Hauptsturmführer Altdorfer had delayed for two days before deciding that he had no choice but to get the evidence into Himmler’s hands. After all, he had much to lose – Pabst was known to be Himmler’s favorite, and he was a senior member of the Gestapo. On the other hand, if Altdorfer didn’t report what he knew to be criminal activity and it was later discovered, he could be seen as an accessory to the crime.
By the time Himmler received the phone call from Munich that Hauptsturmführer Altdorfer had brought a packet of documents to SS headquarters concerning criminality in the upper ranks of the SS, Himmler had all but decided Pabst had to pay the price.
‘Is it Pabst?’ he asked.
‘It is,’ said the officer who had called.
‘How did this Altdorfer come by the information?’ Himmler asked.
‘He found it in the apartment of a former police detective.’
‘Have you questioned the detective?’
‘His name is Geismeier, Herr Reichsführer. He is himself a wanted man.’
‘Wanted? For what?’
‘A number of things, most recently escaping from Dachau after shooting Pabst with his own pistol.’
‘I thought that name sounded familiar. So we have no idea where he is?’
‘We’re working on it, Herr Reichsführer.’
‘Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?’ He hung up the phone.
Himmler realized that Reinhard Pabst, by indulging his own perverted passions, had grievously betrayed the SS Reichsführer’s trust. That was unforgivable. He hoped the Pabst story could be handled without ever having to explain to the Führer, who, if he learned of it, would go through the roof. Himmler had called Munich back and ordered Pabst’s arrest.
The Führer was busy overseeing the delicate and secret non-aggression negotiations between Ambassador von der Schulenburg and the Soviet Union’s Ambassador Molotov when Himmler had decided he better mention the Pabst affair, just to avoid having the Führer hear about it from somebody else.
Hitler did not want to even hear another word. ‘Don’t bring me this piddling shit, Himmler. You take care of it.’
At the Juhrhaus in Dachau, Reinhard was made to undress. He stepped out of what was left of his uniform. He was ordered to take off his underwear too. He had to squat and bend over to be inspected for contraband. He was given a thorough physical examination. The doctor was interested in the angry red scar that coiled around his right wrist.
Word of Reinhard’s arrest had preceded his arrival. Every SS man at Dachau knew by now who Reinhard was. Reinhard got a striped jacket and striped pants. The shoes he got fit, although that was a lucky accident. By the time he was escorted to his barracks, most of the prisoners knew who he was as well.
Marching to the evening roll call, they sang ‘Holy Fire.’ No one sang more loudly than Reinhard Pabst.
Holy fire burns through the land,
The people wake out of their sleep.
Brothers, unite and join hands,
We want honor instead of pain.
Work will make our deeds noble,
And we are all soldiers of work.
He marched joyfully. He stopped at one point and looked around, as though he were having trouble understanding where he was and what had happened to him. Two SS men ran up to him. But instead of punching or beating him, they gently walked him back into formation. Despite the crimes he was accused of, for the SS officers and men of Dachau, Reinhard was someone to be reckoned with. He was one of their own, an SS colonel and a Gestapo man. He was also a killer of epic reputation.
The Woodcutter
The two-man crosscut saw is a brilliant tool. Each man cuts on the pull and rests on the push and it slices through the largest trunks like a hot knife through butter, showering their feet and legs with sawdust. Sometimes Willi forgot everything but the rhythm of the work. The two men – often his partner was Eberhardt’s teenage son – paused their work to sharpen the saw teeth or just to look to the sky when the Stukas came flying overhead on their way to Poland.
Poland was being bombed into ruin. Warsaw was destroyed, Krakow too. There was courageous resistance by Polish irregulars, but they wouldn’t last long. Danzig was occupied, and safe enough for the Führer to visit and make a speech, which he did. Russia invaded Poland from the east to get their share before Germany took it all.
Interest within the Gestapo in catching Willi had flared up after Reinhard Pabst’s arrest, but it had died down again just as quickly. The sooner the Pabst affair was forgotten the better. Besides, the Gestapo had their hands full with Poland, and now everyone was getting ready for Russia. Russia was next, and Russia would be a different story. Likewise, Gruber’s pursuit of Willi had not worked out to Gruber’s advantage. He had wasted time on a wild goose chase. His squad’s case closure rate remained pathetic, and Captain Wendt was threatening to take the squad away from him and reduce him in rank.
Willi had the sense that he could begin looking for Lola, as long as he was careful. Even without the Gestapo on his tail or Gruber to worry about, it wouldn’t be easy.
‘Where do you want to start?’ asked Bergemann. Willi, Bergemann, and Eberhardt von Hohenstein sat in front of Willi’s hut eating black bread and ham and drinking cold, foamy beer. It was the last day of September. The sun was brilliant and hot as a few stray birch leaves – birch leaves were always the first – drifted to the ground.
‘I’ll start in Munich,’ said Willi. To his surprise, Bergemann did not object.
‘I can drive you,’ said Eberhardt.
It was late evening. Eberhardt drove fast. He pulled up at Tullemannstraße and parked. They watched the building for a while. Heinz Schleiffer stepped outside. He looked up at the
