Heinz Rein - Berlin Finale

‘When I had access to the personnel files of these six individuals again yesterday afternoon, and flicked through them again and again, reading everything through very carefully, perhaps to extract a clue from some seemingly trivial detail, I read that for this… for this particular man for the period between the sixteenth of January and the seventh of February a sick note had been given, by one Dr Walter Böttcher, of 14 Frankfurter Allee, diagnosis: sepsis. This Dr Böttcher is not unknown to us, but we have had nothing to reproach him with for years, the fact that our man had consulted him could be entirely a matter of chance, because he lives near Dr Böttcher, on Lebuser Strasse. On the other hand, of course, one might also argue that the man in question lives near Dr Böttcher deliberately, probably seeing him as a kindred spirit. Now, one likelihood is worth as much as another.’ Siering breaks off, he has talked himself into a state of excitement, his cheeks are bright red and his eyes have the look of a hunting hound, he runs the fingers of his right hand between the collar of his uniform and his neck as if his collar is suddenly too tight.

‘You tell a good story,’ Wellenhöfer says benevolently, nodding to his inferior. ‘You crank things up like a thriller writer.’

Deiters confirms his words with a vigorous nod of the head. He too is in a state of suspense.

‘I couldn’t stop thinking about the sick note,’ Siering continues at last, ‘I read it again and again, and then it came to me in a flash, I took out my notebook and ran through the dates of the acts of sabotage, and then I had it: in the period between the sixteenth of January and the seventh of February there was a week with the shift in question, the one from the twenty-first until the twenty-seventh of January, and during that shift, for the first time, nothing had happened since the start of the acts of sabotage. Now it was clear!’ Siering exhales as if freed from a heavy burden. ‘But I wanted to be completely sure,’ he continues hastily. ‘This morning, when the landlady of the man in question had gone out, I gained access to the flat and carried out a search of his room. I must say: the man is entirely neutral, there was not a single belonging that would allow one to draw conclusions about his character, not a single monogrammed piece of underwear, no picture of family members, absolutely nothing, but it was precisely that neutrality that put the seal on my suspicion: I believe the man is an illegal.’

‘And what is the man’s name?’ Wellenhöfer asks.

‘Franz Adamek,’ Siering replies.

‘Good heavens,’ Deiters exclaims. ‘Adamek? Unbelievable, a quiet, thoughtful man, a good worker, unbelievable!’

Wellenhöfer completely ignores his remark. ‘Franz Adamek?’ he says. ‘Never heard of him. Does he have any kind of record?’

‘No,’ Siering replies, ‘I’ve looked through all the wanted lists, but the name doesn’t appear anywhere. Of course, it isn’t necessarily his real name.’

‘That’s true!’ Wellenhöfer agrees. ‘If your suspicion is correct, and the man is living outside the law, then of course he will be doing so under a false name.’

‘I am confident that I will be able to draw his real name out of him,’ Siering says. ‘We could…’

Wellenhöfer raises his hand. ‘Just one moment, Siering,’ he says quickly. ‘Before we go on discussing the matter, I would like to dismiss Mr Deiters.’ He turns to the Senior Inspector. ‘Listen very carefully to what I am about to say to you, Mr Deiters, you must give me your personal assurance that my instructions are carried out to the letter. Adamek must be transferred immediately, you will have him informed of his transfer by a random third party, because you already know too much to be able to tell him without giving the game away. I do not believe you have the requisite acting talent.’

‘As you wish,’ Deiters says meekly. ‘I will transfer him to the boiler room, as he is constantly…’

‘You have no decisions to make in this matter,’ Wellenhöfer cuts him off abruptly. ‘Adamek will no longer be doing shift work, you will put him in a column that always works outside, under a very strict and dependable foreman who won’t take his eyes off him. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Deiters replies. ‘I will see to it.’

‘Please do!’ says Wellenhöfer, the harsh tone of his voice contrasting with his words, which are an order rather than a request. ‘And now you will leave us on our own.’

Deiters considers himself dismissed, he rises to his feet, bows to Wellenhöfer and Siering and raises his hand in the Hitler salute, then leaves the room.

Wellenhöfer looks after him darkly. ‘Inadequate excuse for a human being,’ he says irritably. ‘You have to chew their food for them if you want anything to happen.’ His face brightens when he looks at Siering. ‘You will continue to keep Adamek under supervision, I’ll give you two good people to do that. I want to learn who Adamek keeps company with. You have full freedom to do as you please, Siering. Your hands will not be tied. You know what that means?’

‘Of course, Sturmbannführer,’ Siering says with a nod, and rummages in his jacket pocket. ‘Here is a picture of Adamek, I took it from the personnel files of the Karlhorst depot.’

‘Let me see,’ says Wellenhöfer, and takes the photograph. He frowns and holds the picture away from him. ‘I know that face,’ he says slowly, ‘I’m sure I know it. But where from?’

‘It’s not the sort of face you’d forget,’ Siering says.

‘That’s why,’ Wellenhöfer observes thoughtfully. ‘Damn it, where do I know this rogue from?’

He sits there motionless for several seconds, blinking uneasily.

Siering sits quite still, reluctant to disturb the concentration of a superior officer.

Then Wellenhöfer brings his fist down on the table with a thump. ‘Now I know,’ he says loudly. ‘When I was in charge of a unit in Sachsenhausen I ran across this piece of filth. I can’t remember his name right now, but we’ll have it very soon.’ He lifts the receiver and dials a number. ‘Archive?’ he says into the phone. ‘Wellenhöfer here. I need the list of prisoners in Sachsenhausen between 1934 and 1936.’

He hangs up again. ‘I remember him very clearly, he was some kind of trade unionist, one of the radicals,’ he says to Siering with a certain excitement in his voice, the thrill of the passionate huntsman who has good lighting conditions, and who might at any moment see a rare deer walking into his sights. ‘This man Adamek, or whatever his name is, was one of those characters who can’t be defeated however hard you thrash them, who have such a damned superior expression on their mugs that my blood boiled at the sight of them and I thrashed them at every opportunity. And in spite of everything I could never knock that sense of superiority out of the bastards.’

‘I’m familiar with that, Sturmbannführer,’ Siering agrees. ‘There’s something about those swine that we can’t get at, and the devil knows what it is and what it’s about. In Dachau I once had a vicar who had criticized the Führer from the pulpit, I stood in front of him and said to him, “Listen, vicar! Say quite loudly and clearly, ‘Heil Hitler!’” The vicar looked straight at me with big eyes, then said loudly and clearly: “Praise be to Jesus Christ!” Wait, you piece of filth, I thought, you’re going to learn this lesson, and I lashed him across the face with my riding crop, leaving stripes of red. “You are to say ‘Heil Hitler’”, I roared at him. This vicar stood there motionless, only his fat cheeks wobbled up and down, and he didn’t even wipe the blood from his eyes. “Praise be to Jesus Christ!” he repeated loudly and clearly. Then I hit him again, and issued the order again, and he answered the same way again, and that happened at least twenty times, Heil Hitler and Praise be to Jesus Christ, in between blows to the face, until the bastard finally toppled over and kicked the bucket, but while he was giving up his vicarish ghost he babbled, “Praise be to Jesus Christ!” again. I must say quite honestly that I admired the chap’s attitude, but that was exactly what goaded me and made my fury all the greater.’