The ‘disguise’ was laughable. Willi wore his hair shorter now. He had a new mustache that remotely resembled the Führer’s, except that Willi’s was grey and, despite his best efforts, a little unkempt. He had exchanged his wire-rimmed eyeglasses for some with round black frames and tinted lenses. Bergemann just shook his head in exasperation.
Bergemann reminded him he was no longer a policeman, and there was nothing he could do, even if he stayed, to find Lola’s attacker. ‘I didn’t come back for that,’ said Willi. But, said Willi, now that Bergemann mentioned it, the police were having no luck finding the attacker, and, as far as he could tell, hadn’t made much of an effort.
Bergemann, himself a detective, couldn’t disagree. The policemen on the case had taken Lola’s statement. They had done a perfunctory investigation, had then determined there were no clues to be found, and nothing more was to be done. Lola was alive, they said, and an assault charge was the best they could hope for if they ever found the man, which, they said again, was unlikely. They pointed out that, despite a serious gash on her forehead and a concussion, Lola had recovered completely. After three days in the hospital, she had been able to return home, and after a few more days, she was able to go back to work and resume her normal life.
Willi couldn’t resist investigating, even though it was dangerous for him to do so. He interviewed the night watchman and had a look at the spot where the attack had happened. But just as the police had said, there were no witnesses and no physical evidence. Even the umbrella was gone. He questioned Lola extensively, asking her everything he could think of about her assailant until she told him to stop.
‘You’re not a detective any more, Willi,’ she said. ‘I understand why you’re doing this, and I appreciate it. But you’re putting both of us in danger.’ Willi said she was probably right. But he did not promise to stop looking into it.
Lola’s parents, Klara and Klaus Zeff, had been the cook and caretaker at the Geismeier home when Willi was growing up. Willi and Lola had been playmates and constant companions as children. But when they were twelve Lola was apprenticed to a seamstress in Aschaffenburg, while Willi was sent off to boarding school at Schloß Barzelhof in the Bavarian Forest, and that was the last they saw of one another.
Lola eventually left her apprenticeship to work as a private nurse for an elderly invalid. She had the night shift, moving her patient from his wheelchair to his bed, changing the dressings on his arms and legs, and spooning soup into his mouth. When he died, the war had started and Lola found work in a military hospital not far from the western front. She could hear the dull thump of the shelling, which usually meant that ambulances would be arriving within minutes.
The hospital work involved mopping up blood and swabbing out wounds, while the boys were held down screaming in pain. But Lola loved caring for the soldiers and found she was good at it. She fed them, read them their letters from home, and held their hands when they wept. Once the war ended, Lola came back to Munich. Work was hard to find, but she eventually got a job as a maid in the Hotel zur Kaiserkrone, one of Munich’s great hotels.
Lola had flaming red hair and an electric smile, and Herr Kuzinski, the hotel manager, was attracted to her and pursued her with flowers and gifts. Lola was not interested and said so. To her surprise, instead of firing her, Herr Kuzinski offered her a position behind the bar. He could see, he said, that the tact and diplomacy she had shown in refusing him made her perfect for the bar. She didn’t know whether he was joking or not. But he said men would drink more if she was serving them. And he could continue to hope, couldn’t he?
The Kaiserkrone was a magnificent Belle Epoque structure with towers and gables, high gilt ceilings and crystal chandeliers. Its bar – the Mahogany Room – was splendid too, with its long, polished mahogany bar, Persian rugs, easy chairs and tapestry-covered walls. The hotel’s floorshow sparkled, its orchestra was first rate and played all the latest hits from America. It was where connections were made, deals were struck and, increasingly, political schemes were hatched.
Herr Kuzinski’s assessment of Lola proved to be astute. She was personable, smart, and responsible. She had real managerial talent, and after a few months he put her in charge of the bar. She negotiated with the liquor salesmen, ordered stock, arranged for deliveries, and supervised the bartenders and servers. That they were eventually all women was her idea.
The men at the bar – sometimes they were three or four deep – seemed to drink more with women serving them. And they talked more too, trying to impress the pretty young things. They liked to joke, especially with Lola, who was no longer all that young, but who was still pretty and clever and could give as good as she got.
It had been twenty years or more since Lola had seen Willi. And she had only heard his name from her parents when they talked about old times. But now she heard it in the Mahogany Room.
‘How do you think we ought to deal with traitors, Lola?’ A
