As they stood there, it began to rain again.
“We’d better see if we can find out anything from the shops at the end of the street,” George said.
The proprietor of the second of the shops they tried was an electrical contractor, and he had some information. He had only been there three years himself and knew nothing of the Schirmers; but he did know something about the garage site. He had considered renting it for his own use. He had wanted to put up a workshop and storeroom there and use the rooms over his shop to live in. The ground had no street frontage and was therefore of little value. He had thought to get it cheaply; but the owner had wanted too much and so he had made other arrangements. The owner was a Frau Gresser, wife of a chemist in the laboratories of a big factory out at Leverkusen. When women started bargaining, you understand, it was best to… Yes, he had her address written down somewhere, though if the gentleman were considering the property, he personally would advise him to think twice before wasting his time arguing with…
Frau Gresser lived in an apartment on the top floor of a newly reconstructed building near the Barbarossa Platz. They had to call three times before they found her in.
She was a stout, frowzy, breathless woman in her late fifties. Her apartment was furnished in the cocktail- bar-functional style of prewar Germany, and crammed with Tyrolean knickknacks. She listened suspiciously to their explanations of their presence there before inviting them to sit down. Then she went and telephoned her husband. After a while she came back and said that she was prepared to answer questions.
Ilse Schirmer, she said, had been her cousin and childhood friend.
“Are the Schirmers alive now?” George asked.
“Ilse Schirmer and her husband were killed in the big air attacks on the city in May 1942,” Miss Kolin interpreted.
“Did Frau Gresser inherit the garage land from them?”
Frau Gresser showed signs of indignation when the question was put and spoke rapidly in reply.
“By no means. The land was hers-hers and her husband’s, that is. Johann Schirmer’s own business went bankrupt. She and her husband had set him up in business again for the sake of Ilse. Naturally, they had hoped also to make a profit, but it was goodness of heart that motivated them in the first place. The business, however, was theirs. Schirmer was only the manager. He had a percentage of the takings and an apartment over the garage. No one could say that he had not been generously treated. Yet, after so much had been done for him by his wife’s friends, he had tried to cheat them over the takings.”
“Who was his heir? Did he leave a will?”
“If he had had anything to leave except debts, his heir would have been his son, Franz.”
“Did the Schirmers have any other children?”
“Fortunately, no.”
“Fortunately?”
“It was hard enough for poor Ilse to feed and clothe one child. She was never strong, and with a husband like Schirmer, even a strong woman would have become ill.”
“What was the matter with Schirmer?”
“He was lazy, he was dishonest, he drank. When poor Ilse married him she did not know. He deceived everyone. When we met him he had a prosperous business in Essen. We thought him clever. It was not until his father went away that the truth was known.”
“The truth?”
“It was his father, Friedrich, who had the business head. He was a good accountant and he kept the son properly under control. Johann was only a mechanic, a workman with his hands. The father had the brains. He understood money.”
“Did Friedrich own the business?”
“It was a partnership. Friedrich had lived and worked for many years in Switzerland. Johann was brought up there. He did not fight for Germany in the first war. lise met him in 1915 while she was staying with friends in Zurich. They married and remained in Switzerland to live. All their savings were in Swiss francs. In 1923, when the German mark failed, they all came back to Germany-Friedrich, Johann, Ilse, and the child, Franz-and bought the garage in Essen cheap with their Swiss money. Old Friedrich understood business.”
“Then Franz was born in Switzerland?”
“Winterthur is near Zurich, Mr. Carey,” said Miss Kolin. “It was mentioned in the army papers, you remember. But he would still have to apply for Swiss nationality.”
“Yes, I know all about that. Ask her why the partnership broke up.”
Frau Gresser hesitated when she heard the question.
“As she has said, Johann had no head for-”
Frau Gresser hesitated again and was silent. Her plump face had become red and shiny with embarrassment. At last she spoke.
“She would prefer not to discuss the matter,” said Miss Kolin.
“All right. Ask her about Franz Schirmer. Does she know what happened to him?”
He saw the relief in Frau Gresser’s face when she understood that the subject of Friedrich Schirmer’s departure was not going to be pursued. It made him curious.
“Franz was reported missing in Greece in 1944. The official letter addressed to his mother was forwarded to Frau Gresser.”
“The report said: ‘missing, believed killed.’ Did she ever receive official confirmation of his death?”
“Not officially.”
“What does she mean?”
“One of Franz’s officers wrote to Frau Schirmer to tell her what had happened to her son. That letter also was forwarded to Frau Gresser. Having read it, she had no doubt that Franz was dead.”
“Did she keep the letter? Is it possible for us to see it?”
Frau Gresser considered the request for a moment; finally she nodded and, going to a chest of drawers shaped as if to reduce its wind resistance, brought out a tin box full of papers. After a long search the officer’s letter was found, together with the original army casualty notification. She handed both documents to Miss Kolin, making some explanation as she did so.
“Frau Gresser wishes to explain that Franz neglected to report to the army authorities that his parents had been killed and that it was the postal authorities who forwarded the letters.”
“I see. What’s the letter say?”
“It is from Lieutenant Hermann Leubner of the Engineer Company, Ninety-fourth Garrison Regiment. It is dated the 1st of December 1944.”
“What’s the date that Franz was reported missing on that army notification?”
“October 31.”
“All right.”
“The Lieutenant writes: ‘Dear Frau Schirmer: You will, no doubt, already have been notified by the army authorities of the fact that your son, Sergeant Franz Schirmer, has been listed as missing. I write as his officer to tell you of the circumstances in which this sad occurrence took place. It was on the 24th of October-’ ” She broke off.
“They were pulling out. They wouldn’t trouble to send casualty returns every day,” George said.
Miss Kolin nodded. “It continues: ‘The regiment was moving westwards from Salonika towards the Greek frontier in the general direction of Florina. Sergeant Schirmer, as an experienced soldier and a responsible man, was sent with three trucks and ten men to a gasoline dump several kilometres off the main road near the town of Vodena. His orders were to load as much of the gasoline as he could on to the trucks, destroy the remainder, and return, bringing the troops who had been guarding the dump with him. Unfortunately, his detachment was ambushed by one of the Greek terrorist bands that had been attempting to hinder our operations. Your son was in the first truck, which exploded a mine laid by the terrorists. The third truck was able to stop in time to avoid most of the machine-gun fire of the terrorists, and two men from it were able to escape and rejoin the regiment. I myself led a force immediately to the place of the ambush. Your son was not among the dead we found and buried, nor was there any other trace of him. The driver of his truck was also missing. Your son was not a man to surrender unwounded. It is possible that he was rendered unconscious by the explosion of the mine and so captured. We do not know. But I would be failing in my duty if I encouraged you to hope that if he were captured by these Greeks he
