She sighed when she felt his hand on her thigh, under her skirt. As soon as he touched her between her legs she parted her knees. Girls said a boy would think you cheap for doing that, but she could not help herself.
He touched her in just the right place. He did not try to put his hand inside her underwear, but stroked her lightly through the cotton. She heard herself making noises in her throat, quietly at first but then louder. Eventually she cried out with pleasure, burying her face in his neck to muffle the sound. Then she had to push his hand away because she felt too sensitive.
She was panting. As she began to get her breath back she kissed his neck. He touched her cheek lovingly.
After a minute she said: ‘Can I do something for you?’
‘Only if you want to.’
She was embarrassed by how much she wanted to. ‘The only thing is, I’ve never . . .’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you.’
Pastor Ochs was a portly, comfortable clergyman with a large house, a nice wife and five children, and Carla feared he would refuse to get involved. But she underestimated him. He had already heard rumours that were troubling his conscience, and he agreed to go with Walter to the Wannsee Children’s Home. Professor Willrich could hardly refuse a visit from an interested clergyman.
They decided to take Carla with them, because she had witnessed the interview with Ada. The Director might find it more difficult to change his story in front of her.
On the train, Ochs suggested he should do the talking. ‘The Director is probably a Nazi,’ he said. Most people in senior jobs nowadays were party members. ‘He will naturally see a former social-democrat deputy as an enemy. I will play the role of unbiased arbitrator. That way, I believe, we may learn more.’
Carla was not sure about that. She felt her father would be a more expert questioner. But Walter went along with the pastor’s suggestion.
It was spring, and the weather was warmer than on Carla’s last visit. There were boats on the lake. Carla decided to ask Werner to come out here for a picnic. She wanted to make the most of him before he drifted off to another girl.
Professor Willrich had a fire blazing, but a window was open, letting in a fresh breeze off the water.
The Director shook hands with Pastor Ochs and Walter. He gave Carla a brief glance of recognition then ignored her. He invited them to sit down, but Carla saw there was angry hostility behind his superficial courtesy. Clearly he did not relish being questioned. He picked up one of his pipes and played with it nervously. He was less arrogant today, confronted by two mature men rather than a couple of young women.
Ochs opened the discussion. ‘Herr von Ulrich and others in my congregation are concerned, Professor Willrich, about the mysterious deaths of several handicapped children known to them.’
‘No children have died mysteriously here,’ Willrich shot back. ‘In fact, no child has died here in the last two years.’
Ochs turned to Walter. ‘I find that very reassuring, Walter, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Walter.
Carla did not, but she kept her mouth shut for the moment.
Ochs went on unctuously: ‘I feel sure that you give your charges the best possible care.’
‘Yes.’ Willrich looked a little less anxious.
‘But you do send children from here to other hospitals?’
‘Of course, if another institution can offer a child some treatment not available here.’
‘And when a child is transferred, I suppose you are not necessarily kept informed about his treatment or his condition thereafter.’
‘Exactly!’
‘Unless they come back.’
Willrich said nothing.
‘Have any come back?’
‘No.’
Ochs shrugged. ‘Then you cannot be expected to know what happened to them.’
‘Precisely.’
Ochs sat back and spread his hands in a gesture of openness. ‘So you have nothing to hide!’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘Some of those transferred children have died.’
Willrich said nothing.
Ochs gently persisted. ‘That’s true, isn’t it?’
‘I cannot answer you with any certain knowledge, Herr Pastor.’
