'Ah, but the old man was Jewish,' I explained. 'And the two thugs belonged to the S A. Strange how that changes everything, isn't it? His mother asked me to find out if he was still alive and still at liberty. You see, when a man is arrested and beheaded or sent to a K Z, the authorities don't always bother to inform his family. There are a lot of MPs missing persons from Jewish families these days. Trying to find them is a large part of my business.' Frau Protze looked worried.
'You help Jews?' she said.
'Don't worry,' I said. 'It's perfectly legal. And their money is as good as anyone's.'
'I suppose so.'
'Listen, Frau Protze,' I said. 'Jews, gypsies. Red Indians, it's all the same to me. I've got no reason to like them, but I don't have any reason to hate them either. When he walks through that door, a Jew gets the same deal as anyone else. Same as if he were the Kaiser's cousin. But it doesn't mean I'm dedicated to their welfare. Business is business.'
'Certainly,' said Frau Protze, colouring a little. 'I hope you don't think I have anything against the Jews.'
'Of course not,' I said. But of course that is what everybody says. Even Hitler.
'Good God,' I said, when the U-Boat's mother had left my office. 'That's what a satisfied customer looks like.' The thought depressed me so much that I decided to get out for a while.
At Loeser & Wolff I bought a packet of Murattis, after which I cashed Six's cheque. I paid half of it into my own account; and I treated myself to an expensive silk dressing-gown at Wertheim's just for being lucky enough to land as sweet an earner as Six.
Then I walked south-west, past the railway station from which a train now rumbled forth heading towards the Jannowitz Bridge, to the corner of K/nigstrasse where I had left my car.
Lichterfelde-Ost is a prosperous residential district in southwest Berlin much favoured by senior civil servants and members of the armed forces. Ordinarily it would have been way out of a young couple's price league, but then most young couples don't have a multi-millionaire like Hermann Six for a father.
Ferdinandstrasse ran south from the railway line. There was a policeman, a young Anwarter in the Orpo, standing guard outside Number 16, which was missing most of the roof and all of its windows. The bungalow's blackened timbers and brickwork told the story eloquently enough. I parked the Hanomag and walked up to the garden gate, where I flipped out my identification for the young bull, a spotty-looking youth of about twenty. He looked at it carefully, naively, and said redundantly: 'A private investigator, eh?'
'S'right. I've been retained by the insurance company to investigate the fire.'
I lit a cigarette and watched the match suggestively as it burned towards my fingertips. He nodded, but his face appeared troubled. It cleared all of a sudden as he recognized me.
'Hey, didn't you used to be in Kripo up at the Alex?' I nodded, my nostrils trailing smoke like a factory chimney. 'Yes, I thought I recognized the name Bernhard Gunther. You caught Gormann, the Strangler, didn't you? I remember reading about it in the newspapers. You were famous.' I shrugged modestly. But he was right. When I caught Gormann I was famous for a while. I was a good bull in those days.
The young Anwarter took off his shako and scratched the top of his squarish head. 'Well, well,' he said; and then: 'I'm going to join Kripo. That is, if they'll have me.'
'You seem a bright enough fellow. You should do all right.'
'Thanks,' he said. 'Hey, how about a tip?'
'Try Scharhorn in the three o'clock at the Hoppegarten.' I shrugged. 'Hell, I don't know. What's your name, young fellow?'
'Eckhart,' he said. 'Wilhelm Eckhart.'
'So, Wilhelm, tell me about the fire. First of all, who's the pathologist on the case?'
'Some fellow from the Alex. I think he was called Upmann or Illmann.'
'An old man with a small chin-beard and rimless glasses?' He nodded. 'That's Illmann. When was he here?'
'Day before yesterday. Him and Kriminalkommissar Jost.'
'Jost? It's not like him to get his flippers dirty. I'd have thought it would take more than just the murder of a millionaire's daughter to get him off his fat arse.' I threw my cigarette away, in the opposite direction from the gutted house: there didn't seem any point in tempting fate.
'I heard it was arson,' I said. 'Is that true, Wilhelm?'
'Just smell the air,' he said.
I inhaled deeply, and shook my head.
'Don't you smell the petrol?'
'No. Berlin always smells like this.'
'Maybe I've just been standing here a long time. Well, they found a petrol can in the garden, so I guess that seals it.'
'Look, Wilhelm, would you mind if I just took a quick look around? It would save me having to fill out some forms. They'll have to let me have a look sooner or later.'
'Go right ahead, Herr Gunther,' he said, opening the front gate. 'Not that there's much to see. They took bags of stuff away with them. I doubt there's anything that would be of interest to you. I don't even know why I'm still here.'
'I expect it's to watch out in case the murderer returns to the scene of the crime,' I said tantalizingly.
'Lord, do you think he might?' breathed the boy.
I pursed my lips. 'Who knows?' I said, although personally I had never heard of such a thing. 'I'll take a look anyway, and thanks, I appreciate it.'
'Don't mention it.'
He was right. There wasn't much to see. The man with the matches had done a proper job. I looked in at the front door, but there was so much debris I couldn't see anywhere for me to step. Round to the side I found a window that gave onto another room where the going wasn't so difficult underfoot. Hoping that I might at least find the safe, I climbed inside. Not that I needed to be there at all. I just wanted to form a picture inside my head. I work better that way: I've got a mind like a comic book. So I wasn't too disappointed when I found that the police had already taken the safe away, and that all that was left was a gaping hole in the wall. There was always Illmann, I told myself.
Back at the gate I found Wilhelm trying to comfort an older woman of about sixty, whose face was stained with tears.
'The cleaning woman,' he explained. 'She turned up just now. Apparently she's been away on holiday and hadn't heard about the fire. Poor old soul's had a bit of a shock.' He asked her where she lived.
'Neuenburger Strasse,' she sniffed. 'I'm all right now, thank you, young man.'
From her coat pocket she produced a small lace handkerchief which seemed as improbable in her large, peasant hands as an antimacassar in those of Max Schmelling, the boxer, and quite inadequate for the task which lay before it: she blew her pickled-walnut of a nose with the sort of ferocity and volume that made me want to hold my hat on my head. Then she wiped her big, broad face with the soggy remnant. Smelling some information about the Pfarr household, I offered the old pork chop a lift home in my car.
'It's on the way,' I said.
'I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble.'
'It's no trouble at all, I insisted.
'Well, if you are sure, that would be very kind of you. I have had a bit of a shock.' She picked up the box that lay at her feet, each one of which bulged over the top of its well-polished black walking shoe like a butcher's thumb in a thimble. Her name was Frau Schmidt.
'You're a good sort, Herr Gunther,' said Wilhelm.
'Nonsense,' I said, and so it was. There was no telling what information I might glean from the old woman about her late employers. I took the box from her hands. 'Let me help you with that,' I said. It was a suit-box, from Stechbarth's, the official tailor to the services, and I had the idea that she might have been bringing it for the Pfarrs. I nodded silently at Wilhelm, and led the way to the car.
'Neuenburger Strasse,' I repeated as we drove off. 'That's off Lindenstrasse, isn't it?' She confirmed that it was, gave me some directions and was silent for a moment. Then she started weeping again.
'What a terrible tragedy,' she sobbed.
