myself why Heydrich should have had me brought here, instead of Sipo, the Security Service headquarters in the Wilhelmstrasse, where Heydrich had his own office.
My two male escorts ushered me to an interview room and left me alone. There was a good deal of shouting going on in the room next door and that gave me something to think about. That bastard Heydrich. Never quite did it the way you expected. I took out a cigarette and lit it nervously. With the cigarette burning in a corner of my sour-tasting mouth I stood up and went over to the grimy window. All I could see were other windows like my own, and on the rooftop the aerial of the police radio station. I ground the cigarette into the Mexico Mixture coffee-tin that served as an ashtray and sat down at the table again.
I was supposed to get nervous. I was meant to feel their power. That way Heydrich would find me all the more inclined to agree with him when eventually he decided to show up. Probably he was still fast asleep in his bed.
If that was how I was supposed to feel I decided to do it differently. So instead of breakfasting on my fingernails and wearing out my cheap shoes pacing round the room, I tried a little self-relaxation, or whatever it was that Dr Meyer had called it. Eyes closed, breathing deeply through my nose, my mind concentrated on a simple shape, I managed to remain calm. So calm I didn't even hear the door. After a while I opened my eyes and stared into the face of the bull who had come in. He nodded slowly.
'Well, you're a cool one,' he said, picking up my magazine.
'Aren't I just?' I looked at my watch. Half an hour had gone by. 'You took your time.'
'Did I? I'm sorry. Glad you weren't bored though. I can see you expected to be here a while.'
'Doesn't everyone?' I shrugged, watching a boil the size of a wheel-nut rub at the edge of his greasy collar.
When he spoke his voice came from deep within him, his scarred chin dipping down to his broad chest like a cabaret tenor.
'Oh yes,' he said. 'You're a private detective, aren't you? A professional smart-ass. Do you mind me asking, what kind of a living do you people make?'
'What's the matter, the bribes not coming in regular enough for you?' He forced himself to smile through that one. 'I do all right.'
'Don't you find that it gets lonely? I mean, you're a bull down here, you've got friends.'
'Don't make me laugh. I've got a partner, so I get all the friendly shoulder to cry on I need, right?'
'Oh yes. Your partner. That would be Bruno Stahlecker, wouldn't it?'
'That's right. I could give you his address if you like, but I think he's married.'
'All right, Gunther. You've proved you're not scared. No need to make a performance out of it. You were picked up at 4.30. It's now seven '
'Ask a policeman if you want the right time.'
'- but you still haven't asked anyone why you're here.'
'I thought that's what we were talking about.'
'Were we? Assume I'm ignorant. That shouldn't be too difficult for a smart-ass like you. What did we say?'
'Oh shit, look, this is your sideshow, not mine, so don't expect me to bring up the curtain and work the fucking lights. You go right ahead with your act and I'll just try to laugh and clap in the right places.'
'Very well,' he said, his voice hardening. 'So where were you last night?'
'At home.'
'Got an alibi?'
'Yeah. My teddy bear. I was in bed, asleep.'
'And before that?'
'I was seeing a client.'
'Mind telling me who?'
'Look, I don't like this. What are we trawling for? Tell me now, or I don't say another lousy word.'
'We've got your partner downstairs.'
'What's he supposed to have done?'
'What he's done is get himself killed.'
I shook my head. 'Killed?'
'Murdered, to be rather more precise. That's what we usually call it in these sort of circumstances.'
'Shit,' I said, closing my eyes again.
'That's my act, Gunther. And I do expect you to help me with the curtain and the lights.' He jabbed a forefinger against my numb chest. 'So let's have some fucking answers, eh?'
'You stupid bastard. You don't think I had anything to do with it, do you?
Christ, I was the only friend he had. When you and all your cute friends here at the Alex managed to have him posted out to some backwater in Spreewald, I was the one who came through for him. I was the one who appreciated that despite his awkward lack of enthusiasm for the Nazis, he was still a good bull.' I shook my head bitterly, and swore again.
'When did you last see him?'
'Last night, around eight o'clock. I left him in the car park behind the Metropol on Nollendorfplatz.'
'Was he working?'
'Yes.'
'Doing what?'
'Tailing someone. No, keeping someone under observation.'
'Someone working in the theatre or living in the apartments?'
I nodded.
'Which was it?'
'I can't tell you. At least, not until I've discussed it with my client.'
'The one you can't tell me about either. Who do you think you are, a priest?
This is murder, Gunther. Don't you want to catch the man who killed your partner?'
'What do you think?'
'I think that you ought to consider the possibility that your client had something to do with it. And then suppose he says, Herr Gunther, I forbid you to discuss this unfortunate matter with the police. Where does that get us?' He shook his head. 'No fucking deal, Gunther. You tell me or you tell the judge.'
He stood up and went to the door. 'It's up to you. Take your time. I'm not in any hurry.'
He closed the door behind him, leaving me with my guilt for ever having wished ill to Bruno and his harmless pipe.
About an hour later the door opened and a senior S S officer came into the room.
'I was wondering when you'd show up,' I said.
Arthur Nebe sighed and shook his head.
'I'm sorry about Stahlecker,' he said. 'He was a good man. Naturally you'll want to see him.' He motioned me to follow him. 'And then I'm afraid you'll have to see Heydrich.'
Beyond an outer office and an autopsy-theatre where a pathologist stood working on the naked body of an adolescent girl was a long, cool room with rows of tables stretching out in front of me. On a few of them lay human bodies, some naked, some covered with sheets, and some like Bruno still clothed and looking more like items of lost luggage than anything human.
I walked over and took a long hard look at my dead partner.
The front of his shirt looked as though he had spilt a whole bottle of red wine on himself, and his mouth gaped open like he'd been stabbed sitting in a dentist's chair. There are lots of ways of winding up a partnership, but they didn't come much more permanent than this one.
'I never knew he wore a plate,' I said absently, catching the glint of something metallic inside Bruno's mouth. 'Stabbed?'
'Once, through the pump. They reckon under the ribs and up through the pit of the stomach.'
I picked up each of his hands and inspected them carefully. 'No protection cuts,' I said. 'Where did they find him?'
'Metropol Theatre car park,' said Nebe.
