Philip Kerr - A Man Without Breath

Now I remembered Batov describing a briefcase full of automatic pistols, and I guessed that these must have been Walthers.

‘Makes it a hell of a lot harder to argue that these fellows were all shot by the Ivans,’ I said. ‘There’s a delegation of prominent Polacks arriving here from Warsaw, Krakow and Lublin next week, including two fucking generals, and we’re going to have to tell them that their comrades were shot with German pistols.’

‘You know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the NKVD used Walthers for another reason too. Other than their reliability. I think they might have used them to help cover their tracks. To make it look like we did it. Just in case anyone ever discovered this grave.’

I groaned, loudly. ‘The minister is going to love this,’ I said. ‘On top of everything else.’

I told him about Batov and the documentary evidence that no longer was.

‘Sorry,’ said Buhtz. ‘All the same I’m going to ask the ministry to telephone the Genschow factory and see what their export records say. It’s possible they can locate a batch of similar ammunition.’

‘But you said this is standard German issue, didn’t you?’

‘Yes and no. I’ve been working in the field of ballistics since 1932, and even though I say so myself, I’m something of an expert in this field. I can tell you Gunther that while the calibre remains standard, over the years the trace metallurgy of ammunition can change quite a bit. Some years there’s a bit more copper; other years there might be a bit more nickel. And depending on how old this ammunition is, we might be able to get an idea about when it was made, which would help to substantiate the export record. If we can do that we might be able to say for sure that this bullet was part of a batch of ammo exported to the Baltic Ivans in say 1940, when we had the non-aggression pact with Comrade Stalin. Or even before the Nazis were in power, when we had those Red-loving bastards in the SPD running the show. That would be documentary proof that they did do it, and almost as good as finding a Russian-made bullet.’

I saw little point in mentioning my own former allegiance to the SPD, so I nodded silently and stood away from the microscope.

‘So then,’ said Buhtz, ‘perhaps we’ll just tell the Polish delegation what we know about the bodies that we’ve found so far, and leave it at that for now. No point in speculating unnecessarily. Under the circumstances I think we should let them take over as much of the actual work at the site as possible.’

‘Suits me.’

‘By the way, do you speak any Polish?’ asked Buhtz. ‘Because I don’t.’

‘I thought you were at the University of Breslau?’

‘For only three years,’ said Buhtz. ‘Besides, that’s very much a German-speaking university. My Polish is fine for ordering a shitty meal in a restaurant, but when it comes to forensics and pathology it’s a different story. What about Johannes Conrad?’

‘No Polish. Just Russian. He and some field police are busy interrogating people in Gnezdovo to see what more the locals can tell us about what happened. I’ve an idea that Peshkov speaks French as well as German and Russian, so he might be of assistance. But the ministry are also sending us a reserve officer from Vienna who speaks good Polack. Lieutenant Gregor Sloventzik.’

‘Sounds about right,’ said Buhtz.

‘He used to be a journalist. Which is how the ministry knows him, I think. I believe he speaks several other languages, too.’

‘Including diplomacy, I hope,’ said Buhtz. ‘I’ve never been very fluent in that.’

‘You and me both, professor. And certainly not since Munich. Anyway, Sloventzik is going to handle all the translations for you.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it. I don’t need more confusion right now. I’m afraid it’s been that kind of a morning. This signaller that the field police found. Martin Quidde.’ He pointed at the corpse lying in a coffin on the floor near the back door. ‘I understand from Lieutenant Voss that you and he both thought his death was a suicide.’

‘Well, yes. We did.’ I shrugged. ‘There was an automatic with the hammer down still in his hand. Short of a poem clutched to his breast it looked pretty clear-cut, I thought.’

‘You would think so, wouldn’t you?’ Buhtz grinned proudly. ‘But I’m afraid not. I’ve fired a whole clip from that weapon, and there’s not one of the bullets that’s the same as the one I gouged out of the victim’s helmet. It’s as I was telling you earlier. About the metallurgy? The slug that went through his skull was standard 7.65 mill, yes. But it was a significantly heavier load, with a bit more nickel in it. The corporal was shot with a seventy-three-grain load as opposed to the normal sixty-grain load that’s in his pistol’s magazine and which is standard issue to the 537th Signals. The seventy-three-grain load is normally issued only to the police units and the Gestapo.’

He was right, of course; and – a long time ago – I’d known this, but not lately. You see enough lead flying through the air and it soon ceases to matter where it comes from and how much it weighs on a set of scales.

‘So someone just tried to make it look like a suicide, is that what you’re saying?’ I asked, as if I really didn’t know.

‘That’s right.’ Buhtz’s grin widened. ‘And I doubt that there’s another man in this whole damned country could have told you that.’

‘Well, that is fortunate. Although I don’t imagine Lieutenant Voss is going to be all that pleased. He still hasn’t solved the murders of those other two signallers.’

‘Nevertheless it does establish a sort of pattern. I mean, someone really does have it in for those poor bastards in the 537th, don’t you think?’

‘Have you tried making a telephone call out here? It’s impossible. There’s your motive, I shouldn’t wonder. Still, I don’t suppose an Ivan would have bothered to make it look like a suicide, would he?’

‘I hadn’t considered that.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, that is reassuring for the Germans in this city, I suppose.’

‘All the same, sir, if a German was responsible for the murder it might be a good idea not to mention any of this to the Gestapo. Just in case they go and string up more of the locals in retaliation. I mean, you know what they’re like, sir. The last thing we want is an international commission arriving in Smolensk to find a makeshift gallows with some Russian pears growing on it.’

‘A man – a German – has been murdered, Captain Gunther. That really can’t be ignored.’

‘No, of course not, sir. But perhaps, until this whole thing with the international commission is over, it might be to Germany’s political advantage to hide this under some hay in the barn, so to speak. For appearances’ sake.’

‘Yes, I can see that, of course. I tell you what, captain. You used to be a police commissar at the Alex, didn’t you?’

I nodded.

‘Very well then. I promise to keep the murder of Corporal Quidde quiet, Gunther, if you promise to find his murderer. Does that sound fair?’

I nodded. ‘Fair enough, sir. Although I’m not sure how. He’s done a pretty good job so far of concealing his tracks.’

‘Well, do your best. And if all else fails we can have each man with a police load in his pistol fire a round into a sandbag. That should help to narrow it down for you quite a lot.’

‘Thank you, sir. I might take you up on that offer.’

‘Please do. You’ve got until the end of the month. And then I really will have to tell the Gestapo. Is that agreed?’

‘All right. It’s a deal.’

‘Good. Then let’s go and get some lunch. I hear it’s Konigsberger Klopse on the menu today.’