“Before the war?”
“Because I was a prison guard,” Dieter answered. He leaned back so far in his chair that its front legs lifted off the floor. “We executed God knows how many.”
“Executing criminals before the war wouldn’t get you shot now,” Danforth said pointedly.
“They weren’t all criminals,” Dieter said. “Unless you call some kid handing out pamphlets a criminal.”
“Are you talking about political criminals?” Danforth asked.
“Reds, mostly,” Dieter said. “One day you Americans will be sorry we didn’t kill them all.”
Danforth was getting nowhere with this and knew it, and so he decided to do as he had been trained to do, take one small piece of information, presumably innocent, then have the prisoner expand on it.
“You were in Berlin before the war,” Danforth said as he glanced at Dieter’s folder.
“Yes.”
“Is this where you worked as a guard?”
“Yes.”
“At Stadtheim?” Danforth asked.
“No. Plotzensee.”
Danforth’s gaze lifted. “Plotzensee?”
“In the suburbs,” Dieter added with a shrug. “It’s mostly blown up now. But it was a busy place before and during the war.”
Danforth gave no sign that the very name Plotzensee was like a hook in his skin.
“Busy with executions?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Danforth decided to test Dieter’s veracity. “These executions, they were by firing squad?”
“No,” Dieter said. “They put up a gallows later.” He chuckled. “But before that, can you believe it, Captain? We had a . . . what’s the word in English? A
“A guillotine,” Danforth said.
“That’s it, yes: guillotine.”
“When were you at Plotzensee?” Danforth asked.
“From June of 1936 until the war began,” Dieter answered. “That was in ...”
“September 1939,” Danforth said.
Dieter nodded.
“And you participated in executions during this time?” Danforth asked.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
Dieter shrugged. “Many. I don’t remember. I walked them to the room, that’s all. But that won’t matter, they’re going to kill us all. It’s going to be a big show.”
Danforth worked to keep his tone entirely even despite the storm building within him. “These prisoners that you ... walked, were there any women?”
“Sure.”
“Do you remember any of them?”
Dieter grinned. “A man always remembers the women.”
Danforth faced him stonily. “Who do you remember?”
“There were only two,” Dieter answered. “Benita von Falkenhayn. She was the daughter-in-law of some big shot on the general’s staff. A wild one. Divorced the big shot’s son and got into bed with a Polack spy.” He shrugged. “They killed her with an ax. Like some English queen.”
Catching his breath, Danforth asked, “And the other one?” “She wore thick glasses, the other one,” Dieter answered. “Not very attractive, I must say.” Her unattractiveness seemed to make her life less dear to Dieter. “She was the first woman they used a guillotine on. Another Red. I don’t remember her name, but they called her Lilo.”
“What was her crime?” Danforth asked.
“She wouldn’t stop being a Red,” Dieter answered. “Probably other things as well, but I don’t remember what they were.” He leaned back again and released a slow, relaxing breath. “That’s all. Just two women, like I said.”
“Just two?” Danforth asked. “Are you sure no other woman was executed while you were at Plotzensee?”
Dieter looked at Danforth closely. “Someone you knew, Captain?”
“She was dark,” Danforth said sternly. “She had very curly hair.”
