Irrelevant, thought Hans. 'Yes,' he answered truthfully.
Schmidt came a step closer. 'Sergeant Apfel, you've made several
arrests for drug possession in the past year.
Have you ever failed to turn the entire quantity of confiscated drugs
over to the evidence officer?'
Control ques-Hans started to bite his tongue again; then he hesitated.
If this was a control question, Schmidt had upped the stakes of the
game. Giving an exaggerated response here would not be without serious
consequences. Police corruption involving drugs was an epidemic
problem, with accordingly severe punishment for those caught.
The men at the table gave no indication that they saw this question as
anything but routine, but Hans thought he detected a feral gleam in
Schmidt's eyes. The dirty little man knew his business.
'Sergeant?' Schmidt prodded.
Hans fidgeted. He did not want to appear guilty of a drug crime, but
the Spandau questions still awaited. If he intended to keep the papers
secret, he would have to give at least a partially exaggerated response
to this question. In silent desperation he held his breath, counted to
four, then answered, 'No,' and exhaled slowly.
'Is your wife's maiden name Natterrnan, Sergeant?'
Irrelevant. 'Yes,' Hans replied.
Schmidt wiped his upper lip. 'Were you the last man to arrive at the
scene of the argument over custody of the trespassers at Spandau
PrisonT' Relevant question. Hans glanced up at the panel. All eyes
were on him now. Stay calm ... 'I don't remember,' he said. 'Things
were so confused then. I really didn't notice.'
'Yes or no, Sergeant!'
'I suppose I could have been.'
Exasperated, Schmidt looked to Funk for guidance. The prefect fixed
Hans with his imperious stare. 'Sergeant,' he said curtly, 'one of your
fellow officers told us you were the last man there. Would you care to
answer the question again?'
'I'm sorry,' Hans said sheepishly, 'I just don't remem-her.' He looked
at the floor. The Russian soldier who had caught him in the rubble pile
could call him a liar right now, he knew, but for some reason the man
hadn't spoken up.
Funk appeared satisfied with Hans's answer, and told Schmidt to move
along. There can't be many more questions, Hans thought. Just a little
longer'Sergeant Apfel?' Schmidt's voice cut like slivers of glass. 'Did
you remove any documents from a hollow brick in the area of the
cellblocks last occupied by the Nuremberg war criminals?'
Holy Mother of God! Hans choked down a scream. Every eye in the room
burned upon his face. For the first time Hauer's steely mask cracked.
His probing eyes fixed Hans motionless in his chair, stripping away the
pathetic layers of deception. But it was too late to come clean.
'No,' Hans said lamely.
'Specifically, ' Schmidt bored in, 'did you discover, remove, see, or
even hear of documents pertaining to or written by Prisoner Number
Seven-Rudolf Hess?'
Hans felt cold sweat running down his spine.. His heart became an enemy
within his chest, thumping out the tattoo of his guilt. And there stood
Schmidt, lie-hungry, watching each centimeter of paper unspool from his
precious machine.
Looking at him now, Hans fancied he saw a mad doctor reading an
electrocardiograph, a diabolical quack watching each fateful squiggle in
the hope of witnessing a fatal heart attack. Hans felt his willpower
ebbing away. The truth welled up in his throat, beyond his control.
Just tell the truth, urged a voice in his head, tell it all and take
whatever consequences come. Then this insanity willfocus elsewhere.
Yet as Hans started to do just that, Schmidt said'Sergeant, have you
ever omitted an important piece of information from a job application?'
Hans felt like a spacewalker cut loose from his tether.
Schmidt had asked another control question! Hadn't he? But why hadn't
he triumphantly proclaimed Hans's guilt to the tribunal? Hans had
expected the little demon to dance a jig and scream: Him! Him!
There is the liar!
'No-no, I haven't,' Hans stammered.
'Thank you, Sergeant.'
While Hans sat stunned, Schmidt turned to Funk and shook his head.
The prefect closed the. file before him, then turned to the Soviet
colonels and shrugged. 'Any questions?' he asked.
The Russians looked like sleeping bears. When one finally shook his
head to indicate the negative, the gesture seemed the result of a
massive effort. Hans even sensed the soldiers in the back of the room
relaxing. Only Captain Hauer and Lieutenant Luhr remained tense. For
some reason it struck Hans just then that Jiirgen Luhr was the kind of
German who made Jews nervous. He was a racial type-the proto Germanic
man, tall and broad-shouldered, thin-lipped and square-headed-a mythical
Aryan fiend passed down in whispered tales from mother to daughter and
father to son.
'Thank you for your cooperation, Sergeant,' Funk said wearily.
'We'll contact you if we need any further details.'
Then over Hans's shoulder, 'Bring in the last officer.'
Hans floundered. They had drawn him into the trap, yet failed-to pounce
for the kill. 'Am I free to go?' he asked uncertainly.
'Unless you wish to stay with us all night,' Funk snapped.
'Excuse me, Prefect,' Lieutenant Luhr cut in. All eyes turned to him.
'I'd like to ask the sergeant a question.'
Funk nodded.
'Tell me, Sergeant, did you notice Officer Weiss acting in a suspicious
manner at any time during the Spandau assignment?'
Hans shook his head, remembering Weiss being dragged down the hall. 'No,
sir. No, I didn't.'
Luhr smiled with understanding, but he had the watchful eyes of a police
dog. 'Officer Weiss is a Jew, isn't he, Sergeant?'
One of the Russian colonels staffed, but his comrade laid a restraining
hand on his shoulder.
'I believe that's right,' Hans said tentatively. 'Yes, he's Jewish.'
Luhr gave a curt nod of the head, as if this new fact somehow explained
