To take care of me. Another loose end. Unless I take care of him first.
He heard MPs’ whistles blowing somewhere nearby, footsteps running down another street. A manhunt was under way and he remembered: They’re looking for me, too.
He ran back toward the theater, until he saw the American officer rounding the corner. Bernie showed him the armband, then led him back to where he’d found it. Bernie watched as he examined the other articles.
“I think I know who did this,” said Bernie.
“We killed that man in the theater.”
“No, sir. I think it’s someone else. Another GI. I followed him to the movie house.”
“Why?”
“I saw him hurting this girl, earlier to night.”
“Where?”
“Through the window of an apartment, as I walked by. I’m not sure, but I think he might have killed her. I didn’t know what to do so I waited. He came out a few minutes later.”
“Where were you headed?”
“Me? I was going to the movies.”
“Why didn’t you say anything to an MP?”
“I saw him go inside, lost him in the lobby. Then I thought I saw him going behind the screen. That’s why I followed him back there.”
Grannit just looked at him. Bernie couldn’t tell if he believed him or not.
“I think he might’ve gone back to that apartment,” said Bernie.
“Take me there.”
“Okay. It’s this way.”
Grannit called for a radioman to join them and they walked at a brisk clip, Bernie taking the lead. Grannit spoke into the radio most of the way, shouting orders to his men at the movie house.
“What’s your name, Private?” the man snapped, as soon as he came off the radio.
“Bernie Oster, sir.”
“What unit are you with?”
“Two hundred ninety-first Engineer Combat Battalion.”
“Where you from?”
“Brooklyn, sir.”
“Which neighborhood?”
“Park Slope.”
“North or South?” asked Grannit.
Bernie looked over at him, but couldn’t read the man’s expression. “North.”
“Where’d you live?”
“On Union Street, between Sixth and Seventh Avenue. You know Brooklyn, sir?”
“What’d your dad do?”
“He worked for Pfizer,” said Bernie. “Research and development. He was a chemist.”
“Was?”
“He’s retired now. Turn right here.”
Bernie led him to the front door of the woman’s apartment building. Grannit ordered the radioman to call in support and wait for it on the street. He forced the lock and Bernie led him up to the third floor.
The door stood open a crack. Grannit drew his gun, gestured for silence, and listened. He silently eased the door forward.
All the lights were off. Bernie couldn’t remember if he’d left them that way. Grannit pulled a flashlight from his belt. Bernie watched from the doorway as the beam edged around the apartment. Somehow, before even completing his sweep, the man knew the apartment was empty. He walked in and turned on the living room lamp.
“Stay by the door,” said the man. “Don’t touch anything.”
Bernie stepped inside. Grannit walked straight into the bedroom. Bernie watched him lift the blanket covering the girl’s body on the bed. He studied it for a moment, then replaced the blanket and examined the rest of the room. Bernie saw him pick up Von Leinsdorf’s old discarded GI uniform from the floor. He glanced briefly at the jacket, ripped something off the shoulder, then dropped it again. Out of nowhere, the dead woman’s damn cat rubbed against Bernie’s leg. He jumped half a foot and kicked at it.
“Get away. Get away.”
Grannit came back into the living room, opened the window, and looked down at the street.
“Is she dead?” asked Bernie.
Grannit marched straight to Bernie, grabbed him by the throat, stuck the barrel of his gun under his chin, and cocked the hammer.
“Two hundred ninety-first Combat Engineers?” he said.
“That’s right.”
Grannit held up the patch he’d torn from the uniform in the other room so Bernie could see it. The same unit.
“You didn’t tell me you were from the same unit,” said Grannit.
“Guess I didn’t realize-”
“You didn’t see him do anything to that girl from the street, the curtains were pulled. You were up here with him-”
“No, only after he killed her,” said Bernie, his voice shaking. “He made me come up with him.”
“What are you doing in Reims?”
“We were delivering dispatches-”
“Don’t fucking lie to me. Tell me what I want to know or I put your brains on the wall-”
“Okay, okay-”
“Your friend just killed my partner, you Nazi fuck!”
Grannit shoved Bernie down into a chair and pointed the gun at him. Convinced he was about to die, Bernie put his hands up and closed his eyes.
“You’re with the 150th Panzer Brigade,” said Grannit. “Your commanding officer’s Otto Skorzeny.”
Bernie opened his eyes.
Grannit took a step closer to him. “Your brigade was sent in to take three bridges over the Meuse. Your squad leader gave you a second objective in France. I’ve got three of your pals we just nailed in that theater ready to ID you. You want to deny any of that to me?”
Bernie shook his head.
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“His name’s Von Leinsdorf. Erich Von Leinsdorf. He’s a lieutenant in the SS,” said Bernie.
“You came across the line with him into Belgium, with two other men, near Elsenborn. You killed three soldiers at the border crossing.”
“He did. And one of ours. He was wounded, Von Leinsdorf shot him.”
“Where’d you put the bodies?” asked Grannit.
“He ordered us to drag them into the woods. One of your men was still alive, a sergeant, so I tried to help him-”
“How?”
“I gave him morphine. Put sulfa and a pressure bandage on his wounds.”
“You did that? Where’d you go from there?”
“We spent the night near Butgenbach. The next day we scouted that bridge-”
“Why were you at that hospital?”
“The fourth man with us got shot. An American convoy came along and took us there.”
“Where Von Leinsdorf killed Sergeant Mallory and your own man.”
“I guess he did-”
“You guess so? You were driving the fucking jeep!”
“He didn’t tell me what he was going to do, and he didn’t tell me after. He never told me anything.”
“Why’d you come to Reims?”
“He said we were going to meet the other squads, at that movie theater. That’s all I know.”
“Where’d you cross the border?” asked Grannit.
“In the mountains this morning. A place called Pont-Colin. He killed the guards. I left a message in the booth to warn somebody, I was trying to stop him-”
Grannit held out a pen and a small notebook.
“Write down your name,” he said.
“Which one?”
“Your real name.”
Bernie did as he was told. Grannit took the notebook back from him and compared it to a sheet of paper he took from his pocket. Then he held up the note he’d taken from Pont-Colin, the words “REIMS” and “MOVIE HOUSE” on it.
“You wrote this,” said Grannit.
“Yes, sir.”
“Why did you come to France, what’s your target?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me, god damn it-”
“I don’t know, I swear to God he never told me. If you know anything, you know more than I do. There’s a second objective, but he never told me what it was-”
“Why?”
“He didn’t trust me.”
Grannit moved closer to him and held up the note again. “Why didn’t he trust you? Why the hell did you write this?”