Willi had continued to spend some time in Karl Juncker’s apartment even after Schleiffer had appeared at his door, calculating, wrongly as it turned out, that Schleiffer would do nothing after their confrontation. As he watched Schleiffer in his freshly pressed uniform going off to catch the Nürnberg train, Willi had second thoughts.
Normally Schleiffer was content to harass the poor postwoman, or to drive the occasional homeless man from the building’s entrance. But his sense of purpose had been reinvigorated by Nürnberg, just as Willi imagined it could be. Heinz determined to refocus his attention on the task at hand – Germany’s greatness and the Party’s power. Immediately on returning, he paid Ortsgruppenleiter Mecklinger another visit.
Lorelei, Mecklinger’s secretary and lover, had been replaced by a solid, stern-faced middle-aged woman, Frau Irmgard Kinski. She had close-cropped hair and small, wire-rimmed glasses that magnified her grey eyes so that she resembled a large, pale fish. She wore a uniform – a brown man’s shirt, a black tie and a long brown skirt. ‘Do you have an appointment?’ she barked. It did not sound like a question.
The Führer had spoken of all Germans having an appointment with destiny, and for a moment it occurred to Heinz to say that he had an appointment with destiny. Instead he said, ‘I do not. But I have important information about a German traitor the Ortsgruppenleiter is going to want to hear.’
‘Your name?’ said Kinski.
‘SA Mann Schleiffer!’ he said and saluted.
Frau Kinski had much to recommend her. She was neither young nor beautiful, which pleased Gudrun Mecklinger – there was no chance her husband, Gerhard, would be tempted to begin a dalliance with her. And it pleased Gerhard for the very same reason. Gerhard had found Lorelei a secretarial position in police headquarters in Ettstraße, where the pay was better, for which she was of course grateful and wonderfully forgiving. Now he could rollick in her sweet arms without Gudrun being any the wiser.
Moreover, Frau Kinski could take dictation, was an efficient typist and an effective buffer between the Ortsgruppenleiter and unwanted visitors like Schleiffer. Her only deficit was her defective hearing. ‘Herr Ortsgruppenleiter, there is an SA Mann Steiffel with information about a German traitor.’ She had misheard Schleiffer’s name and gave the word traitor a special honking emphasis. ‘You will want to see him.’ Mecklinger did not want to see anyone, but Frau Kinski really gave him no choice.
His face fell as Schleiffer entered the office. ‘Heil Hitler, Herr Ortsgruppenleiter!’ said Schleiffer, snapping his heels together and saluting.
Mecklinger stood up, his face turning red. ‘Damn you, Schleiffer. How dare you give a false name to get in here!’
‘What? No, Herr Ortsgruppenleiter. I didn’t, I didn’t, I swear …’
‘I told you that we would investigate the case of … of … that you brought in earlier. And we are doing exactly as I promised. The investigation is proceeding as we speak. And unless you have genuine new evidence of treachery, I want you to leave immediately. NOW, GET OUT!’
‘Herr Ortsgruppenleiter, it is my duty to report to you that Karl Juncker continues to receive mail from abroad, that he—’
‘Get out, Schleiffer!’
‘Herr Ortsgruppenleiter …’
‘Out!’
Once Schleiffer had saluted, Heil-Hitlered, and fled, Mecklinger went out front. ‘Frau Kinski,’ he said, ‘see that that man is never admitted again. Never. Is that understood?’
He went back and sat down at his desk. Whatever he had been doing before Schleiffer had arrived, now he had completely lost his train of thought. This Schleiffer; what an idiot; he had some nerve. But then Mecklinger remembered Frau Kinski’s hearing problem. So it wasn’t necessarily that Schleiffer had lied.
Well, it didn’t matter; the man was a pest. But then the thought occurred to him: why would a German citizen be receiving regular mail from abroad? Most likely it was completely innocent. But what if it wasn’t? That was how you had to think nowadays – suspect the worst. What if this person really was engaged in some treachery, and it was found out, as it certainly would be, given the thoroughness of the SS and the Gestapo? Gerhard would then be seen to have ignored repeated reports of treachery from one of his underlings. And in that case even Gudrun’s Uncle Himmler wouldn’t be able to save him. Mecklinger wrote the name ‘Karl Juncker’ on a note pad. He would call the information in to headquarters tomorrow.
Frau Schimmel
Willi had been staying with Lola during the months since the Nürnberg rally. The day he came back to Tullemannstraße, Frau Schimmel knocked at his door. ‘May I come in, Herr Juncker?’ she said.
Willi still only knew Frau Schimmel from passing her in the hall. They said hello to one another and occasionally exchanged a few pleasantries. She was, he could tell, watchful and observant. She had a way of being there when something happened. ‘Come in,’ he said. She used a cane with a silver head, but moved briskly and with a sense of purpose. She waited until Willi had closed the door and was facing her.
‘I’ll get right to it,’ she said. ‘While you were gone, you had visitors.’ Willi said nothing. ‘There were two of them,’ she said. ‘It was the afternoon of December nineteenth, around noon. They stayed about thirty minutes.’
‘In my apartment?’ he said.
‘In your apartment,’ she said. ‘Herr Schleiffer let them in. I waited until they were leaving, then I came out and met them in the hall.’
‘Frau Schimmel, you …’
‘I had my shopping cart; I was on my way to get groceries. They said they were friends of yours. I nodded and said hello. They gave me names.’ She opened her purse and drew out a slip of paper. ‘Herr Weber and Herr Meier.’ She laughed. ‘Weber and Meier? Really?’
‘Frau Schimmel, you astonish me,’ said Willi. ‘Won’t you sit down?’
‘A cup of tea would be nice,’ she said, as though Willi had already offered one. She gave you the sense that she knew
