It was an empty offer because the Lageralteste could do to me whatever he wished, could kill me in whatever fashion he devised. But I was desperate for Pista to live. It was vitally important. I had failed to save Cyuri; I could not fail to save Pista as well.
"What do you care what happens to him?” the Lageralteste said, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "You know him?”
"Never seen him before in my life."
"Why, then?”
"Because he’s a human being," I said, my voice ringing with conviction. "An innocent human being. He doesn’t deserve to die."
The Lageralteste stared at me with his intense eyes for a long moment. He was breathing hard, his large chest rising and falling like crashing waves. At his sides, his arms hung like battering rams, ready to break and smash and shatter. My argument might have moved an ordinary man, one with a conscience, but the Lageralteste was a different sort of creature. He had no morality to speak of. To him, other human beings were worthless—unless, like Franz, they belonged to him.
Which was why I knew with gut-wrenching despair that I could not sway him.
But then he surprised me. His face broke into a grin, and he unclenched one of his fists to rub his jaw.
"I'll tell you what, my clever jew," he said. “I’m going to grant you your wish. I’m going to let this schweinehund live. But you owe me a death now, so here’s how it’s going to be. You find Franz’s killer by tomorrow, or I won’t just kill you—I’ll kill your friend, too.” The dawning horror in my eyes made his grin widen. “Yes, I’ve seen you two together. Good buddies, aren't you? You and the short one with the face of a bookkeeper."
Vilmos. He was talking about Vilmos. I felt the earth being pulled from under my feet. Then I was falling headfirst into a bottomless abyss. What had I done? How could I have been so stupid?
"I’ll kill you both, and like you suggested, I’ll take my time doing it. And just so we’re clear, if you’re thinking of tricking me, of hurling yourself at the fence if you fail to find this killer, you better think again. Because I won’t be satisfied with such an easy death for you. Nor for your friend. If you kill yourself, either one of you, I’ll kill ten prisoners in your place, including the one you just saved. Do you understand me?"
I fought the urge to leap at him, to punch him until his face was nothing but raw, bloody meat. But it wouldn't do any good. He had all the power here. Rolf and Mathias would pull me off him, and then they would kill me. And afterward, they would kill Vilmos, too. Choked by guilt, fear, and impotent rage, I was unable to utter a sound, so I just nodded.
"Very good. Now tell this schweinehund to get out of my sight before I change my mind.”
I swallowed, cleared my throat, and told Pista, “You can go. Hurry!"
It took a second for Pista to register that he’d been spared. Then he scrambled out of the ditch like an animal, stumbled and fell flat on his chest, rose again, and sprinted as though Satan himself were at his heels.
The Lageralteste was still grinning at me. “By tomorrow, Jew. Or you and your friend both die."
27
The three of them turned to leave.
"Wait," I said. “I need to ask you some questions. You and the other Stuben-dienst who slept in the same room with Franz."
I was talking to Rolf, he of the conjoined eyebrow. He looked at the Lageralteste, who grumbled, “Answer his damn questions and then come to the block." To me, he said, "Don’t take too long, Jew. Rolf’s got work to do." Then he and Mathias walked away, leaving Rolf and me alone.
"I understand you were a defense lawyer before you got here,” Rolf said.
"That's right."
"Were you any good?"
"Not bad."
"My lawyer was a scumbag. Took my mother for everything she had, then showed up at court stinking drunk. No wonder I got sent up.”
"Were you guilty?"
Rolf threw his head back and laughed. "Of more than they got me for."
He was a man of crude features: a lantern jaw, bulging cheekbones, and a crooked mouth brimming with crooked teeth. The finishing touch was that eyebrow, of course. That face must have come in handy in his criminal career. A single look was all it took to make you terrified.
"Did you meet the Lageralteste in prison?"
"No. That happened here. The only one of us who knows him from before is Mathias. But the Lageralteste had a reputation, so I knew who he was.”
"What did you do time for?"
"Murder and robbery."
"Who did you kill?"
"I was robbing a store and the dumb owner put up a fight. Just eight marks in the till and he comes at me with a hammer. I stabbed him in the heart.”
"So you have experience with knives."
His eyes flared. "Hey now, don’t go jumping to wrong conclusions. I had nothing to do with what happened to Franz.”
"Relax, Rolf. You’ve been around. You know how these things go. Until I know otherwise, everyone who knew Franz is a suspect. If you didn’t do it, you've got nothing to worry about."
Rolf squinted at me, his single eyebrow curling like a caterpillar. "Way you talk reminds me of the bastard detective who made the case against me."
I gave a half smile. "I picked up a few things sitting in on police interrogations. You got an alibi for the time Franz was killed?"
“All afternoon I was with Mathias. Ask him; he’ll tell you.”
“Where were you?”
“All around. We do a tour of the camp every couple of days, to check on things."
"You were together the whole time?"
"Every minute. From say, three hours after lunch until shortly before the first kommandos started returning to camp. And Franz was alive when we set out. He was in our room at the block. Mathias can confirm this too."
"What about later? Because Franz might have been killed at any time before curfew."
Rolf rubbed his chin. "I had dinner, then roamed about for a while, then returned to the block."
"Were you with someone?"
"Not all the time. But that doesn't matter because I didn't kill Franz. Why would I? I had nothing against him."
His harsh features made it difficult to read his expression. He was worried about my questions, but that might have been solely because he knew what the Lageralteste was capable of. Rolf had killed before, and with a knife, no less. Therefore, he was certainly a suspect. On the other hand, Franz’s killing seemed to have been planned and executed meticulously. I wasn’t sure Rolf had the intelligence for such an undertaking.
"When you got back to the block that evening, was Franz there?"
"No."
"What about the others—Mathias and the other Stubendienst?"
"Mathias was with the Lageralteste in his room, drinking. Otto was in our room with me or we were together in the block or thereabouts."
"This was after dinner, you said?”
"Yeah, but the Lageralteste and Mathias had been drinking from beforehand."
"Was that usual?”
Rolf grinned. "Oh yeah. The Lageralteste likes to drink, and a lot of bottles come in on the trains. When he gets some good ones, they can drink all evening long."
He made no mention of the people to whom those bottles used to belong. Apparently, they did not enter his thoughts at all.