Hilda took the opportunity to read the newspaper she found in the room. The developments in the Far East formed the main headline, but there were neither photos of the atom bomb nor its target city of Hiroshima. Perhaps the public was being protected. Nevertheless, there were plenty of photographs of the accused here at the court. Hilda looked at them carefully; they were smartly dressed in suits or uniforms, though any decorations they had earned over the war years had been torn off. On the end of the second row was Eicke, looking dejected, much the same as Hermann Göring in his high-collared overcoat.
Hilda did not recognise any of the other witnesses and was unsure how to feel about that. If she had known any of them, she might have been tempted to speak to them about Eicke, but she did not know whether conversation was permitted. On the other hand, she had no idea what other people would say in evidence. Would their memories support or contradict each other? Moreover, of course, another far more pressing anxiety was the possibility that she might be exposed as a German spy. At least there was no one else there who might recognise her in that capacity, she cautiously thought.
She watched the clock tick slowly round; each minute seemed to hesitate as it clicked by. The tension in the claustrophobic courtroom amplified as the day progressed, becoming almost palpable. Three witnesses had now been called to give their evidence. In due course, they returned one by one. Each broke their silence as if to purge their evidence one last time. All were mothers from Hamburg who knew exactly what Eicke was doing. One had witnessed Jewish neighbours being taken away; another had seen his brutality at first hand and spoke passionately about his impassive demeanour as he shot dissenters. Their recollections were all too vivid and liberally laced with tears and sobs.
At last, Hilda heard her name being called. She stood up and left the witness room hardly acknowledging the men and women she left behind. Her senses sharpened, on full alert. She walked along a corridor and into the arena which was larger than she anticipated, almost like a vast theatre. A crowd of legal professionals were engaged in close discussion, both on the judges’ bench and around the long tables where photographic evidence sat labelled and displayed. American soldiers, resplendent in white helmets and leg protectors, surrounded the room, some standing at ease, others ready for any disruption with guns resting meantime in their holsters.
As she was ushered into the witness box, a flash hit her eyes. She looked up and saw a group of photographers aiming their cameras at her, for the next day’s papers, she assumed. She lost count of the number of flashes which followed and continued until she lifted the bible.
‘Not yet, Frau. The accused is not in the dock yet. His counsel is still with him,’ the court usher informed her in a whisper.
She replaced the bible. Her keenness to begin must have been noticed by the scribbling journalists from all over the free world, who sat alongside the photographers. She pretended nothing had happened and remained standing in the witness box, looking around her and absorbing every detail of these enormously significant proceedings. The defendants seated at right angles to the judges’ bench, looked distracted. All the journalists were scribbling furiously like exam students, ensuring that the eyes and ears of the world were upon this court. She was acutely aware that they would be on her in particular, in just a moment. Perhaps her evidence alone would not convict Eicke, but it could be a brick to build his anticipated scaffold.
At last she caught sight of Gerhardt Eicke. As he entered the dock, he looked haggard, much older than his years. He wore dark glasses, possibly to disguise himself, and he seemed to peer blearily in Hilda’s direction. Gone was the swaggering visitor to her house who strode from hall to living room making his presence felt, emphasizing his importance. He seemed a timid mouse now. At least his defence counsel had seemed to advise him not to appear defiant; it was to his credit that he had accepted that instruction, she thought.
She took the oath. The international prosecution lawyer stood beside her and spoke into his microphone.
‘Tell the trial your full name and age.’
‘Frau Hilda Richter. I am fifty-six years of age.’
‘You are a citizen of Hamburg?’
‘I was. Not now.’
The defendant leant forward, agitated. The slight disturbance attracted the prosecutor’s attention and he gave way to the defence lawyer.
‘Objection, this witness is an imposter,’ said Eicke’s counsel.
The judges looked at each other. They shook their heads. They called the prosecutor over and spoke with the microphones turned off. The prosecutor returned and began to question her again.
‘You have told the court you are Frau Hilda Richter. Remember you are under oath. Tell the court your real name.’
There must have been two hundred people in the courtroom. No one moved an inch as she explained. ‘Very well, I was born in Scotland and grew up as Hilda Campbell. I married Dr Willy Richter in Hamburg in 1913. I have been known as Hilda Richter ever since then.’
The court awaited the defence counsel’s response.
‘My lords, the objection stands. My client maintains that this is not Frau Richter. Frau Richter drowned in Portugal. Her body was washed away several years ago into the Atlantic ocean off the rugged coastline. She could not have survived. She was pronounced dead by the Portuguese authorities some years ago. This woman, I assure you, is an imposter. It is a serious matter which must be investigated.’
The prosecutor raised his eyebrows at Hilda. She smiled and told him she would explain further.
‘During the war, I worked as a double agent.’
‘And where did your loyalty lie? Germany or the Allies?’ the prosecutor cut in before she got into her stride.
‘My loyalty was to the Allies and I acted primarily on their behalf. That did involve training in Germany, and some espionage in Portugal on behalf of the Reich, but when I learned I was transmitting messages, which would put Allied convoys at risk, I feigned my death by giving the impression that I had drowned. Herr Eicke is right. I drowned, to all that was their conclusion. In fact, I made it look as if I had drowned off the Portuguese coast. However, they never found my body; indeed, my body was never in danger, and appears before you today.’
It took a moment for all to digest what she had divulged. Then the questioning continued. ‘What did you actually achieve while you were under the direction of your German handlers?’ asked the tall, lean, bespectacled prosecutor.
‘Initially, I was asked to identify airfields in Scotland. When I returned to Germany, I informed Herr Eicke of airfields which did not exist. I minimized the importance of others, which may already have been known to him. Back in Germany, under Eicke’s orders, and after a period of telecommunication training, I was posted to Peniche on the Portuguese coast. Herr Eicke saw me off on my flight to Lisbon. That was where I made the biggest mistake of my life, which will remain a source of eternal regret to me. I passed on one set of coordinates to Berlin from an agent in America. That led to the sinking of an Allied cargo ship. It was at that point that I realised I had to return to my British handlers as quickly as possible. The only way I could think of achieving that was to feign death, death by drowning.’
‘And your work for the British?’
Hilda looked across the room towards Eicke, but his two hands covered his eyes.
‘I gave to the British Security Services the information gained while I was in Portugal. It led to the capture and imprisonment of the Fritz Duquesne Spy Ring. I was also able to provide evidence of their training in Germany too.’
‘Did this lead to any convictions?’
‘Yes, as I said, six days after the tragedy of Pearl Harbour, every member of the ring had either pled guilty or had been found guilty in a court of law in America. They were all imprisoned, although I believe they will be released soon, as the war has terminated.’