“And”-Hoffner scanned the front page-“to Doktors Meinhof and Klingman.”
“Two very capable chemists,” said Kroll. “They came up with the solution. Meinhof is now in Vienna, at the Bielefeld Institute. Klingman passed away about a year ago.”
“So how did you know it was this”-again Hoffner read-“Ascomycete 4 from the sample I gave you?”
“Actually,” said Kroll, “it didn’t take me that long. Once I separated out the components, there were trace elements of an unguent I’d seen only once before. It was in a sample that I’d been asked to analyze during the war.”
“A military request?” said Hoffner.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“You made the connection and it brought you to the restricted files.”
Now Einstein was impressed. “You’re very good at this, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar.”
“No, Herr Direktor,” said Hoffner, “just impatient.” He turned to Kroll. “And the components were the same?”
“Identical.”
Hoffner flipped to the back of the file; he scanned a few of the paragraphs. Kroll had been right to give him the condensed version. “And this compound,” said Hoffner. “It’s now available outside the military?”
“That’s where the difficulty lies,” said Kroll. “All of this is still under lock and key here at the Institute. More than that, the research was discontinued in the middle of 1917. They stopped producing it. I won’t ask you where you got your sample.”
“Stopped?” said Hoffner. “Why?”
“Because they discovered that too much of it, if inhaled, acted as a very potent hallucinatory stimulant.”
This seemed to perk Einstein up a bit. “Not a bad little side effect, eh, Kriminal-Kommissar?”
Kroll continued: “Once the men on the line discovered its other use-well, how can you blame them, really? The General Staff did its best to restrict access-select doctors were the only ones who could get hold of the stuff-but then it no longer served the purpose for which it had been designed.”
“For a time,” added Einstein, “it actually became more popular than morphine. You can only imagine the embarrassment Meinhof and Klingman went through.”
“I’m sure,” said Hoffner as he tried to digest all of the information.
Einstein said to Kroll, “You know, it just now occurs to me that that was probably the same problem you were looking into when they gave you the original unguent to analyze. The hallucinogenic side effects.”
Kroll nodded, considering it for the first time himself. “That’s probably true, Herr Direktor. I never thought of that.”
“Yes,” said Hoffner, interrupting the riveting sidebar. “But would they have destroyed the stock they still had?”
Einstein said, “Oh, I doubt that. Too much potential as a weapon, don’t you think? The chance to develop it into a hallucinatory gas, that sort of thing.”
Unfortunately, Hoffner knew Einstein was right. “And would one slathering keep a body fresh indefinitely?”
“That was another problem,” said Kroll. “It had to be reapplied quite frequently. Hence the large quantities and the hallucinations.”
“How frequently?” said Hoffner.
“Very frequently,” said Kroll. “At least two or three times a day.”
“So, how much of the stuff would one need to keep a body fresh for, say, six weeks?”
“Six weeks?” Kroll said incredulously. “Not possible. You’re talking liters and liters. Vast amounts.”
Hoffner was pleased to hear it. “So nothing your average officer would have been able to ferret away?”
“Impossible,” said Kroll with complete certainty. “It was designed to insulate the flesh for two, maybe three days, and that with constant supervision. And even that became impractical. Too many bodies to manage. The whole thing proved to be a disaster.”
Hoffner sat back and again let the information settle. At least the lone army psychopath was no longer a possibility, not that the alternative was all that much more appealing. “And you’re sure that what I gave you is this same compound?”
“Absolutely. The chemical makeup is unique. It’s like a signature. Meinhof and Klingman might just as well have attached their thumbprints to it. It’s Ascomycete 4, Nikolai. No question.”
The three men sat in silence for nearly half a minute. Hoffner could tell that Einstein wanted to ask a few questions of his own, but was choosing not to venture out of his own realm. Maybe the positioning of the light was more than just bad happenstance. Insulation could be so very comforting.
Hoffner spoke to Einstein: “I could demand all the relevant files, Herr Direktor. This is, after all, a Kripo investigation.”
“Yes, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar, you could, but then I would have to get in touch with the Office of the General Staff-” Einstein stopped himself. “There is still an Office of the General Staff, isn’t there?”
“Yes, Herr Direktor,” said Hoffner.
“Good,” said Einstein, mildly relieved. “One doesn’t always know these days, what with the revolution. Anyway, given the peculiarity of this case, I’m not sure you’d want them to hear that you’re looking into it, just yet.” The knowing smile returned. “I could be wrong, but that’s up to you, of course.”
Hoffner nodded. “Point well taken, Herr Direktor.”
Again, the room grew quiet. Einstein said, “I imagine this only complicates your case, Herr Kriminal-Kommissar.”
“Yes, Herr Direktor,” said Hoffner. “It does.”
Einstein nodded coyly. “That’s not always such a bad thing.”
“I know, Herr Direktor. But right now it doesn’t make things any easier.”
The air outside was pleasantly dry as Hoffner lit a cigarette and stepped onto the plaza. It made the cold all the more piercing and gave the smoke a certain crispness as it raced down into his lungs.
Kroll had been nice enough to run through the remaining files with him, but there had really been nothing more to see. The names of the officers on the General Staff had been omitted, as had any firms that had been used to transport or produce the compound in any large quantities. It was all just science, and that, as Kroll had pointed out, was probably of little use to the Kripo.
“Herr Kriminal-Kommissar.”
Hoffner turned around. To his complete surprise, he saw Hans Fichte heading toward him. Hoffner tried to remember if he had left a note for Fichte back at the Alex. He knew he hadn’t, which made Fichte’s appearance all the more puzzling.
Fichte was eating something out of a brown bag. He tossed both it and the bag into a dustbin, and quickly made his way over. “Herr Kriminal-Kommissar,” he repeated.
“Hans. What are you doing here?”
“They told me you were with the Direktor. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Or interrupt your lunch.”
“That, too.”
Hoffner stared at Fichte. “So. . Are you going to explain how you found me here, or do I have to guess?”
Fichte’s face brightened. “A wire came in for you back at the Alex. It was marked ‘urgent.’ On the off chance, I checked the switchboard logs to see if you had made any telephone calls today. There was the one to Herr Doktor Kroll late this morning, so. .” Fichte left it at that.
Hoffner reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his cigarettes, and offered one to Fichte. “Nicely done, Hans.” Fichte took the cigarette; Hoffner used his own to light it, and they began to walk. “So what’s so urgent?”