SGO.
'I found these bills hidden in Gebhardt's hut. As you can see all of the bills are marked in the top right-hand corner with a small pencil mark, which is I believe a Russian Orthodox cross.'
Savostin examined one of the notes and nodded. 'All of them?' he said.
'Yes, sir.' I knew this because I had marked every one of the bills myself. 'It's my guess that if you were to search the officer named in that notebook you would find him in possession of one or more five-rouble notes with the same pencilled cross in the top right-hand corner, sir. The same officer is left-handed and his arm currently bears a livid scar that was most probably sustained during the attack on Gebhardt.'
Still clutching my cap, I rubbed my shaven head with my knuckle. It sounded like something happening to a piece of wood in the camp workshop. 'If I might speak frankly, sir?'
'Speak, Captain.'
'I don't know what you're going to do with this man, sir. Given who and what he is I can appreciate that it might leave you with a problem. After all, he's your man's man. But he's no good to you now, sir, is he? Not now that we know who and what he is. I suppose you could always use him to replace Gebhardt, as the anti-fa officer, although his Russian isn't up to much. And you'd have to take him away anyway, for political re-education. Either way he's finished in this camp. I just wanted to let you know that, sir.'
'Aren't you jumping the gun a little, Gunther? You haven't proved anything yet. Even if I do find this marked money on Metelmann there's nothing to prove he didn't receive the money before Gebhardt was murdered. And have you considered the possibility that if this man is an informer then it might suit me better to leave him here and have you and the colonel transferred to another camp?'
'I have considered that, yes, sir. It's true there's nothing to stop you doing that. But you can't be sure that we haven't told all our comrades what I've told you. That's one reason why it wouldn't suit you to send us to another camp. Another reason is that the colonel is doing an excellent job as SGO. The men listen to him. With all due respect, sir, you need him.'
Major Savostin looked at the colonel. 'Perhaps I do, at that,' he said.
I shrugged. 'As for proving anything to your satisfaction, Major, that's your affair. I've handed you the gun. You can't expect me to pull the trigger as well. However, if you do decide to search Metelmann, you might ask him the name of his wife, sir.'
'Meaning?'
'Konrad Metelmann's wife is called Vera, sir.' I handed Savostin the ring I had found and which I had assumed was Gebhardt's wedding ring. 'There's an inscription inside.'
Savostin's eyes narrowed as he read what was engraved on the inside of the gold band. 'To Konrad, with all my love, from Vera. February 1943.' He looked at me.
'That was on Gebhardt's ring finger, sir. The finger was broken I think because Metelmann tried to get the ring off Gebhardt's finger after he killed him and failed. Possibly he even broke the finger, I don't know. But I had to use soap to get it off myself.'
'Perhaps Gebhardt bought this from Metelmann.'
'Gebhardt bought it all right. But I'm pretty sure it wasn't from Metelmann. Metelmann hid that ring up his arse for weeks. Then he got a bad dose of diarrhoea and had to wear it on a piece of string around his neck. But one of the guards found it and made him hand it over. As a matter of fact I saw it happen.'
'Who?'
'Sergeant Degermenkoy. My guess is that Gebhardt bought it back from him and promised to return it to Metelmann but never did. Possibly he may have used the ring as leverage to obtain information from Metelmann. Either way, I'm certain this ring is what the fight was about. And I'm sure the sergeant will confirm what I've said, sir. That he sold the ring to Gebhardt.'
'Degermenkoy is a lying pig,' said Major Savostin. 'But I don't doubt that you are correct about what must have happened. You've done very well, Captain. I shall question both men in due course. For now, I thank you, Captain. You too, Colonel, for recommending this man. You may go back to work now. Dismissed.'
Mrugowski and I went out of the guardhouse. 'Are you sure about all of this?'
'Yes.'
'Suppose Savostin searches Metelmann and he doesn't have that five-rouble note?'
'He had it half an hour ago,' I said. 'I know that because it was me who gave it to him. And it's marked with a lot more than just a Russian Orthodox cross. There's a thumbprint in blood on it, too. Rather a good one, as it happens, although I dare say the Ivans won't be looking to make a match.'
'I don't understand,' said Mrugowski. 'Whose thumbprint?'
'Gebhardt's. I put the print on the bill using his dead hand. And I borrowed five roubles from Metelmann the day before yesterday, just so that I could repay him with a marked bill. I marked the bills with the cross, myself. The thumbprint was merely for added effect.'
'I still don't understand.'
'I chalked him out for it. Metelmann. Framed him, so that he could take the bath out.'
Mrugowski stopped and stared at me with horror. 'You mean he didn't kill Gebhardt?'
'Oh, he killed him all right. I'm almost sure of that. But proving it is something else. Especially in this place. Anyway, I don't much care. Metelmann was a point. A lousy informer and we're well rid of him.'
'I do not like your methods, Captain Gunther.'
'You wanted a detective from the Alex, Colonel, and that's what you got. You think those bastards always play fair? By the book? Rules of evidence? Think again. Berlin cops have planted more evidence than the ancient Egyptians. This is how it works, sir. Real police work isn't some gentlemen detective writing notes on a starched shirt cuff with a silver pencil. That was the old days when the grass was greener and it only snowed on Christmas Eve. You make the suspect, not the punishment, fit the crime, see? It was always thus. But more especially here. Here most of all. That Major Savostin isn't the laughing policeman. He's from the Ministry of Internal Affairs. I just hope you didn't sell me too hard to that cold-hearted bastard because I tell you this, it's not Lieutenant Metelmann I'm worried about, it's me. I've been useful to Savostin. He likes that. The next time he gets cold hands he's liable to treat me like a pair of gloves.'
Konrad Metelmann was taken away by the Blues the same day and life at Krasno-Armeesk resumed its awful, grey, unrelentingly brutal routine. Or at least I thought it did until it was pointed out to me by another pleni that I was receiving double rations in the canteen. People always noticed things like that. At first none of my comrades seemed to mind, as everyone was now aware that I had uncovered an informer and saved twenty-five of us from a show trial in Stalingrad. But memories are short, especially in a Soviet labour camp, and as winter arrived and my preferment continued – not just more food, but warmer clothes too – I began to encounter some resentment among the other German prisoners. It was Ivan Yefremovich Pospelov who explained what was happening:
'I've seen this before,' he said. 'And I'm afraid it will end badly unless you can do something about it. The Blues have picked you out for the Astoria treatment. Like the hotel? Better food, better clothes and, in case you hadn't noticed, less work.'
'I'm working,' I said. 'Like anyone else.'
'You think so? When was the last time a Blue shouted at you to hurry up? Or called you a German pig?'
'Now you come to mention it, they have been rather more polite of late.'
'Eventually the other plenis will forget what you did for them and remember only that you are preferred by the Blues. And they'll conclude that there's more to it than meets the eye. That you're giving the Blues something else, in return.'
'But that's nonsense.'
'I know it. You know it. But do they know it? In six months from now you'll be an anti-fascist agent in their eyes, whether you are or not. That's what the Russians are gambling on. That as you are shunned by your own people you have no choice but to come over to them. Even if that doesn't happen, one day you'll have an accident.
