the officers of the High Command are dining tonight in the mess at the department store in Smolensk, as guests of the local army commandant.’

So I put a note under Von Gersdorff’s door telling him to knock me up the minute he arrived back in Krasny Bor.

Then I went to bed.

Sunday, May 2nd 1943

I was awoken by a banging on my door, which was louder than seemed reasonable even for a man who might have spent the whole evening drinking with the commander of the town garrison. I switched on the light, and still wearing my pyjamas I swung out of bed, took a step toward the door – it wasn’t a very big hut – and opened it. Instead of Colonel von Gersdorff there were three soldiers – a corporal and two privates – standing outside. They were carrying machine pistols and from their expressions they looked like they meant to do a lot more than draw my attention to a blue moon.