The two detectives turned around and faced the entrance to room 1219. As they started to go inside, James hesitated.
'Something wrong, Tom?'
Flashes of Fatty raping Julie while being watched by a host of celebrity ghosts crossed his mind's eye. 'No I'm okay,' assured James as he and Kirkland stepped inside 1219. Their attention was turned to the low muffled sounds of cheering and chanting.
'Do you hear that?'
'Yeah. Maybe someone left a television on,' said Kirkland. Standing in the center of the living room James looked across into the bedroom where Valerie's dead body seemed to be looking back at him. Calling to him as he stepped into the room, James said, 'At this point, Mike nothing is going to surprise me. Looking down at Valerie's dead, naked body, he tried to imagine what the killer was trying to tell him. Something instantly came to his mind. 'Mike, you think Kritzler did this to her before he was killed?' Joining James in the bedroom, Kirkland looked down at her.
'It is certainly possible, which of course if he's our man, then that means his death is a suicide.'
'You cut off your own dick, get your electrical cord tied around your neck and your hands behind your back bound with barbwire?'
'I've seen crazier shit, Tom.'
'Something's missing.'
'That noise, it's louder in here,' said Kirkland as he listened for the clattering and chanting. 'If I didn't know better I'd say it was coming from the closet,' he said removing his gun and crossing to the door. Slowly pulling it open the two men could hear the clattering and chanting much more clearly now. Confused they stared at each other.
The sounds of the crowd chanting their loyalty to Hitler filled the room. The voices of what was clearly a group of men were firm, steady and filled with purpose. A mighty cheer that rivaled the sound of a sporting event resonated through the crowd. These were men who had loyally confirmed their vow to serve the most evil man in the twentieth century.
James looked at Kirkland to be certain he wasn't the only one who was hearing the voices. Kirkland nodded that he too was hearing the Nazi propaganda. Stepping closer to the closet they could hear the voice of Adolph Hitler speaking with great authority as he took the stage. A hollow clattering sounds accompanied his voice.
'What was that noise?'
The closet smelled of old clothes. Dust and the faint scent of almonds filled their nostrils. Looking up James saw a small chain attached to a light bulb dangling in front of him. He pulled it and closet came to life. Pushing the clothes to the right side, revealed a second coupler that held the hanger pole in place. 'What have we here?' said James as he pointed the strange find to Kirkland. James lifted the pole and placed it into the coupler that was higher, causing the pole to be lop-sided.
Looking back to the left wall James saw the reflection of hinges. It was a false wall. James pressed his ear to the wall in the tiny cramped closet. The sounds of Hitler and the clattering were coming from the other side. Pushing the wall, it easily creaked open.
'Oh man Mike, it's a fucking crawlspace,' he said, reaching toward his hip and getting a grip on his pistol, it gave him a small amount of relief and restored his confidence to continue on. Squeezing through the small opening followed by Kirkland, they both found themselves in the place where Hermann Kritzler truly lived. The room was long and narrow, only about three and half feet wide, but easily 12 to 15 feet deep. At the very end facing James was a banner of a swastika, which stretched the full length of the wall. At the bottom of the swastika banner was an old gray military trunk. Each sidewall sported framed photos of Hitler and other high-ranking Nazi officials. James saw that behind himself, the room went the nearly the same distance, however that wall was obscured by the flickering image of Hitler. The clattering noise now made sense—It was a film projector. The light from the projector lamp gave that side of the room a strobe effect.
A folding chair sat in front of the projector with a makeshift sheet serving as a movie screen.
Kirkland shook his head in disgust as he looked around the crawlspace and took in the propaganda— the swastika banner, photos and Nazi treasures hidden away by Kritzler 'How does this happen, Tom? How does a guy like this manage to avoid justice, live right under our noses, collect social security?' questioned Kirkland.
'He gets a job where he's invisible. I mean who pays attention to a guy who pushes a broom?'
Kirkland angrily turned away and kicked the film projector. It rocked and fell over ripping the sheet exposing a secret exit. Kirkland looked up behind the projector. 'Up there Tom, see the make-shift ladder? That's the opening to the airshafts. That's where he got in and out.'
James looked and could see the homemade ladder rising up to the ceiling. A crude hole had been cut into the air duct. A hole that was just large enough for a man to crawl through.
'I'm going up to have a look,' said Kirkland.
'Be careful will ya? I'll have a look down here,' said James as he turned back to the trunk, making his way back to the crawlspace. The framed photos on the wall gave him the chills. There was a young Hermann Kritzler shaking hands with Hitler. Next to that photo was another of him sitting and laughing with Himmler and Heydrich in an outside cafe.
'How's it going? You see anything up there?' inquired James.
'Not so far. But I'm also trying to not break my neck by falling off this rickety ladder. What about you? Anything of interest?'
'Well, from the photos on the wall, Herr Kritzler it seems was a member of the inner circle. There's pictures of him down here with Hitler and Himmler.'
Reaching the trunk, James knelt down and opened it. Inside were several more photos as well as a small swastika flag wrapped around something solid and square. Pulling the swastika off, it revealed an old metal box. James gently opened it. Inside was a photo of Kritzler and another SS soldier. Kritzler was proudly holding up some kind of old hammer. He turned the photo over to the back, which simply read,
Underneath the photo was a small can of film marked,
'Der Platz, in dem Engel nicht treten.' James tried to make out the old German writing, but it was no use. He would have to have it translated. Then he remembered Dr. Roberts would know. Flipping open his cell phone he scrolled down until he found the pathologists phone number. He pressed send and while waiting for an answer continued examining the remaining contents of the trunk. Under the film can was Kritzler's SS uniform along with a black gas mask. Holding it up, it suddenly made sense to him.
'This is Lawrence,' he said curtly.
'Dr. Roberts, it's Thomas James. I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm at the crime scene in The Aleris Hotel. Seems our Nazi was living in the famous Fatty Arbuckle suite.'
'No kidding,' said the doctor in an annoyed tone.
'Anyway, there's a lot of Nazi paraphernalia here, including a film can with some German writing on it. I was wondering if you spoke any German and could translate it?' James could hear a deep sigh on the other end of the line. 'Okay, what is it?'
'You have to bear with me, because it's in old German script, you know what I'm just going to spell it for you,' said James as he slowly spelled out the unknown language to Roberts.
'That should be it.'
'Hold on, I'm writing it down.' There was a long silence on the line. Long enough for James to think the call had been dropped.
'Doc? You still there?'
