"You didn’t see Franz all that evening, is that right?”
"Yeah. Like I said, the last time I saw him was before Mathias and me went to tour the camp."
"At what time did you go to sleep? After curfew?"
"That's right. First we made sure the prisoners were all settled, and then we turned in."
"And Franz wasn't there?"
"Yeah. Like I told you.”
"Didn’t you wonder where he was? Worry about him? It was after curfew, after all.”
"I thought he was with the Lageralteste'’ Rolf said.
"In his room?”
"Yeah.”
"So Mathias was already back in your room by then?"
"Yeah. He must have thought Franz was with the Lageralteste, too.”
"What was Franz doing in the Lageralteste's room that late?" I asked.
Rolf’s eyes twitched. Then he ran a slow hand over his mouth and looked off to the side. “Whatever the Lageralteste told him to."
I said nothing, just kept my gaze on Rolf’s face. He shifted his feet, then scratched his forearm. His eyes met mine and darted away. Here was a man who had laughed at the recollection of the murder he’d committed, along with other crimes, and yet he was now uncomfortable.
"Anything else?" he asked. "I need to head back."
I considered asking him if he knew the redheaded man with the thick nose whom Stefan had seen pointing a finger at Franz’s face, but I feared that Rolf would pass on my question to the Lageralteste, which would likely lead to the redheaded man’s death. I was not about to jeopardize his life before I knew whether he was guilty or innocent.
"Just one more thing,” I said to Rolf. "The previous boy, the one before Franz, what was his name?"
"Bruno.”
"What happened to him?"
"He died."
"Yes, I know that. But how did he die?"
Rolf thought for a second or two, then turned his palms up and shrugged. "He just died. Any other questions? Because the Lageralteste might get upset if I don’t get back soon.”
"No, that’s everything, Rolf. You go ahead. I’ll come over in a few minutes to speak to Otto."
Rolf climbed out of the ditch and walked away. I stayed where I was, just me and my thoughts, staring at the spot where Franz had died. I had learned a few things, despite Rolf’s attempt to keep them from me. They made me very angry and very sad, and I wished I could do something about them, but I knew full well that I couldn’t.
28
Coming to the block where Franz had lived, I was met by the Lageralteste.
"So, my clever Jew, learn anything interesting from Rolf?”
"Not really,” I said. "But maybe Otto will prove more useful."
I moved to go inside, but the Lageralteste blocked my path. His eyes were bloodshot, and he reeked of alcohol. He must have guzzled an entire bottle in the short time that had elapsed since he’d left me and Rolf at the ditch. His lips were pulled back into what I imagined a hungry tiger’s smile would look like.
"You better hope you’ll find this killer, or I will take great pleasure in killing you. And your friend too.”
"I hope the same," I said. "For Franz's sake. May I go talk to Otto now?”
The Lageralteste's grin widened. "By all means. Go right ahead.”
Otto was the square-jawed functionary who, along with Rolf, had taken me to the Lageralteste that first night.
A squat, wide-shouldered man with tar-colored stubble that started halfway up his scalp. A wide mouth with thick lips. Ears that jutted out like oars. Dark eyes that gleamed with the light of a pair of candles burning on a narrow board that served as a shelf.
He was sitting on a low wooden chair, legs crossed at the ankles and stretched under a small table on which sat a fat loaf of bread. The loaf was missing a quarter of its former length. The culprit was a sharp knife currently resting next to its victim, a spray of crumbs around it, evidence of its crime.
A pang of hunger clawed at my stomach. Almost an entire loaf! It was the stuff of dreams.
Otto saw me looking and flashed me a warped grin. "Hungry, eh? Well, you’re better off than I thought you’d be when I brought you here the other night. I was sure you'd be dead within the hour."
"I was too," I said.
"You handled it pretty well. Most people would have started blubbering, begging for mercy, making all sorts of promises."
"Has it ever worked for any of them?”
He shook his head slowly. “Not a single one.”
"I didn't think it would."
"Would you have begged if you’d thought it would save you?”
"Maybe.”
"You’re not sure? You want to die? Maybe that explains what I heard you just did. You must be the dumbest Jew in all of Auschwitz.”
"Who told you?”
"Rolf. He said you persuaded the Lageralteste to let a prisoner go. A prisoner you didn’t know. Even though it would have gotten you off the hook if you’d let him die."
"What else did Rolf tell you?"
"That you ask pretty good questions. Like a police interrogator."
I fed him the lie about my being a defense lawyer, and he nodded his head and said he knew that already.
"I need to ask you a few questions about Franz," I said.
"Go ahead. I got nothing to hide." He spread his arms wide as though to illustrate the point.
"I understand he slept with you here."
"That's right. That’s his bunk over there.”
It was a double bunk, with far greater vertical space between the beds than the regular triple-level bunk afforded.
"Which level was his?"
"The top one. Rolf sleeps on the bottom.”
I peered at where Franz had slept. A pretty luxurious set up, by camp standards. There was a mattress, a real one, though not very thick; a light blanket; and a small pillow, which once might have belonged to a child. No clues to the identity of the murderer. But then, I hadn’t really expected any.
"Who sleeps there?” I asked, pointing at the double bunk on the opposite side of the room.
"Mathias and me. The top bunk is mine."
Which fitted with what Mathias had told me.
"I was told you got up that night to take a leak.”
"That's right."
"You didn't notice Franz wasn’t here?”
"Why would I? It was dark, and I wasn’t looking for him."
"It’s a small room. You might have noticed the absence of his breathing.”
Otto smiled. "The way Rolf snores, a Panzer tank could be rolling outside and I wouldn’t hear it.”
"Where were you on the afternoon and evening Franz was murdered?"
"Part of the time, I was here in the block with Rolf, either playing cards or making sure everything was tidy and neat. Otherwise, I was around."
"By yourself?”
"I visited the kitchen at some point in the afternoon. The cooks can vouch for that. But otherwise, yes, I was by myself."
"No alibi, then?"
"Not for the whole time, no.”
"What did you do time for back in Germany?"
"All sorts of things. I've been to prison a number of times."
"What was the big one, the one that eventually got you sent here?”
"I raped a girl. Beat her pretty badly, too. From what I heard, she can no longer walk properly."
Otto sank a little lower in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. The candles flickered, making shadows scuttle across his face.
"She wasn’t my first,” he went on, “just the only one they could pin on me. In prison I got into a few fights, killed a few prisoners. The guards didn’t mind. It saved the state money not having to feed them. It showed those in charge I had what it takes to be useful here.” He smiled. "Want to know why I like it here? Because every once in a while they let me go to the main camp, to the brothel. Full of young Polish women. It's fun, even though you’re not allowed to beat them. They have to stay pretty, you see."