‘Shot at close range, gunpowder smell, abrasion rings. No further injuries to torso.’
He picks up a pair of scissors, proceeds to Steiner’s feet and cuts open the trousers, removes them, stiffens.
‘Come here, Hauptsturmführer,’ he says softly. Then, when Manfred hesitates: ‘Come here, please.’
Manfred steps over to the slab, his head recoils as he sees what Weiss is pointing at. They exchange brisk whispers, agitated. Weiss turns towards me.
‘They’ve mutilated him,’ he says. ‘Cut off his—’
‘This goes no further,’ Manfred interrupts.
He darts towards the Schütze and tears the notepad from his hand.
‘Out!’ he commands.
The boy is at once seized with terror, his eyes wide, a bloom of red flushes his cheeks, a haemorrhage of embarrassment.
‘You have seen nothing, you were never here,’ says Manfred, spelling it out. ‘Do you understand me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good, now get out.’
The Schütze gathers his things, knocking over the carbine he has propped up in the corner by the window. The gun clatters against the tiled floor; he picks it up and scuttles away.
‘You, too,’ Manfred says to Weber. ‘Leave the camera here.’
Manfred follows him out and locks the door behind him. Weiss has covered up the groin area with a piece of cloth.
‘What?’ I ask, but receive no answer. ‘If I’m supposed to find out who did this, you’ll have to tell me what happened.’
Neither of them speaks. Weiss has gone over to a table and starts arranging his instruments. Manfred pulls a cigarette from his breast pocket and lights up.
‘Please refrain from smoking in here,’ says Weiss.
‘I smoke wherever I want,’ Manfred replies. ‘Now tell us what the hell they did to Hubert.’
Weiss picks out a pair of long, steel pincers. From a leather case he takes a head lamp and straps it on. He returns to the slab, switches on the lamp, adjusts the angle, and with the pincers proceeds to investigate Steiner’s groin, its flaps of skin and lumps of coagulated blood.
‘I insist you put out your cigarette,’ he says. ‘Smell is an important part of the procedure.’
Manfred hesitates for a second before furiously grinding the cigarette underfoot.
‘And you’re taking notes?’ he says with a nod in my direction.
‘Yes,’ I reply.
‘So what’s the verdict?’ Manfred says after I pick up the notepad from the windowsill.
‘Well, it’s certainly not lege artis,’ Weiss says. ‘There’s been massive bleeding. Gaping wound at the scrotum. That’s with a c—’
‘I know how to spell it,’ I tell him.
‘Good … then let’s proceed. Both testes absent. Were his testicles found at the scene?’ Weiss inquires.
‘No,’ says Manfred. ‘No, they were not.’
‘This was done with a very sharp instrument indeed, probably a scalpel or a sharpened knife of some sort,’ Weiss goes on. ‘The wound edges are clean and precise, though as I said the incisions are not lege artis.’
‘So will someone tell me what lege artis means,’ Manfred says.
‘We’re dealing with an absence of surgical method,’ Weiss replies without looking up, without irony, persisting with his pincers.
‘No injuries to the remaining groin or thighs. And no injuries to the hands or arms that would accord with any struggle …’
Manfred steps closer, purses his lips.
‘So what are you saying? That Steiner cut off his own balls?’
‘I can’t say for sure. But no, I shouldn’t think so.’
Manfred tightens his jaw. Weiss continues the examination. He lifts the Obergruppenführer’s penis with the pincers, his long face peering from all angles, a finger nudging his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.
‘Severe injury to glans penis,’ he says. ‘Skin lacerated from glans, along corpus, almost as far as radix penis …’
‘Weiss,’ says Manfred, suddenly raising his hand. ‘I want to know one thing.’
Weiss looks up.
‘Yes?’
‘What was the sequence?’
‘Sequence?’
‘Yes. Did they … mutilate him first and shoot him afterwards, or …’
‘The massive bleeding would indicate …’
‘Indicate … indicate!’
‘They tortured him while he was still alive,’ Weiss says. ‘Any of the three shots to his chest would have killed him instantly and prevented such massive bleeding.’
We leave together. Manfred has already lit up.
He jabs a finger at me.
‘I want that girl’s statement today, Heinrich.’
_ _ _
Home, in front of the drawing-room door, half an hour later.
They had run out of ribbons at the Nur für Deutsche shop, so I twist the brown paper bag into a little parcel before going in: candy sticks, lollipops, sugar pearls. I clear my throat and open the door.
Etke is standing with her back to me, looking up at Masja, who shakes a record from its hard cardboard sleeve and puts it on the gramophone. She issues a brief instruction to the child, who then lifts the needle and places it on the revolving disc, to scratchy silence before the music comes on.
She turns and is startled to see me.
I am standing with the paper bag as a storm of violins starts up.
Strauss. Die Frau ohne Schatten, the woman without a shadow.
Emperors and the empresses.
I hold the paper bag out towards her.
‘Tell her it’s from her father,’ I say to Masja. ‘Tell her that she’ll see him soon.’
_ _ _
INTERROGATION NOTES 1
We were at the market at Koreletjy … when we got back everything was quiet. Normally you can hear the dogs, but it was quiet. Then we heard shots and my daddy carried me up to the hayloft. We didn’t have time to hide where we usually do.
Where do you usually hide?
In the tar kiln down by the stream, or we’ve got this sort of room … only my daddy says I’m not allowed to tell … Where is he?’
He’s in the hospital …
When is he coming back?
Soon, if you help us. We need you to help us, so we can help him.
(Note location. “Tar kiln”. Interrogation suspended 17.45. Hstf. M. Schlosser contacted. Interrogation resumed 17.55)
_ _ _
INTERROGATION NOTES 2
Etke, tell me what happened when you came home from the market at Koreletjy.
The men came and we hid in the hayloft. They didn’t speak Belorussian. One of them spoke Polish, like my uncle.
Did any of them speak Russian?
No. I could tell it wasn’t Russian.
Could you see them?
Not at first. We could
