‘Thank you, Corporal. You have been most helpful.’ He waited until the door had closed before turning to Reinhardt. ‘Well? What do you think?’ There was a gleam in Thallberg’s eyes.
Reinhardt too felt a rise of excitement, but he paused before answering. ‘I think it sounds good.’ Thallberg grinned, the gleam in his eyes brightening. ‘But this is what my old instructor would call an orgy of evidence. It sounds almost too good to be true.’
‘Some things are, though, aren’t they?’ asked Thallberg, somehow giving the impression of a disappointed little boy.
‘Some things. Not many. And not usually in this line of work.’
‘So where does this leave us, then?’
Reinhardt thought for a moment. ‘We have two names. Verhein and Stolic. We know Verhein had an affair with Vukic, and we can place him at the scene. He was at the conference, staying at the hotel, and we have him on camera with her. We know he beat her unconscious. We can also place Stolic at the hotel. I got confirmation of that from the hotel staff. He was upset and disruptive, and we know he had a thing for Vukic. He carries a knife, and Vukic was killed with one. A large one, with a particular shape to its blade. I can also place Major Becker at or near the scene. He was called out to calm Stolic down. And we know the Feldgendarmerie were on the case sooner than I was, and the only way that could have happened was if the killer told them about it.’
Thallberg thought for a moment. ‘But that doesn’t mean the Feldgendarmerie know or knew the killer was actually the killer.’
‘No, but there’s a bloody good chance that’s what happened. Think about it. The Feldgendarmerie have produced no suspects. They haven’t even admitted they’re investigating. Why would they do that? Why wouldn’t they at least interview the officer or officers who reported the murder?’ Thallberg nodded. ‘It’s because they’re in on it. Becker has something to gain from this, but what I don’t know.’
The two of them were silent a moment. ‘So, what’s your theory, then?’ asked Thallberg.
‘Vukic and Hendel planned to confront Verhein with the evidence that he is a Jew, and that there has been an internal investigation into him for some time. I think Vukic couldn’t, or wouldn’t, wait for Hendel to get to her, and confronted him herself. Enraged, he beat her. He fled. He spoke to his friends, or to his staff. They agreed to clean things up for him. Stolic was one of them. He hated Vukic for always turning him down, disrespecting him. They went around to her house, finding her conscious. He stabbed her to death. The police doctor always thought the stabbing was the work of a man deranged. I think Stolic fits that bill, and he carries a knife. Becker was brought in to help clean up.’
He paused.
‘But… ?’ prompted Thallberg.
‘But… there’s the question of the blood. The mess…’ Reinhardt trailed off again, thinking back to the hotel, the talk with Ewald, and then with the maid. What she said she had seen. What she had not seen…
‘What about the mess?’
‘There wasn’t enough of it at the hotel,’ said Reinhardt, still distracted. ‘And I can’t figure out why and how Becker would agree to be part of this. What did he know? Or see… ?’
‘Well, I suppose the only polite thing to do would be to ask them,’ said Thallberg. ‘Verhein and Stolic.’
‘They’re at the front.’
Thallberg nodded. ‘Then we’ll just have to go to them. Ready for that?’
Reinhardt paused before answering. ‘We can’t arrest them. Not with what we have.’
‘Who knows? We can at least question them, can’t we? Put the fear of God into them?!’ Reinhardt nodded finally, holding Thallberg’s eyes, watching that manic grin flash across his face. ‘What about Becker?’
Reinhardt shook his head. ‘Not a word to him. He may tip them off. And believe me, he’s more dangerous than he looks.’
‘So you keep saying.’ Thallberg blinked. ‘Tomorrow, then. I’ll need that long to get things ready here. Tomorrow, early morning? Six o’clock? From the barracks? I can take you in the sidecar if you need. How about movement orders? Need anything?’
Reinhardt shook his head, ignoring the rush of words, and thinking of the paper that Freilinger had given him. ‘I have movement orders and I can get us a kubelwagen,’ he said. They were silent a moment. ‘Are we really doing this?’ asked Reinhardt, half to himself.
‘It would seem so.’ Again, that abrupt mood swing. Thallberg sat there, looking subdued and turned in on himself.
Reinhardt got to his feet. ‘Until tomorrow, then,’ he said. The moment felt suddenly formal. Thallberg must have felt it, too, because he rose to his feet, and they shook hands. The moment broke, and the two of them smiled self-consciously at each other.
‘Until tomorrow, then,’ echoed Thallberg.
With the film and file tucked under his arm, Reinhardt paused on the steps of the State House. He felt light-headed, adrift, despite having as firm a purpose as he had had these past few years. He lit a cigarette and walked slowly to his car in the gathering dark. Before he went anywhere, he knew, he needed to speak with Freilinger. There was unfinished business there, but he was afraid of what it might mean.
Back at headquarters, Reinhardt passed by his office a moment. There was a note from Claussen on the meeting with Captain Oster. The two soldiers treated for burns of the hands and forearms were 121st Jager. Reinhardt grinned mirthlessly, but the grin faded fast as he leaned down to unlock his desk. It had been forced. Rather expertly, but forced nevertheless. He took a long, ragged breath, letting it out slowly, thinking that the unfinished business just became much harder, but at the same time simpler. He gripped the film case and the file tighter and went upstairs.
Freilinger’s orderly was sitting behind his desk. Reinhardt walked past him, hearing the man’s chair go scraping back as he lurched to his feet. ‘Captain, the major is busy.’
Reinhardt ignored him, raised his fist to knock, then stopped. He waited a moment, then pushed open the door. He walked in, seeing Freilinger look up. The major’s eyes narrowed, then went flat as he saw Reinhardt. ‘Is this what you were looking for?’ Reinhardt asked, holding the film and file up.
Freilinger looked past him, at the orderly. He made a curt gesture with his head, and the door closed quietly. ‘It is customary, not to mention polite, to knock at someone’s door,’ Freilinger rasped. His eyes, though… his eyes battened on what Reinhardt held.
‘Is it what you wanted?’ Freilinger turned those pale eyes on him, and he flinched as he smelled smoke.
‘Yes, Gregor. That’s what he was looking for.’
Reinhardt froze, because someone else had spoken. Someone sitting quietly in a corner of Freilinger’s office. Reinhardt knew that voice, would know it anywhere. He took a step back from the desk, turning to the corner, at the man who rose to his feet, straightening his jacket and tie. He stepped forward, the light washing across his white hair.
It was Meissner.
30
Hello, my boy.’ Reinhardt was speechless. ‘Something of a surprise, it would seem.’ Meissner smiled. ‘Don’t blame Freilinger. I asked him to keep me out of it, especially as I didn’t know whether I’d be able to come, or whether I’d be able to see you if I did.’
‘Sir,’ Reinhardt managed, finally. ‘It is good to see you.’ And it was.
‘And you, my boy.’ Smoothly, without thought, he enfolded Reinhardt in a warm embrace. After a moment, Reinhardt brought his free hand around on the old man’s back, his palm open against the smooth material of Meissner’s jacket, and closed his eyes. He smelled of cologne and cigars and clean cloth. God only knew what he himself smelled like, Reinhardt thought. As if sensing his thoughts, Meissner stepped back. He had that paternal sparkle in his eyes, the eyes themselves framed by a web of wrinkles that deepened across his cheeks when he smiled. ‘You look tired, Gregor.’