‘Two murders, then,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Two murders.’ He took out his wallet and a snapshot. ‘This was taken at their wedding.’
There wasn’t much to tell from it except that, like most society wedding-receptions, it had been held at the Adlon Hotel. I recognized the Whispering Fountain’s distinctive pagoda, with its carved elephants from the Adlon’s Goethe Garden. I stifled a real yawn. It wasn’t a particularly good photograph, and I’d had more than enough of weddings for one day and a half. I handed it back.
‘A fine couple,’ I said, lighting another Muratti. Six’s black cigar lay smokeless and flat on the round brass ashtray.
‘Grete was teaching until 1934 when, like many other women, she lost her job – a casualty of the government’s general discrimination against working women in the employment drive. Meanwhile Paul landed a job at the Ministry of the Interior. Not long afterwards my first wife Lisa died, and Grete became very depressed. She started drinking and staying out late. But just a few weeks ago she seemed her old self again.’ Six regarded his brandy morosely and then threw it back in one gulp. ‘Three nights ago, however, Paul and Grete died in a fire at their home in Lichterfelde-Ost. But before the house caught fire they were each shot, several times, and the safe ransacked.’
‘Any idea what was in the safe?’
‘I told the fellows from Kripo that I had no idea what it contained.’
I read between the lines and said: ‘Which wasn’t quite true, right?’
‘I have no idea as to most of the safe’s contents. There was one item, however, which I did know about and failed to inform them of.’
‘Why did you do that, Herr Six?’
‘Because I would prefer that they didn’t know.’
‘And me?’
‘The item in question affords you with an excellent chance of tracking down the murderer ahead of the police.’
‘And what then?’ I hoped he wasn’t planning some private little execution, because I didn’t feel up to wrestling with my conscience, especially when there was a lot of money involved.
‘Before delivering the murderer into the hands of the authorities you will recover my property. On no account must they get their hands on it.’
‘What exactly are we talking about?’
Six folded his hands thoughtfully, then unfolded them again, and then swathed himself with his arms like a party-girl’s wrap. He looked quizzically at me.
‘Confidentially, of course,’ I growled.
‘Jewels,’ he said. ‘You see, Herr Gunther, my daughter died intestate, and without a will all her property goes to her husband’s estate. Paul did make a will, leaving everything to the Reich.’ He shook his head. ‘Can you believe such stupidity, Herr Gunther? He left everything. Everything. One can hardly credit it.’
‘He was a patriot then.’
Six failed to perceive the irony in my remark. He snorted with derision. ‘My dear Herr Gunther, he was a National Socialist. Those people think that they are the first people ever to love the Fatherland.’ He smiled grimly. ‘I love my country. And there is nobody who gives more than I do. But I simply cannot stand the thought that the Reich is to be enriched even further at my expense. Do you understand me?“
‘I think so.’
‘Not only that, but the jewels were her mother’s, so quite apart from their intrinsic value, which I can tell you is considerable, they are also of some sentimental account.’
‘How much are they worth?’
Schemm stirred himself to offer up some facts and figures. ‘I think I can be of some assistance here, Herr Six,’ he said, delving into a briefcase that lay by his feet, and producing a buff-coloured file which he laid on the rug between the two sofas. ‘I have here the last insurance valuations, as well as some photographs.’ He lifted a sheet of paper and read off the bottom-line figure with no more expression than if it had been the amount of his monthly newspaper account. ‘Seven hundred and fifty thousand Reichsmarks.’ I let out an involuntary whistle. Schemm winced at that, and handed me some photographs. I had seen bigger stones, but only in photographs of the pyramids. Six took over with a description of their history.
‘In 1925 the world jewel market was flooded with gems sold by Russian exiles or put on sale by the Bolsheviks, who had discovered a treasure trove walled up in the palace of Prince Youssoupov, husband to the niece of the Tsar. I acquired several pieces in Switzerland that same year: a brooch, a bracelet and, most precious of all, a diamond collet necklace consisting of twenty brilliants. It was made by Cartier and weighs over one hundred carats. It goes without saying, Herr Gunther, that it will not be easy to dispose of such a piece.’
‘No, indeed.’ It might seem cynical of me, but the sentimental value of the jewels was now looking quite insignificant beside their monetary value. ‘Tell me about the safe.’
‘I paid for it,’ said Six. ‘Just as I paid for the house. Paul didn’t have
‘So she had been wearing them quite recently?’
‘Yes. She accompanied my wife and myself to a ball just a few nights before she was killed.’
‘What kind of safe was it?’
‘A Stockinger. Wall-mounted, combination lock.’
‘And who knew the combination?’
‘My daughter, and Paul, of course. They had no secrets from each other, and I believe he kept certain papers to do with his work there.’
‘Nobody else?’
‘No. Not even me.’
‘Do you know how the safe was opened, if there were any explosives used?’
‘I believe there were no explosives used.’
‘A nutcracker then.’
‘How’s that?’
‘A professional safe-cracker. Mind you, it would have to be someone very good to puzzle it.’ Six leaned forward on the sofa.
‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘the thief forced Grete or Paul to open it, then ordered them back to bed, where he shot them both. And afterwards he set fire to the house in order to cover his tracks -throw the police off the scent.’
‘Yes, that’s possible,’ I admitted. I rubbed a perfectly circular area of smooth skin on my otherwise stubbly face: it’s where a mosquito bit me when I was in Turkey, and ever since then I’ve never had to shave it. But quite often I find myself rubbing it when I feel uneasy about something. And if there’s one thing guaranteed to make me feel uneasy, it’s a client playing detective. I didn’t rule out what he was suggesting might have happened, but it was my turn to play the expert: ‘Possible, but messy,’ I said. ‘I can’t think of a better way of raising the alarm than making your own private Reichstag. Playing Van der Lubbe and torching the place doesn’t sound like the sort of thing a professional thief would do, but then neither does murder.’ There were a lot of holes in that of course: I had no idea that it was a professional; not only that, but in my experience it’s rare that a professional job also involves murder. I just wanted to hear my own voice for a change.
‘Who would have known she had jewels in the safe?’ I asked.
‘Me,’ said Six. ‘Grete wouldn’t have told anyone. I don’t know if Paul had.’
‘And did either of them have any enemies?’
‘I can’t answer for Paul,’ he said, ‘but I’m sure that Grete didn’t have an enemy in the world.’ While I could accept the possibility that Daddy’s little girl always brushed her teeth and said her prayers at night, I found it hard to ignore how vague Six was about his son-in-law. That made the second time he was uncertain about what Paul would have done.
‘What about you?’ I said. ‘A rich and powerful man like yourself must have your fair share of enemies.’ He nodded. ‘Is there anyone who might hate you bad enough to want to get back at you through your daughter?’
