'It's just gone eight,' I said. 'The curtains are going up at theatres all over Berlin, diners in restaurants are still scrutinizing the menu and mothers are just thinking that it's about time their children were in bed. Is Frau Lange at home?'
'She's not dressed for no gentlemen callers.'
'Well that's all right. I haven't brought her any flowers or chocolates. And I'm certainly not a gentleman.'
'You spoke the truth there all right.'
'That one was for free. Just to put you in a good enough mood to do as you're told. This is business, urgent business, and she'll want to see me or know the reason why I wasn't let in. So why don't you run along and tell her I'm here.'
I waited in the same room on the sofa with the dolphin armrests. I didn't like it any better the second time, not least because it was now covered with the ginger hairs of an enormous cat, which lay asleep on a cushion underneath a long oak sideboard. I was still picking the hairs off my trousers when Frau Lange came into the room. She was wearing a green silk dressing-gown of the sort that left the tops of her big breasts on show like the twin humps of some pink sea-monster, matching slippers, and she carried an unlit cigarette in her fingers. The dog stood dumbly at her corn-plastered heel, its nose wrinkling at the overpowering smell of English lavender that trailed off Frail Lange's body like an old feather-boa. Her voice was even more masculine than I had remembered.
'Just tell me that Reinhard had nothing to do with it,' she said imperiously.
'Nothing at all,' I said.
The sea-monster sank a little as she breathed a sigh of relief. 'Thank God for that,' she said. 'And do you know who it is that has been blackmailing me, Herr Gunther?'
'Yes. A man who used to work at Kindermann's clinic. A male nurse called Klaus Hering. I don't suppose that the name will mean much to you, but Kindermann had to dismiss him a couple of months ago. My guess is that while he was working there he stole the letters that your son wrote to Kindermann.'
She sat down and lit her cigarette. 'But if his grudge was against Kindermann, why pick on me?'
'I'm just guessing, you understand, but I'd say that a lot has to do with your wealth. Kindermann's rich, but I doubt he's a tenth as rich as you, Frau Lange.
What's more, it's probably mostly tied up in that clinic. He's also got quite a few friends in the S S, so Hering may have decided that it was simply safer to squeeze you. On the other hand, he may have already tried Kindermann and failed to get anywhere. As a psychotherapist he could probably easily explain your son's letters as the fantasies of a former patient. After all, it's not uncommon for a patient to grow attached to his doctor, even somebody as apparently loathsome as Kindermann.'
'You've met him?'
'No, but that's what I hear from some of the staff working at the clinic.'
'I see. Well, now what happens?'
'As I remember, you said that would be up to your son.'
'All right. Supposing that he wants you to go on handling things for us. After all, you've made pretty short work of it so far. What would your next course of action be?'
'Right now my partner, Herr Stahlecker, is keeping our friend Hering under surveillance at his apartment on Nollendorfplatz. As soon as Hering goes out, Herr Stahlecker will try and break in and recover your letters. After that you have three possibilities. One is that you can forget all about it. Another is that you can put the matter in the hands of the police, in which case you run the risk of Hering making allegations against your son. And then you can arrange for Hering to get a good old-fashioned hiding. Nothing too severe, you understand. Just a good scare to warn him off and teach him a lesson. Personally I always favour the third choice. Who knows? It might even result in your recovering some of your money.'
'Oh, I'd like to get my hands on that miserable man.'
'Best leave that sort of thing to me, eh? I'll call you tomorrow and you can tell me what you and your son have decided to do. With any luck we may even have recovered the letters by then.'
I didn't exactly need my arm twisted to have the brandy she offered me by way of celebration. It was excellent stuff that should have been savoured a little. But I was tired, and when she and the sea-monster joined me on the sofa I felt it was time to be going.
About that time I was living in a big apartment on Fasanenstrasse, a little way south of Kurfnrstendamm, and within easy reach of all the theatres and better restaurants I never went to.
It was a nice quiet street, all white, mock porticoes and Atlantes supporting elaborate facades on their well-muscled shoulders. Cheap it wasn't. But that apartment and my partner had been my only two luxuries in two years.
The first had been rather more successful for me than the second. An impressive hallway with more marble than the Pergamon Altar led up to the second floor where I had a suite of rooms with ceilings that were as high as trams. German architects and builders were never known for their penny-pinching.
My feet aching like young love, I ran myself a hot bath.
I lay there for a long time, staring up at the stained-glass window which was suspended at right angles to the ceiling, and which served, quite redundantly, to offer some cosmetic division of the bathroom's higher regions. I had never ceased to puzzle as to what possible reason had prompted its construction.
Outside the bathroom window a nightingale sat in the yard's solitary but lofty tree. I felt that I had a lot more confidence in his simple song than the one that Hitler was singing.
I reflected that it was the kind of simplistic comparison my beloved pipe-smoking partner might have relished.
Chapter 5
Tuesday, 6 September.
In the darkness the doorbell rang. Drunk with sleep I reached across to the alarm clock and picked it off the bedside table. It said 4.30 in the morning with still nearly an hour to go before I was supposed to wake up. The doorbell rang again, only this time it seemed more insistent. I switched on a light and went out into the hall.
'Who is it?' I said, knowing well enough that generally it's only the Gestapo who take a pleasure in disturbing people's sleep.
'Haile Selassie,' said a voice. 'Who the fuck do you think it is? Come on, Gunther, open up, we haven't got all night.'
Yes, it was the Gestapo all right. There was no mistaking their finishing-school manners.
I opened the door and allowed a couple of beer barrels wearing hats and coats to barge past me.
'Get dressed,' said one. 'You've got an appointment.'
'Shit, I am going to have to have a word with that secretary of mine,' I yawned.
'I forgot all about it.'
'Funny man,' said the other.
'What, is this Heydrich's idea of a friendly invitation?'
'Save your mouth to suck on your cigarette, will you? Now climb into your suit or we'll take you down in your fucking pyjamas.'
I dressed carefully, choosing my cheapest German Forest suit and an old pair of shoes. I stuffed my pockets with cigarettes. I even took along a copy of the Berlin Illustrated News. When Heydrich invites you for breakfast it's always best to be prepared for an uncomfortable and possibly indefinite visit.
Immediately south of Alexanderplatz, on Dircksenstrasse, the Imperial Police Praesidium and the Central Criminal Courts faced each other in an uneasy confrontation: legal administration versus justice. It was like two heavyweights standing toe to toe at the start of a fight, each trying to stare the other down.
Of the two, the Alex, also sometimes known as 'Grey Misery', was the more brutal looking, having a Gothic- fortress design with a dome-shaped tower at each corner, and two smaller towers atop the front and rear facades. Occupying some 16,000 square metres it was an object lesson in strength if not in architectural merit.
The slightly smaller building that housed the central Berlin courts also had the more pleasing aspect. Its neo-Baroque sandstone facade possessed something rather more subtle and intelligent than its opponent.
There was no telling which one of these two giants was likely to emerge the winner; but when both fighters have been paid to take a fall it makes no sense to stick around and watch the end of the contest.
Dawn was breaking as the car drew into Alex's central courtyard. It was still too early for me to have asked
