I had been asleep for no more than a couple of hours when the sound of sirens and whistles wrenched me violently from my quiet slumbers. It was an air-raid practice.
I buried my head under the pillow and tried to ignore the area warden hammering on my door; but I knew that I would only have to account for my absence later on, and that failure to provide a verifiable explanation would result in a fine.
Thirty minutes later, when the whistles had blown and the sirens cranked to sound the all-clear, there seemed little point in going back to bed. So I bought an extra litre off the Bolle milkman and cooked myself an enormous omelette.
Inge arrived at my office at just after nine. Without much ceremony she sat down on the other side of my desk and watched me finish making some case notes.
'Did you see your friend?' I asked her after a moment.
'We went to the theatre.'
'Yes? What did you see?' I found that I wanted to know everything, including details that had no bearing on the man's possible knowledge of Paul Pfarr.
' The Base Wallah. It was rather weak, but Otto seemed to enjoy it. He Insisted on paying for the tickets, so I didn't need the petty cash.'
'Then what did you do?'
'We went to Baarz's beer restaurant. I hated it. A real Nazi place. Everyone stood and saluted the radio when it played the Horst Wessel Song and Deutschland _ber Alles. I had to do it too, and I hate to salute. It makes me feel like I'm hailing a taxi. Otto drank rather a lot and became very talkative. I drank quite a lot myself actually I feel a bit rough this morning.' She lit a cigarette.
'Anyway, Otto was vaguely acquainted with Pfarr. He says that Pfarr was about as popular as a ferret in a gumboot at the D A F, and it's not difficult to see why. Pfarr was investigating corruption and fraud in the Labour Union. As a result of his investigations, two treasurers of the Transport Workers Union were dismissed and sent to K Zs, one after the other; the chairman of the Koch Strasse shop-committee of Ullstein's, the big printing works, was found guilty of stealing funds and executed; Rolf Togotzes, the cashier of the Metal Workers Union, was sent to Dachau; and a lot more. If ever a man had enemies, it was Paul Pfarr. Apparently there were lots of smiling faces around the department when it became known that Pfarr was dead.'
'Any idea what he was investigating at the time of his death?' 'No. Apparently he played things very close to his chest. He liked to work through informers, amassing evidence until he was ready to make formal charges.'
'Did he have any colleagues there?'
'Just a stenographer, a girl by the name of Marlene Sahm. Otto, my friend, if you can call him that, took quite a shine to her, and asked her out a couple of times. Nothing much came of it. That's the story of his life, I'm afraid. But he remembered her address though.' Inge opened her handbag and consulted a small notebook. 'Nollendorfstrasse, Number 23. She'll probably know what he had been getting up to.'
'He sounds like a bit of a ladies' man, your friend Otto.'
Inge laughed. 'That's what he said about Pfarr. He was pretty sure that Pfarr was cheating on his wife, and that he had a mistress. He saw him with a woman on several occasions at the same nightclub. He said that Pfarr seemed embarrassed at being discovered. Otto said she was quite a beauty, if a bit flashy. He thought her name was Vera, or Eva, or something like that.'
'Did he tell the police that?'
'No. He says that they never asked. On the whole he'd rather not get involved with the Gestapo unless he has to.'
'You mean that he hasn't even been questioned?'
'Apparently not.'
I shook my head. 'I wonder what they're playing at.' I thought for a minute, and then added, 'Thanks for doing that, by the way. I hope it wasn't too much of a nuisance.'
She shook her head. 'How about you? You look tired.'
'I was working late. And I didn't sleep all that well. Then this morning there was a damned air-raid practice.' I tried to massage some life into the top of my head. I didn't tell her about Goering. There was no need for her to know more than she had to. It was safer for her that way.
That morning she was wearing a dress of dark-green cotton with a fluted collar and cavalier cuffs of stiffened white lace. For a brief moment I fed myself on the fantasy that had me lifting her dress up and familiarizing myself with the curve of her buttocks and the depth of her sex.
'This girl, Pfarr's mistress. Are we going to try and find her?'
I shook my head. 'The bulls would be bound to hear about it. And then it could get awkward. They're quite keen on finding her themselves, and I wouldn't want to start picking that nostril with one finger already in there.' I picked up the phone and asked to be connected to Six's home telephone number. It was Farraj, the butler, who answered.
'Is Herr Six, or Herr HaupthSndler, at home? It's Bernhard Gunther speaking.'
'I'm sorry, sir, but they're both away at a meeting this morning. Then I believe they'll be attending the opening of the Olympic Games. May I give either of them a message, sir?'
'Yes, you can,' I said. 'Tell them both that I'm getting close.'
'Is that all, sir?'
'Yes, they'll know what I mean. And make sure that you tell both of them, Farraj, won't you.'
'Yes, sir.'
I put the phone down. 'Right,' I said.' It's time we got going.'
It was a ten-pfennig ride on the U-Bahn to the Zoo Station, repainted to look especially smart for the Olympic fortnight. Even the walls of the houses backing on to the station had been given a new coat of white. But high above the city, and where the Hindenburg airship droned noisily back and forwards towing an Olympic flag, the sky had gathered a surly gang of dark-grey clouds. As we left the station, Inge looked upwards and said: 'It would serve them right if it rained. Better still, if it rained for the entire fortnight.'
'That's the one thing they can't control,' I said. We approached the top of Kurfurstenstrasse. 'Now then, while Herr HaupthSndler is away with his employer, I propose to have a squint at his rooms. Wait for me at Aschinger's restaurant.'
Inge began to protest, but I continued speaking: 'Burglary is a serious crime, and I don't want you around if the going gets tough. Understand?'
She frowned, and then nodded. 'Brute,' she muttered, as I walked away.
Number 120 was a five-storey block of expensive-looking flats, of the sort that had a heavy black door that was polished so keenly they could have used it as a mirror in a negro jazz-band's dressing room. I summoned the diminutive caretaker with the enormous stirrup-shaped brass door-knocker. He looked about as alert as a doped tree sloth. I flashed the Gestapo warrant disc in front of his rheumy little eyes. At the same time I snapped 'Gestapo' at him and, pushing him roughly aside, I stepped quickly into the hall. The caretaker oozed fear through every one of his pasty pores.
'Which is Herr HaupthSndler's apartment?' Realizing that he was not about to be arrested and sent to a K Z, the caretaker relaxed slightly. 'The second floor, apartment five. But he's not at home right now.'
I snapped my fingers at him. 'Your pass-key, give it to me.' With eager, unhesitating hands, he produced a small bunch of keys and removed one from the ring. I snatched it from his trembling fingers.
'If Herr HaupthSndler returns, ring once on the telephone, and then replace the receiver. Is that clear?'
'Yes, sir,' he said, with an audible gulp.
HaupthSndler's were an impressively large suite of rooms on two levels, with arched doorways and a shiny wooden floor covered with thick Oriental rugs.
Everything was neat and well-polished, so much so that the apartment seemed hardly lived in at all. In the bedroom were two large twin beds, a dressing-table, and a pouffe. The colour scheme was peach, jade-green and mushroom, with the first colour predominating. I didn't like it. On each of the two beds was an open suitcase, and on the floor were empty carrier-bags from several large department stores including C & A, Grunfeld's, Gerson's and Tietz.
I searched through the suitcases. The first one I looked in was a woman's, and I was struck by the fact that everything in it was, or at least looked, brand-new.
