‘I cannot begin to describe what we saw, Herr Fabel. When we opened those doors, it was like opening the gates of Hell itself. The first thing we noticed was the way the air was sucked out of the shelter, dragging people with it. Everything was burning. But not the way you imagine buildings burning. It was like a huge blast-furnace. The British had calculated that by smashing the buildings, then dropping the phosphorus, they could create updraughts that would raise the temperature high enough to cause the spontaneous combustion of buildings, of people, that hadn’t been directly hit. In some parts of the city the temperature hit a thousand degrees. I staggered out of the shelter and I started to pant and gasp as if I’d been running a race. I simply couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. People glowing, like torches. There was a child… I don’t know if it was a boy or a girl, but from its size I guessed it was about eight or nine, lying face down, half sunken into the road. The tar had melted, you see. It was then that I saw this figure walking down the street. It was the most horrific, yet most mesmerising thing I have ever seen. It was a woman, holding something close to her chest. I think it was a baby. She was walking in a straight line down the street. Not staggering. Not rushing. But she and the baby in her arms were… the only way I can describe it is incandescent. It was as if they were moulded from a single bright flame. It was like looking at some fire angel. I remember thinking at that moment that it did not matter if I lived or died. That to see such a thing was more than anyone should endure in their lifetime. And then she was gone. As you know, the firestorm created ground draughts of hurricane force. Winds of two hundred and fifty kilometres per hour scooping people up and sucking them into the flames. She and the baby were picked up and swept into a burning building as if the fire had reached out its hand to snap up a morsel.’
Fabel watched the older man. His voice stayed steady, calm; but his eyes were now glossy with unshed tears.
‘I remember cursing God for having given me life. For allowing me to be born at that time of all times; in that place of all places. And I thought that perhaps this was the last of all times. I found it easy to imagine that the whole world would end with this war. It was then that I realised that Karl was not with me any more. I looked around for him, but it was like seeking a single soul in the chaos and horror of Hell.
‘I remember my instinct telling me to get to water. I reckoned that if I got to the Alster or the Elbe – the Alster was nearer – then I would have a better chance of survival.’
Dorfmann looked lost in thought for a moment.
‘I wonder if that’s what Karl was trying to do. You said on the phone that you found him down by the harbour. Maybe he had the idea to get down to the Elbe. By the time I got to the Alster it was already full of people. Dead or dying. More human candles. They had thrown themselves in to try to put the flames out, but they’d been splashed with phosphorus and were still burning as they floated on the water.’
Fabel placed the Nazi identity card and the photograph of the mummified body on the coffee table. Heinz Dorfmann put on his reading glasses again. ‘That’s Karl…’ He frowned when he examined the photograph of the body. ‘This is what he looks like now?’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘It’s amazing. Obviously he is all thin… dried out. But I would have recognised Karl straight away.’
‘Do you know what happened to his sister Margot? Do you have any idea where she lives – if, indeed, she’s still alive? I’m trying to locate any next of kin.’
‘Not that much, I’m afraid. She married an older man after the war was over. His name was Pohle. Gerhard Pohle.’
8.30 p.m.: Hammerbrook, Hamburg
Fabel walked back to his car. It had been raining while he had been in Herr Dorfmann’s apartment and the rain after such a warm day had lent the evening air a freshly washed scent. Fabel looked down at the pavement as he walked, at the damp-darkened asphalt, and he thought back to the description that Herr Dorfmann had given of that hot, dry night when Hamburg had become a burning hell on earth. He could not imagine it. His Hamburg.
He reached his car, unlocked it with the key-fob remote, climbed in and closed the door. He rested his hands on the steering wheel for a moment. History. He had studied it; he had wanted to teach it. The irony was that in investigating these cases, he was becoming smothered by it.
He put the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing.
‘ Shit! ’ Fabel said in English. Fabel was a man of broad wisdom: his knowledge extended over a variety of subjects and he always enjoyed learning something new, stretching the boundaries of his understanding of the world. But that knowledge did not and never had extended to car mechanics. He bad-temperedly fumbled in his pocket to find his cellphone. He had just retrieved it when it preempted him by ringing. He snapped it open.
‘Hello…’ He failed to keep the irritation from his voice.
‘Hello, Herr Fabel…’
Fabel knew it was the killer. The caller had again used some kind of electronic filter that altered his or her voice. It came across the connection as unnaturally deep and slow, distorted, artificial. Inhuman. ‘I am so glad you did not remove your key from the ignition; otherwise we would not be having this conversation.’
‘What do you mean?’ Fabel’s mouth suddenly went dry. He knew what the caller meant. A bomb. He leaned forward and searched the car’s floor at his feet; checked under the steering column for wires. ‘Who is this?’
‘We can talk about that in a minute, Herr Fabel. But, for now, I need you to know that I have planted an unnecessarily large explosive device in your car. If you open the door for a second time, the device will detonate; if you remove the key from the ignition, the device will detonate; or if you take your weight off the driver’s seat… well, I think you get the picture. I’m afraid the consequence of any of these actions would be a disproportionately large explosion. It would result not just in your demise, Herr Fabel, but in the deaths of several residents of Hammerbrook, as well as widespread damage to property throughout the area. Oh, I should also tell you that I can, at any time of my choosing, also detonate the device remotely.’
‘Okay,’ said Fabel. ‘You’ve got my attention.’ He could feel his heart pound in his chest. He looked out through his windshield at a pleasant summer’s evening, at the rain-washed street and the red that the low sun had splashed on the west-facing walls of the buildings. At people going about their business. Fabel felt so alone in the centre of his own universe, the only one aware that death and destruction were only a breath away. Suddenly, the images that Herr Dorfmann had conjured in Fabel’s mind earlier returned with a renewed clarity. A young couple with a toddler in a pushchair strolled past Fabel’s BMW, walking with no apparent purpose other than to enjoy the summer evening. Fabel wanted to wind down his window and scream at them to run and take cover but, for all he knew, the windows too were booby-trapped. He watched them take what seemed like an eternity to pass the car.
‘I’m sure I do have your attention, Herr Fabel.’ The electronically distorted voice had been stripped of any subtlety of intonation. ‘And I expect to have the attention of a great many other Polizei Hamburg officers, including the bomb squad, for a few hours to come. You see, it suits me better to leave you alive, because it will take an age for your people to extricate you from this situation. Added to which is the time your forensics people will have to spend on site. But don’t be in any doubt that if you try anything inadvisable, I will detonate the device. The effect will still be the same.’