“Now why would Spiros say something as fanciful as that?”
“Because his boss, Siegfried Witzel, is dead and I guess Spiros felt he had nothing much to lose in telling me. Someone put a bullet through each of Witzel’s eyes.”
“Oh.”
“For a while a local cop thought I did it—me being a fellow German and all. Cops like things to be tidy that way—one German murders another German. They were almost right; however, it was your old pal Alois Brunner who shot Witzel, but only after torturing him for several hours. You won’t believe what a man’s feet smell like after they’ve been held to the fire, like Cortés did to that poor Aztec king, Cuauhtémoc. It’s amazing how cruel a man can be when there’s a lot of gold involved.”
I was laying it on a bit to try to scare Merten.
“I was on my way to see Spiros again—we were planning to come here last night, as a matter of fact; I’d agreed to help you out for old time’s sake, but luckily for me, I saw Brunner and a couple of his thugs arriving at the house near the Acropolis and so I made a hasty withdrawal before they saw me. Of course, that wasn’t so lucky for Spiros and I expect Brunner’s not far behind now.”
“I see. When was this?”
“Three or four hours ago.”
Merten glanced at his wristwatch and nodded thoughtfully. Then he got up slowly, fetched his trousers off the floor, and put them on. He nodded at my sling. “It seems as if you’ve been in the wars yourself, Bernie. What’s wrong with your arm?”
“A three-headed dog bit me on my way here. But it’s nothing compared to what Brunner will do to us both, probably. That lawyer whose office in Glyfada you had burgled—Samuel Frizis—Brunner murdered him, too. Look, Max, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you just how dangerous Brunner can be. The man’s a killer and a sadist. So we need to get a move on.”
Merten remained cool, however, and continued to move at a snail’s pace. “He does have a most violent temper.”
“I can’t say that I blame him where you’re concerned. Spiros told me the whole story. I’m here for old times’ sake, to get you safely off this island. After that I figure your best chance of staying alive is to seek the protection of the Athens police. Luckily for you I have a good contact there, a Lieutenant Leventis. He’s the cop I told you about, the one who fancied me for Siegfried Witzel’s murder. Those handcuffs will still fit me if he can’t find anyone else for it, however, it’s Brunner he wants for those two murders, if he can get him. I think it would be a real bonus for Leventis if he were to arrive here on Spetses and catch Brunner red-handed, so to speak. The red being your blood, Max. That kind of forensic evidence is a lot easier to stand up in court than some old war crimes. Finding witnesses to what Brunner did to some Jews in Salonika fourteen years ago wouldn’t be so easy. Of course, we’ll have to find a better reason for you seeking the protection of the Greek police than the fact that Alois Brunner is trying to kill you. That would draw attention to what you’ve been doing here.”
“What kind of reason? I don’t understand. Even supposing I wanted protection from Brunner—and I’m not saying I do—how could I get protection without telling this cop exactly why he’s trying to kill me?”
“It occurred to me that you might offer to be a witness yourself, on behalf of Arthur Meissner, the translator who’s currently on trial in Athens for all the things Brunner and Eichmann probably did. You can tell Leventis that you were so moved by the plight of your old colleague Meissner that you came to Athens to give evidence on his behalf, but that you were also concerned that doing so might expose you to some danger from Greeks who don’t like Germans, and there are certainly plenty of those.”
“Is everything all right?” said Elli.
“Who’s that?” asked Merten.
“A friend. The girl who drove me here. My left arm isn’t equal to much driving now.”
I went to the top of the stair and found her looking up at me anxiously.
“Yes, everything’s fine. We’ll be down in just a few moments.”
FORTY-NINE
–
Back in the bedroom Merten was shaking his head.
“Walk into a Greek court of my own free will?” he said. “I don’t know. Lawyers hate going into court, you should know that. Suppose they find some pretext to arrest me? Never can tell with the Greeks. Look at the way they screwed Socrates.”
“Why would they? You’re not wanted by the Greek police for anything that happened in 1943. I already checked. You’re in the clear. It’s those bastards Brunner and Eichmann they want, not you. And what better proof of your innocence than making yourself a volunteer witness in Meissner’s defense?”
“Yes, I do see that.” Merten extinguished his cigarette in an ashtray and lit another. “By the way, whatever rubbish Spiros Reppas might have told you, Bernie, I had nothing to do with what happened to those Jews. Just for the record, it was all Brunner’s idea. To trick them into giving up their wealth. By the time I heard about that gold, it was already too late for those people. They were on the trains to Auschwitz and Treblinka.” He sighed. “Brunner—I never met a man who was so set on getting Jews deported.”
“Like I said, it was a long time ago. And none of my business.”
“I just
