Eric Norden - The Ultimate Solution

Kohler walked over to the mattress and stood directly over the old man.

“ Where… is… the… Jew? ”

“I don’t know.”

He cracked him across the face with the palm of his hand, twice, and the old man rocked with the blows. But when he looked up his voice was firm.

“I know you won’t believe me, but I honestly don’t know. I can see your dilemma, of course, because if I did know I would never tell you.”

Ed walked away and motioned me to join him by the doorway.

“He could be telling the truth,” he said in a low voice. “He might just be a Christie fanatic who stumbled on the Jew and harbored him.”

I had my doubts.

“He’s awful cool, Ed. I’d lay odds he’s a pro.”

Kohler frowned.

“I tend to doubt it. He spilled too fast, he’s not behaving like a trained agent confronting interrogation. He’s more like a martyr itching to face the lions. He’s ready to die, I think he almost welcomes it. I’d give you ten to one he doesn’t know where the Jew is.”

I guess I’d built my hopes too high, because I could feel that sick feeling in my gut at Ed’s words. Shit, this thing was becoming a game of musical chairs, we were going around in a perpetual mind-numbing circle.

“Where do we go from here, then? He’s the only lead we’ve got, and the Jew has obviously confided in him. Isn’t there anything he can tell us?”

“That’s what we’ve got to find out. I’m going down to the car, I’ll get the field interrogation kit and we’ll go to work on him. Who knows, maybe I’m wrong, maybe he is with the nips. Just don’t count on too much. And while I’m gone try to soften him up, I’ll play the heavy.”

I nodded, then put the gun in my belt and walked over toward the old man, still keeping a safe distance between us in case he became another instant karate expert.

“Look, Connor,” I said in a friendly tone, “I’m just a city cop, I don’t know what’s behind all of this and I don’t care. But that Kohler, he’s a mean bastard, I’ve seen him take people apart and it’s not a pretty sight. Why not spare yourself a lot of grief and level with me, then I can take you into custody and keep you away from the Gestapo. Just tell me where the Jew is, make it easy for yourself.”

Instead of taking the bait the old man just veered off into another tangent.

“Do you know why I carried that vial of poison with me all the time the Jew was here, Lieutenant?” His voice was soft, and he didn’t wait for an answer. “Because in 1949 I broke under torture and betrayed my entire resistance cell to the SS. That was in Philadelphia, ‘The Cradle of Liberty’ I think they used to call it. Seven people, two laymen, three priests, a seminarian and a nun. They were all executed. The commandant had a sense of humor, he made me watch the execution. They didn’t blindfold any of them and they all saw me there, in his Mercedes staff car, sitting next to him. And I was too afraid to even cry out, to beg them to forgive me, to try and join them. I sat there doing nothing, and all their eyes were on me, right up to the end. I’ll never forget those eyes, Lieutenant.” He took another long swig from the bottle and then looked up with a strange, crooked smile. “So you see, there’s really nothing that terrifies me in the Gestapo’s bag of tricks, nothing at all, not after twenty-five years of living with that day. Your ingenious instruments can only give me relief, Lieutenant.”

Kohler entered, carrying a black attaché case. He looked at me expectantly, but I shook my head. “He’s freudy, Ed.” I didn’t bother to lower my voice this time. “Either that or one hell of a good actor.”

Kohler pulled over a battered table and set up the attaché case. He tossed me some nylon rope and I tied the old man’s hands and legs together, removing the sandals first so his feet were bare. Kohler strolled over with a thin leather pouch in one hand and looked down at Connor.

“In a few minutes we’re going to hurt you badly. It’s not something I enjoy doing, and I’d prefer not to do it at all. So I’m going to ask you a few final questions, and if you answer them truthfully none of this will be necessary.”

“I’ve been telling you the truth, Mr. Kohler. I think you know that.”

Ed did, or at least he was more or less sure, but a reasonable certainty isn’t enough in this kind of business. Unfortunately for Connor.

“Where did the Jew go when he left here?”

“I’ve told you, I don’t know. He didn’t tell me he was leaving, he just went out one afternoon and never came back.”

“Did he leave anything here?”

“No, but he had nothing to leave. His only worldly possessions were the clothes on his back, a watch and some personal papers. The only thing he left was a small gift he’d given me earlier.”

“Do you have that in your possession?”

“I do. It’s inside the rim of the sundial.”

Well, maybe we were getting somewhere. I stumbled through a mound of old books, rubbish and dirty linen and looked inside the sundial; It was there all right, whatever it was, a silver coin or medallion of some sort, the same approximate size and weight as a hundred pfennig piece. I handed it over to Kohler and he cupped it in the palm of his hand, frowning.

“It’s a fifty-cent piece, they haven’t been in circulation since Liberation.”

He turned it over.

“The mint date says 1966. And who the hell is John Fitzgerald Kennedy?”

Connor laughed’ again.

“You wouldn’t know the man, Mr. Kohler. You might ask the Jew when and if you catch up with him.”

“Anybody can forge a coin,” Kohler said. “You’re not going to throw me that easily, Father. Now, where did the Jew tell you he was going?”

“He didn’t.”

“What other friends did he have, what other people could he rely on?”

“No one.”

Kohler sighed.

“All right, Connor. I’m sorry, I really am.”

He opened the pouch and extracted a long gleaming needle. I crouched on the mattress next to the old man and held him while Ed went to work on his fingernails, but he didn’t crack. He screamed a lot, of course, nobody can help that, it’s as involuntary as a muscle spasm. But he didn’t beg. Finally, Ed let him rest a minute, then repeated the questions.

“I really wish there was something I could not tell you, gentlemen,” he said in a labored voice, “it would make withholding it a greater source of satisfaction to me. But then, that would be the sin of pride, I suppose. The punishment is enough, it is cleansing.”

Kohler shrugged and we rolled him over, then pulled his slacks down and inserted the cylindrical tube with the butane torch attachment up his anus. The screams were constant now and if there was anybody in the lofts below they would have been hammering on tie ceiling or calling the cops. Ed stopped it after a minute and let him lie there, gasping for breath, then picked up the bourbon bottle from the floor and pressed it to his lips. Half of it poured over onto his shirt but he must have gotten some down because his eyes spasmed open and he managed to pull himself up against the wall.

“Thank you.” The strong voice was just a raw croak now, barely audible.

Kohler sat next to him and talked quietly.

“This can all stop right now, Connor, and we’ll get you immediate medical attention. All you have to do is tell me where the Jew is and who else is helping him escape.”

The old man made a little noise that could have been a laugh or a sob.

“You always ask all the wrong questions. You never ask me who the Jew is, and that’s all that’s important.”

Kohler leaned closer.

“All right, who is he?”