material with his finger and thumb. It was fortunate that there were no razor blades sewn on that particular number. 'No, I can't buy that. You're not half greasy enough.'
'Greasy or not, it's true.' I took out my wallet and showed him my ID. And then my old warrant disc. 'Before the war I was with the Berlin Criminal Police. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that Becker was too. That's how I know him.' I took out my cigarettes. 'Mind if I smoke?'
'Smoke, but don't let it stop your lips moving.'
'Well, after the war I didn't want to go back to the police. The force was full of Communists.' I was throwing him a line with that one. There wasn't one American I had met who seemed to like Communism. 'So I set up in business on my own. Actually, I had a period out of the force during the mid-thirties, and did a bit of private work then. So I'm not exactly new at this game. With so many displaced persons since the war, most people can use an honest bull. Believe me, thanks to the Ivans they're few and far between in Berlin.'
'Yeah, well it's the same here. Because the Soviets got here first they put all their own people in the top police jobs. Things are so bad that the Austrian government had to look to the chief of the Vienna Fire Service when they were trying to find a straight man to become the new vice-president of police.' He shook his head. 'You're one of Becker's old colleagues. How about that? What kind of cop was he, for Christ's sake?'
'The crooked kind.'
'No wonder this country's in such a mess. I suppose you were SS as well then?'
'Briefly. When I found out what was going on I asked for a transfer to the front. People did, you know.'
'Not enough of them. Your friend didn't, for one.'
'He's not exactly a friend.'
'So why did you take the case?'
'I needed the money. And I needed to get away from my wife for a while.'
'Do you mind telling me why?'
I paused, realizing that it was the first time I had talked about it. 'She's been seeing someone else. One of your brother officers. I thought that if I wasn't around for a while she might decide what was more important: her marriage or this schStzi of hers.'
Shields nodded and then made a sympathetic-sounding grunt.
'Naturally all your papers are in order?'
'Naturally.' I handed them over and watched him examine my identity card and my pink pass.
'Just a few dishonest ones.'
'Dishonest Russkies?'
'What other kind is there? Sure I had to grease some people, but the papers are genuine.'
Shields handed them back. 'Do you have your Fragebogen with you?'
I fished my denazification certificate out of my wallet and handed it over. He only glanced at it, having no desire to read through the 133 questions and answers it recorded. 'An exonerated person, eh? How come you weren't classed as an offender? All SS were automatically arrested.'
I saw out the end of the war in the army. On the Russian front. And, like I said, I got a transfer out of the SS.'
Shields grunted and handed back the Fragebogen. 'I don't like SS,' he growled.
'That makes two of us.'
Shields examined the big fraternity ring which gracelessly adorned one of his well-tufted fingers. He said: 'We checked Becker's story, you know. There was nothing in it.'
'I don't agree.'
'And what makes you think that?'
'Do you think he'd be willing to pay me $5,000 to dig around if his story were just hot air?'
'Five thousand?' Shields let out a whistle.
'Worth it if your head's in a noose.'
'Sure. Well, maybe you can prove that the guy was somewhere else when we actually caught him. Maybe you can find something that'll persuade the judge that his friends didn't shoot at us. Or that he wasn't carrying the gun that shot Linden. You got any bright ideas yet, shamus? Like maybe the one that took you to see Pichler?'
'It was a name that Becker remembered as having been mentioned by someone at Reklaue & Werbe Zentrale.'
'By who?'
'Dr Max Abs?'
Shields nodded, recognizing the name.
'I'd say it was him who killed Pichler. Probably he went to see him not long after I did and found out that someone claiming to be a friend of his had been asking questions. Maybe Pichler told him that he'd said I should come back the following day. So before I did Abs killed him and took away the paperwork with his name and address on. Or so he thought. He forgot something which led me to his address. Only by the time I got there he'd cleared out. According to his landlady he's halfway to Munich by now. You know, Shields, it might not be a bad idea if you were to have someone meet him off that train.'
Shields stroked his poorly-shaven jaw. 'It might not be at that.'
He stood up and went behind his desk where he picked up the telephone and proceeded to make a number of calls, but using a vocabulary and an accent that I was unable to comprehend. When finally he replaced the receiver in its cradle, he looked at his wristwatch and said: 'The train to Munich takes eleven and a half hours, so there's plenty of time to make sure he gets a warm hello when he gets off.'
The telephone rang. Shields answered it, staring at me open-mouthed and unblinking, as if there wasn't much of my story he had believed. But when he put down the telephone a second time he was grinning.
'One of my calls was to the Berlin Documents Centre,' he said. 'I'm sure you know what that is. And that Linden worked there?'
I nodded.
'I asked them if they had anything on this Max Abs guy. That was them calling back just now. It seems that he was SS too. Not actually wanted for any war crimes, but something of a coincidence, wouldn't you say? You, Becker, Abs, all former pupils of Himmler's little Ivy League.'
'A coincidence is all it is, I said wearily.
Shields settled back in his chair. 'You know, I'm perfectly prepared to believe that Becker was just the trigger-man for Linden. That your organization wanted him dead because he had found out something about you.'
'Oh?' I said without much enthusiasm for Shields's theory. 'And which organization is that?'
'The Werewolf Underground.'
I found myself laughing out loud. 'That old Nazi fifth-column story? The stay-behind fanatics who were going to continue a guerrilla war against our conquerors? You have to be joking, Shields.'
'Something wrong with that, you think?'
'Well, they're a bit late for a start. The war's been over for nearly three years. Surely you Americans have screwed enough of our women by now to realize that we never planned to cut your throats in bed. The Werewolves ' I shook my head pityingly. 'I thought they were something that your own intelligence people had dreamed up. But I must say I certainly never thought there was anyone who actually believed that shit. Look, maybe Linden did find out something about a couple of war-criminals, and maybe they wanted him out of the way. But not the Werewolf Underground. Let's try and find something a little more original, can we?' I started another cigarette and watched Shields nod and think his way through what I had said.
'What does the Berlin Documents Centre have to stay about Linden's work?' I said.
'Officially, he was no more than the Crowcass liaison officer the Central Registry of War Crimes and Security Suspects of the United States Army. They insist that Linden was simply an administrator and not a field agent. But then, if he were working in intelligence, those boys wouldn't tell us anyway. They've got more secrets than the surface of Mars.'
He got up from behind the desk and went to the window.
'You know, the other day I had eyes of a report that said as many as two out of every thousand Austrians were spying for the Soviets. Now there are over 1.8 million people in this city, Gunther. Which means that if Uncle Sam has as many spies as Uncle Joe there are over 7,000 spies right on my doorstep. To say nothing of what the
