The Colonel's Wife Page 7

  Vogel and Stadler exchanged excited glances. “And?”

  “It’s part of a uniform.”

  Stadler’s eyes widened. “Hitler Youth?”

  Naumann eyed him. “Why would you say that?”

  Stadler shrugged. “He’s young.”

  Naumann shook his head. “That’s an amazing guess, my boy.”

  Stadler beamed.

  “But you’re completely wrong.”

  Vogel chuckled, always enjoying seeing his partner embarrassed by someone other than himself. “All right, wise guy, what kind of uniform was it?”

  All humor disappeared from Naumann’s face. “SS.”

  Vogel tensed, the entire nature of the case suddenly changing. “Are you certain?”

  “I’ve triple checked. It’s definitely part of an SS uniform.”

  Vogel pursed his lips as he folded his arms. “So, I assume you’ve told Central Records to search for SS personnel stationed in Berlin?”

  “Yes. And if they’ve been reported missing, that should be a very short list. This isn’t the front.”

  Vogel sighed. “Indeed.” He stared at the microscope. “Anything else to tell us?”

  Naumann shook his head. “Not at the moment. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something.”

  “Do that.” Vogel turned and headed out of the morgue, Stadler following him, even the young man subdued.

  “What do we do now?”

  “We find out who he is.”

  Stadler eyed him. “What? Don’t we have to wait for Central Records?”

  Vogel shook his head at the daftness of his partner. “Think about it. What was going on last night while we were examining the body?”

  Stadler stared at him blankly then his eyes shot wide. “The SS were swarming the area, searching for someone!”

  “Exactly. And don’t you think it’s too much of a coincidence that our victim just happened to be in an SS uniform?”

  Stadler held open the door for his senior partner. “So, our victim is who they were looking for.”

  “Exactly. And they obviously know who they were looking for, so we just need to meet with the right person, and we’ll have our answer shortly.”

  “Who do we ask?”

  Vogel shrugged. “I’ve always thought you should start at the top then work your way down.”

  Stadler’s eyes bulged. “Are you kidding me? You intend to ask Himmler?”

  Vogel chuckled as he climbed in their car. “Like I said, I’ve always thought you should. In practice, in today’s Germany, it’s rarely a good idea.”

  “Then how are we going to find out?”

  “I suggest we head back to the scene and ask one of our fellow SS officers under whose orders they’re operating, then ask him.”

  “You’ve got balls.”

  Vogel shrugged as he pulled away from the morgue. “For now. Let’s hope they don’t get snipped for asking the wrong questions of the wrong person.”

  25 |

  Strausberger Straße Berlin, Nazi Germany

  Vogel parked the car behind one of their mobile units, the uniformed officer he had left in charge waving at them. Vogel climbed out and strode over to the small group of men, staring enviously at the green uniform he had once worn proudly.

  Mornings were much easier back then.

  “Anything?”

  Sergeant Hellwig shook his head. “Not much, I’m afraid. We did get reports from some residents backing onto the alleyway that they heard gunshots during the air raid.”

  “Gunshots?”

  Hellwig nodded. “Yes. Some said two, others said three.”

  “The medical examiner said he found two gunshot wounds in the victim, but from two different weapons.”

  Hellwig’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Two shooters?”

  “That’s the assumption we’re operating under.”

  “That sounds like looters, then. A crime of passion or targeted shooting is usually a single shooter.”

  Stadler ventured a supporting statement. “And a lone gunman in a hurry usually doesn’t strip his victim naked.”

  Vogel agreed. “Two would definitely make it more expedient, but the alley is out of sight, especially during an air raid where it would be pitch black, and people are less likely to be near their glass windows.”

  Stadler folded his arms. “So, you’re not ruling out the lone gunman theory?”

  Hellwig eyed them both. “I thought you said there were two different weapons involved?”

  Stadler jerked a thumb at Vogel. “He thinks he might have been shot once, then later shot again by a different person.”

  Hellwig smiled. “Did you cook that theory up after the schnapps?”

  Vogel chuckled. “It’s a long shot, I agree, but until I have proof either way, I’m not willing to dismiss it. However, the neighbors hearing multiple shots certainly suggests two people at a minimum are involved.”

  Stadler stared down the alleyway. “Did they say if the shots sounded the same?”

  Hellwig turned to the young detective. “Excuse me?”

