‘Gregor,’ the colonel asked. ‘Are you sure you want this?’ The question went right through Reinhardt. That memory came to him again, of Kowel, and how Meissner’s calm words reminded Reinhardt he was not the only man who was scared, turning a terrified and lonely young man into just a terrified one. Reinhardt had bound his life to Meissner’s that day, the boy-man finding in the colonel a father like he might have wished for, and in the soldiers of his regiment the brothers. In memory of that day, Reinhardt had never lied to him. And he would not now.
‘I am afraid. Of letting you down. But more than that. I am afraid I have lost whatever faith I might once have had that the work I was doing served for anything.’
‘Will you go back in?’ Meissner asked, finally.
‘I’ll do it for you, sir. For nothing else.’
Meissner sighed softly, then nodded, the fire playing across his white hair. ‘Thank you.’
Reinhardt uncurled from his corner, putting the bottle down. ‘Will that be all for now, sir?’
Meissner nodded. ‘For now. We will talk later.’
As Reinhardt opened the front door, Meissner’s hand came up gently on the wood and stopped him. Reinhardt looked down at his old colonel, now a senior member of the Foreign Ministry. There was a faint expression in Meissner’s eyes, a glint hidden in their grey depths. ‘You know, Gregor,’ he said, softly, ‘it is not such a bad thing. Joining the Party. They do not ask for much.’
Always this came back to haunt him. The Party. The bloody Party. ‘Why did you do it, sir? Join it?’
The expression in Meissner’s eyes never changed. ‘I thought it was the best way for them to leave me alone to do my job. Why did you not do the same?’
Reinhardt’s throat was dry as a bone, and he pressed his fingers tight against themselves, the pressure painful on his ring finger. God, he needed a cigarette. ‘I suppose… I thought I could do mine without them.’ He stopped, frightened he might have gone too far. ‘I was right, for a while, no?’ Meissner said nothing. ‘But really, it was because of Carolin. She never had any time for them. You knew her. Social Democrat till… till the day she died. And… and because of her cousin.’ He smiled wryly, made what was even to him a pathetic attempt to lighten an atmosphere gone suddenly heavy. ‘I am just glad you never asked me to. I don’t know what I would have done, torn between the two of you.’
The faintest nod. ‘And if I asked now?’
Reinhardt knew he could never refuse this man anything. ‘Please. Do not.’
‘She is gone, now.’
‘But I like to think the best of her will stay with me. I could never forgive myself for doing it. Even if… even if I knew she probably could.’
Meissner’s hand fluttered down, away from the door. He stepped away. ‘Go now, Gregor.’
There was a knock at the door. Reinhardt snapped around from the map, his mind flailing for a moment, caught between the here in his austere office and the there, Meissner’s study and the crackle of a fire burning low as he closed the door on one life and opened a door on another. Claussen stood in the doorway. He cleared his throat and offered him a handwritten sheet of paper. ‘Units taking part in Schwarz,’ he said.
‘Very good,’ said Reinhardt. He scanned the list of units. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘From Vogts, downstairs in dispatch. If you want names to go with the units, I suppose you’ll have to see someone in Abteilung III H.’
‘Hmm,’ murmured Reinhardt. He put the handwritten list on his desk and placed his hands to either side, leaning over it. 369th (Croat) Infantry Division. 1st Mountain Division. 7th SS Prinz Eugen, recalling his run-in with Stolic last night. 118th and 121st Jager Divisions. ‘Speaking of paper, here,’ said Reinhardt, taking Padelin’s pathology report on Vukic from his pocket. ‘Can you get that to Hueber, or someone else who speaks Serbo-Croat? I want a verbal translation as soon as possible.’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Claussen, slipping the report into a pocket.
‘What about that appointment with Gord?’
Claussen shook his head. ‘Gord’s not here. I left you a message.’ He flipped through some of the papers on the table. ‘Here. Gord and the whole Propaganda Company are in Foca, covering Schwarz from there. Have been since 3rd May.’
Reinhardt remembered that with Brauer, sometimes they would start talking about a case. Just talking, ideas moving back and forth, and sometimes the investigation would take off or move in another direction. ‘The Croats have someone. Someone’s confessed, or is about to.’ He felt, all of a sudden, that he had crossed a line, letting Claussen take the place Brauer once occupied. Still did, even though he was a continent away.
‘A put-up job?’ asked Claussen, quietly.
‘I’m sure of it. There’s tank-sized gaps in the Croat investigation, but they’re not interested in investigating. And they’re certainly not interested in investigating Hendel’s death, or his involvement in all this.’ He paused, chewing softly on his lower lip.
‘So?’ prompted Claussen, after a moment.
‘So, I’m wondering whether our command will be happy with the suspect the Croats present, or whether I should keep investigating.’
‘You think this suspect can carry the weight of two murders?’
‘I’m sure he could if we requested it,’ Reinhardt replied, quietly.
The two of them looked at each other a moment. It was Claussen who shook his head. ‘Kruger works in III H. You should go and see him with that list. He’ll sort you out for commanding officers and whatever else you’ll need.’
And just like that, it was over. Any hesitation Reinhardt had was gone, swept away by Claussen’s simple directness. It was like a weight lifted, a weight Reinhardt had not known was there. ‘No time like the present, I suppose,’ he said, nodding to himself.
Reinhardt walked slowly downstairs, down a corridor of squeaking floorboards and a wall with peeling green paint, until he found the offices of Abteilung III, responsible for the security of the Abwehr and the armed forces. III H was the subsection charged with army security, and Lieutenant Kruger, who ran it, was a genial chap, expansive of girth and appetite. Reinhardt found him peering over his glasses at a file, a single, dim bulb the only illumination in his gloomy office. All four walls were covered in shelves with files with coded numbers up their spines.
‘Captain,’ said the lieutenant, standing and pulling off his pince-nez. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’
‘I need your expertise, Kruger,’ replied Reinhardt. ‘I need some names to go with some units. These,’ he said, placing Claussen’s list on the desk.
Kruger flipped the list around to read it, raising his eyebrows and lowering his mouth at the corners as he placed the pince-nez back on his nose. ‘Pretty easy,’ he said, walking to a row of files. ‘What do you need this for?’ he asked, over his shoulder.
‘Oh, just updating my files,’ replied Reinhardt. ‘In advance of Schwarz.’
‘Right,’ said Kruger. He pulled a file out and flipped it open to a cover sheet that bore a list of typed names, all of which save for the last were crossed out. ‘Here you go. 369th Infantry Division. Lieutenant General Fritz Neidholt commanding.’