Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

For the first time since seeing the Spandau papers@ver six hours

ago-Ilse began to relax. She watched the desk sergeant at the

telephone, drumming his fingers as he waited to speak to someone. He

smiled back. Hans has probably straightened everything out already, she

told herself.

"But he can't be gone," the sergeant insisted quietly.

"He-" The sergeant fell silent as Wilhelm Funk emerged from a first

floor office. He dropped the phone so loudly that Funk looked his way.

"What is it, Ross?" Funk barked. "I'm in a hurry."

The desk sergeant cut his eyes toward Ilse, then crossed the room and

interposed Funk's corpulent body between Ilse and himself.

"Prefect," he whispered, "the woman sitting behind you is Sergeant

Apfel's wife. She's come here to find him."

Funk's mouth fell open. It took all his willpower not to whirl and

snatch the woman up by her hair. "Go back to your desk," he whispered.

The sergeant obeyed without a word.

Funk glanced at his watch, gauging Luhr's probable time of return.

Then he summoned his warmest smile, turned, and extended his plump hand.

"Frau Apfel? I am Wilhelm Funk, prefect of police. I believe your

husband was on the Spandau Prison security detail?"

Thrown off-balance by Funk's lofty rank and his apparent knowledge of

her plight, Ilse stood and put her small hand into his pink paw.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, Hans was at Spandau. Have you seen him

tonight?"

Funk's smile broadened. "I have indeed. I questioned him earlier this

evening. In fact, I've been trying to locate him ever since.

Just after Hans left the station, I remembered something I neglected to

ask him. Simply a formality, of course, but I try to keep everything

proper. You understand.

Every thing in its place, every paper signed and all that."

"You're looking for Hans now?"

"Yes, my dear. When Sergeant Ross told me who you were, I hoped you

might be able to help us find him. But I see that you're as perplexed

as we are. Please, let me escort you upstairs. I have a temporary

office there. I'll have coffee sent up and perhaps together we can

deduce where your husband has gone."

This is too much to ask! Funk thought gleefully as he whisked Ilse up

the stairs. The instrument of my deliverance walks straight through my

front door! With a lecherous look at Ilse's backside, he closed his

office door and seated her before his desk. "Frau Apfel, I wanted to

get you in private before I spoke frankly about this. May I speak

frankly to you?"

In spite of her fatigue, Ilse's adrenaline began to course again.

Facing the supreme police officer of West Berlin was a little unnerving.

"About Hans?" she asked warily.

Funk paused, appraising the woman before him. What did she know?

And more importantly, what did she suspect? Remembering his unpleasant

call to Pretoria, Funk decided to gamble. "My dear, I'm afraid our Hans

may be in some trouble."

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly. "What kind of trouble?"

"When we questioned the officers from the Spandau patrol this evening,

we conducted the proceedings with the aid of a polygraph. You know, a

lie detector?"

"I know what they are. You have to pass a polygraph test to work at my

company."

"Ah. You're a career woman, then?"

"Yes-please, just tell me what's going on. Why did you use a

polygraph?"

Funk smiled condescendingly. "This is a complex matter, my dear.

There are ... other parties involved." Funk lowered his voice.

"The Russians, for instance. They were present at this polygraph

session.

I'm afraid all of our men passed this examination except your husband

and a young officer named Erhard Weiss."

"I know Erhard."

Funk thrust out his lower lip. "I see." He glanced at his watch; Luhr

might return any minute. "Naturally," he said in a confiding tone, "I

instructed our @lygraph operator to make no sign if any of our men

failed. We even took the precaution of preparing clean reports from

several men before the interrogation began. Glasnost may be the flavor

of the month, but we can't have a pack of Russians barging in here and

demanding access to German officers. I'm sure you understand."

Ilse nodded uncertainly.

Funk took a deep breath. Now for the gamble. "As soon as we'd cleared

the Russians out, I questioned Weiss ai your husband alone. Weiss had

nothing to tell. I believe simple nervousness caused him to fail the

test. But Hans"Funk paused-"Hans told me that he had discovered

something at Spandau, just as the Russians claimed. He said that he had

removed it to a safe place."

Ilse buried her face in her hands. The insane events of this night had

become too much to bear. If she had been less tired, perhaps, she might

have been more suspicious. But the prefect seemed to know everything

already, and he wanted to help her find Hans.

Raising her head, she looked Funk in the eye and posed a single test

question.

"What did Hans tell you he found?" she asked, her redrimmed eyes lock@d

on his bluff face.

Funk didn't hesitate. He assumed the Soviet forensic people knew their

business. "Why, papers, my dear," he said nonchalantly. "When Hans

left the station, he assured me he was going to retrieve them, but as

you can see"-Funk flicked his palms toward the ceiling-"he has yet to

return."

Ilse stifled a sob. It was no use, she had to trust someone.

c e. "A . e Try as she might to control herself, the tears am re the

Russians looking for Hans too?" she asked. "For the papers?"

Gott im Himmel! Funk felt his heart thud in triumph. It was papers!

"I'm not sure," he replied, trying to hold his voice steady.

"It's possible. Why do you ask?"

"Because they came to my apartment!" she blurted. "They were looking

for Hans, I know it! I almost didn't get away!"

My God, I've done it! Funk thought wildly. I have her!

Rising to his feet, he hurried around the desk and sat beside Ilse. Like

a concerned father he clasped both her hands in his and patted them

reassuringly.

"Now, now, child," he consoled her. "We'll find Hans, don't worry. We

have thousands of men at our disposal. Just calm down and tell me

everything. Everything from the very beginning."

Ilse did.

12.01 A.M. British Sector.' West Berlin

By the time Jiirgen Luhr arrived at the murder scene, the forensic team

had repacked its equipment and stacked it beside the front door.

A uniformed patrolman guarded the door against any prowling pressmen who

might arrive. Chainsmoking technicians rubbed the sleep from their eyes

and cursed the man who had the nerve to be killed in the middle of the

night. The man of the hour lay wrapped in the polyurethane bag that

would be his sole vestment until someone came forward to claim him. For

it was murder-anyone could see that. The attempt to disguise the

shooting as a suicide had been clumsy at best, everyone agreed. Or

almost everyone. Detective Schneider hadn't said anything yet.

Naturally.

Luhr approached a thin man who sat on a sofa, fiddling with a camera.

"Who's in charge here?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"Detective Schneider," said the man without looking up from his camera.

"He's in the back."

"I'm Lieutenant Luhr. The prefect sent me to inquire into this matter."

Funk's title brought the photographer to his feet. "It's about time you

got here," he whispered.

"Who is the dead man?" Luhr asked.

"His passport says Klaus Seeckt."