With his recent promotion, Reinhard now reported directly to Heinrich Himmler. So he had only Himmler to persuade of Geismeier’s guilt, or rather of the utility of Geismeier’s being made the scapegoat. Himmler would dutifully report to the Führer that Willi was the killer. Then the full wrath of the Third Reich would come down on him.
Reinhard could not know the extent to which SS Hauptsturmführer Albrecht Altdorfer was a danger to him. After all, Altdorfer was merely a low-level SS thug, of prodigious size perhaps, but also of minimal intelligence. And he had himself punished Willi Geismeier mercilessly. But Altdorfer was also a man who loved women. He was kind and solicitous to his aging aunts, and tender and loving to his wife, to his daughters, to his mistresses, to all women. He never hit them, never even thought of doing so. He believed that women should be stood up on a pedestal, should be worshipped, should be wrapped in lace and veils and great swaths of pink silk, should be cherished for their innocence and innate virtues. He secretly wrote poetry in praise of women, all of it dreadful but at the same time entirely heartfelt.
After he had stormed out of his interrogation with Willi Geismeier those many weeks ago, Altdorfer had brooded for the rest of the day. And it had gotten even worse once he was at home with his women. The unbidden thought of some man savagely stabbing one of them over and over until she was dead kept entering his mind. A vivid dream of a blood-covered stabbing man woke him with a start in the middle of the night. He cried out and sat up in bed.
‘Are you all right, Albrecht?’ said his wife.
‘I’m sorry, Liebchen,’ he said. ‘A bad dream. Go back to sleep.’ By morning he had decided he had to search out Friedrich Grosz at least and take his measure.
It was not too difficult for an SS captain to find out that Friedrich Grosz was Reinhard Pabst, and so he made an appointment and called in at Reinhard’s office. He was shown in, they exchanged salutes and shook hands. Pabst seemed a perfectly pleasant young man. He had a soft handshake, but then so did a lot of men. He was surprisingly young for an SS lieutenant colonel. Altdorfer was older by ten years and still a captain. He had been passed over for promotion several times and was likely to remain a captain for the rest of his career. Altdorfer didn’t mind; he felt like a fortunate man. Rank wasn’t everything. He liked his work, and he was as happy at home as any man could ever hope to be.
After some preliminary small talk, he told Reinhard about interrogating Geismeier at Dachau and about Geismeier’s accusations. Reinhard was startled; he had never heard of Willi Geismeier, but he wrote down his name. Altdorfer told him what he knew about Willi, that he was a good cop gone bad and had been finally driven from the force for his malfeasance. Geismeier had turned to illegal activities, undermining the regime when he could, going so far as to impersonate a police detective. Altdorfer assured Reinhard that he didn’t believe a word of Geismeier’s accusations. Willi had long been known for his outrageous accusations and ridiculous charges concocted out of whole cloth. He just thought Reinhard should know.
Reinhard listened with his hands folded in front of him, a half smile on his face. Finally he had laughed and waved it all off as though it were nothing. ‘Thank you, Captain, for telling me,’ he said. They chatted a little longer about this and that. Altdorfer had asked Reinhard about his family and Reinhard had told Altdorfer he lived alone. Altdorfer had spoken a bit about the joys of family life. Then they said their pleasant goodbyes, and Altdorfer had gone on his way.
Geismeier had to be lying, didn’t he? Making the whole story up for some reason? Geismeier was a known liar. And the lieutenant colonel had been very pleasant and relaxed about the whole thing. But that was a bit strange, wasn’t it? How could he be so relaxed about such a terrible accusation? Wouldn’t you at least be shocked or angry or disgusted to learn that somebody, even a criminal and a liar, had said something like that about you? And now that Altdorfer thought about it, when he had spoken of his own happiness in the bosom of his family, had named his women one by one in glowing terms, the lieutenant colonel’s face had turned to stone.
Altdorfer had to be careful. The lieutenant colonel was Gestapo, after all. Still, Altdorfer decided he would make a few discreet inquiries to see whether there might be any reason to take Geismeier’s accusation more seriously.
Altdorfer Investigates
Nobody had anything bad to say about SS Lieutenant Colonel Reinhard Pabst. He was well educated, thoughtful, dedicated to his work, a gifted interrogator. He was a little aloof, moody sometimes, a loner, but a good man.
On the other hand, almost everybody Altdorfer asked – former colleagues from his time in the police – spoke ill of Willi Geismeier. Captain Altdorfer decided again there was nothing to Geismeier’s accusations. It was just more of the same troublemaking mischief that had always been his way.
After several weeks of asking around and several more of hesitating, Altdorfer called Dachau and asked to speak to the duty officer. He wanted to arrange to interrogate the prisoner Willi Geismeier one more time. ‘That son of a bitch needs to be taught a lesson,’ he said.
There was a moment of silence. Then the duty officer said, ‘I’m sorry, Captain, but that isn’t
