"I’m the man who's going to find out who murdered him. I understand you and he were partners.”
"Where did you hear that?”
"It’s not a secret. A lot of prisoners here know about the two of you. You organized things together, didn’t you?"
"That's right. He and I got plenty of items into camp, into the hands of prisoners who needed them."
"For a price," I said. “Don’t make it sound like a charity."
"All right, I won't. We didn't give things away. We sold them. And why shouldn't we? We were taking a risk every time we smuggled something into camp. I don’t know of a single organizer who does it for free." He glowered at me. "I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m done talking to you. Now get out of here, or I’ll have a talk with your Kapo later and make sure you get punished for not bringing in the luggage like you were supposed to."
I clenched my teeth in fury. There was just one way to get Ludwig to cooperate with me. I had to make him scared. “You asked me before why I was asking questions about Franz. The answer is that I was instructed to do so. Want to know by whom?”
"You’re very stupid, aren’t you?" he said. "I told you to leave and you're still here. You’re going to regret—"
"It was the Lageralteste,” I said, and nearly smiled at seeing Ludwig pause in mid-sentence with his mouth hanging open. “That’s right. I’m asking these questions because the Lageralteste is pretty upset that someone murdered Franz. He wants to know who did it. And I'm thinking you had a lot to gain from Franz’s death.”
"Me?” Ludwig said. Gone was the self-assured demeanor and arrogant tone. Now he both looked and sounded horrified. "Why would I want to kill Franz?"
"The oldest, most common motive: greed. You and he were partners. Now that he’s dead, the organizing operation you and he ran is solely yours.”
Ludwig stared at me for a second, then let out a short laugh. "And what? Do you think I’m taking Franz’s share and putting it in the bank? Or maybe I plan to buy some fancy clothes and a new car? Have you forgotten where we are? There’s only so much you can use in this place, and, believe me, I manage to get enough of it."
It was true. He did not look like he lacked for anything, or at least, none of the narrow range of things prisoners could use.
"Besides," he said, his confidence firmly back in place, “Franz had been out of it since he started working for the Lageralteste. I wouldn’t have needed to kill him. And I didn't. I never would have, I swear. Not for anything.”
"You don’t seem upset by his death,” I said, struggling to ignore the fact that my hypothesis had crumbled. Because what Ludwig said was true. When he died, Franz was no longer in the organizing business. He’d said as much to Zoltan on their last meeting when the latter had attempted to buy medicine for Vilmos.
"Like I said, I heard about it two days ago,” Ludwig said. "I did my mourning then.”
"And you’re over it now, is that it?"
"Of course not. Just like I’m not over my brothers and parents who went up the chimney. But it wouldn't do me any good to fall apart in tears, now, would it?"
No, it wouldn't. In Auschwitz, one did not have the luxury of grieving properly. There was no funeral, no shiva, no grave to lay flowers on. Those who wallowed in bereavement could not focus on survival; they shattered into a million tiny pieces shaped like broken hearts. They lost the will to live and died very quickly. I thought of Gyuri and felt a sting of loss and guilt.
I said, “Where were you during the afternoon and evening four days ago?"
"The same as every day. Here until the end of the workday. Then back in camp."
"Was someone with you at camp all during that evening?”
"Every minute of it? No. But that doesn't mean I killed Franz. I assure you I didn’t."
He sounded sincere, and his eyes were steady, but down on the table, his hands were fidgeting. It could have been innocent nervousness or a sign of deceit.
I was quiet for a moment, hoping he'd feel compelled to fill the silence, but he didn’t.
"Can you think of anyone else who had reason to murder Franz?” I said at length.
Ludwig shook his head.
"Maybe someone who wanted to buy something from him and was turned away?”
"He didn’t tell me about anyone like that. And our prices are fair. You may not believe it, after what I said about the medicine, but it’s true. Medicine is very expensive and hard to come by. If you can get it at all, it takes time—unless you’re very lucky."
"Lucky how?" I asked, a pang of worry for Vilmos biting me on the inside.
"Like finding a fully stocked doctor’s bag before anyone else gets the chance to poke through it. Something that’s never happened to me, I can tell you that." He paused and added, “I'm sorry about your sick friend."
Again, I didn’t believe him, though unlike the first time he’d said he was sorry, this time he’d made an effort to sound sincere. Back then, he hadn’t cared what I thought of him. Now that he knew I was working for the Lageralteste, he cared quite a bit.
"What was Franz like?" I asked.
"What was he like?" Ludwig seemed bewildered by the question.
"Yeah. You were his friend. Tell me about him."
Ludwig took a second before answering. "He was hardworking. Very smart. Far beyond his years. And very creative at finding ways to fool the guards when he smuggled things into camp. He was also brave. And there was something free about him, even here." He ran a hand over his face, and when he spoke next, he sounded grief-stricken for the first time. “It’s terrible that he’s dead."
"Was there anyone else he was friends with?”
"He got along with pretty much everyone. But friends? I think I was the only one."
"What about the female prisoners? Did he have a sweetheart?”
Ludwig shook his head. "No one."
Which left me with very little to go on. And time kept slipping by, taking my life with it.
"Maybe Franz was robbed?” Ludwig suggested, and I might have been wrong, but he sounded almost hopeful. “That could have been it, couldn’t it?"
No, it couldn’t. Because in that case, there wouldn’t have been any bread for Vilmos to find.
Then I remembered what Stefan had told me earlier.
“The man who accosted Franz in the camp about two weeks ago, do you know who he is?"
Ludwig’s forehead creased. "What man?"
"Franz didn’t tell you?"
"No."
"How can that be? I thought you were his only true friend.”
"Last time I spoke with Franz was two and a half weeks ago, a few days after he started working for the Lageralteste."
"How come?"
"He said I should stay away from his block, to not come near him.”
"What reason did he give?"
"None. He just told me to steer clear of him. To forget about him."
I gave him a look of incredulity, and he responded with a small shrug. "I know it’s odd, but that’s how it was. He was adamant. Made me swear on it.”
"Was he angry with you?"
"No. Not at all."
"How did he seem, then?"
"Scared," Ludwig said. "Very, very scared."
25
Shortly before the end of the workday, our Kapo gave us a few minutes to use the latrine.
"I told you he was a good fellow," Stefan said. "He does this every day so we don’t have to squabble with the rest of the prisoners back at camp."
I relieved myself quickly, then ducked behind a corner and hid the two cookies I’d kept for Vilmos. Then I joined the rest of the men in our group and started back for camp.