  “Did they sound the same? We’re dealing with two different caliber weapons here. If the shots sounded different, then likely both wounds were inflicted at the same time. But if they sounded the same, then one of the wounds might have been from earlier.”

  Vogel gave a wry smile. “An astute observation.” He turned to Hellwig. “Well?”

  Hellwig flushed as he made a show of flipping through his notes, exchanging glances with the other officers, everyone shrugging or avoiding eye contact. Hellwig finally gave up, squaring his shoulders. “We’ll go back and ask.”

  “Do that.” Vogel pointed at the SS at the top of the street. “Any idea who they’re looking for?”

  “Nope. They don’t talk to us, we don’t talk to them.”

  Vogel sighed. “Well, I have a feeling they’re looking for our victim, but are too arrogant to ask.”

  Stadler sucked in a rather loud breath and Vogel rolled his eyes for Hellwig’s benefit.

  “Find out about those shots, Sergeant, then let me know.” He paused. “Oh, and let’s try to keep this off the radios as much as possible. I don’t want our case being taken away sooner than it has to be.”

  Hellwig smiled. “Messengers it is.” He gestured toward the nearest apartment and his men went to work as Vogel walked up the slight incline toward a checkpoint manned by SS guards.

  “You really need to be careful who you’re insulting the SS in front of. You could get yourself placed in protective custody, and you know what that means.”

  Vogel glanced over his shoulder at his partner. “Who’s going to tell them? You?”

  Stadler’s eyes bulged. “No, I mean, of course not, but, well, what if one of the others reported it, then I was asked? I can’t lie! Not to the SS!”

  Vogel regarded the pale-faced young man. “No, you shouldn’t. They’d suspect you in a heartbeat and you’d never see the light of day again. The rest of us are capable of deciding for ourselves what truths should be told.”

  “Who are we to decide that?”

  Vogel stopped and turned to face Stadler. “You mean you would condemn a man to death simply because he called the SS arrogant, when to save his life, all you’d need to do was say you don’t recall the man saying anything of the sort, though you might be mistaken?”

  Stadler stared at him, his mouth agape. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess not, but I don’t think I’d be able to come up with that so quickly.” He paused, stealing a glance at the checkpoint. “Or believably.”

  Vogel grunted then slapped him on the shoulder. “Practice in front of the mirror at night. These days, one must always be prepared for the unexpected.”

  “I-I suppose.”

  Vogel resumed the trek, raising a hand of greeting to the squad leader in charge. “Kriminalinspektor Vogel. Who’s your Commanding Officer?”

  “Untersturmführer Jander.”

  “Where is h
e?”

  The squad leader’s eyes drifted to the ground for a moment. “He’s, umm, in the bakery.” He gestured toward the building across the street.

  Vogel spotted the lieutenant leaning against the counter inside, chatting up a beautiful example of Aryan breeding. “Perhaps to save your CO some embarrassment, you should fetch him.”

  The man’s eyes flared for a moment before he clicked his heels. “Yes, sir!” He rushed into the bakery and moments later a none-too-pleased Jander emerged, straightening his hat. He marched over, hands clasped behind his back, chin jutted out, his eyes inquisitively assessing who would dare interrupt his rutting. The man came to a halt in front of Vogel, uncomfortably in his personal space.

  “The meaning for this interruption?”

  “I’m Kriminalinspektor Vogel.”

  “So? Do you honestly believe your business is of any interest to the SS?”

  Vogel smiled slightly. “Since we’re all SS, then my business is your business.”

  The man grunted. “You are SS in command structure only. To classify yourself as one of us is laughable.”

  Vogel spotted Stadler nearly pissing himself in fright nearby.

  Keep it together, kid.

  “Perhaps it will be necessary to tell your commanding officer what I know, since you’re apparently not interested.”

  Jander’s nostrils flared and Vogel sensed a crack in the arrogance. He glanced toward the large windows of the bakery, the cute blonde standing there, watching the proceedings, a fact the young officer was likely aware of.

  He was putting on a show.

  And it was about to backfire if he didn’t stop pushing so hard.

  Jander took a step back. “I don’t think that will be necessary. We wouldn’t want to waste his time with trivial matters, now would we?”

  Vogel suppressed the smile of victory, and much to the horror of his partner, decided to have a little fun with it. “Actually, I think this information is of too much importance for a mere lieutenant. Who is your commander?”

  There was a gulp. “Colonel Konrad.”

  “And where might I find him?”

  “I believe he is at his residence. His son is missing.”

  This caught Vogel off guard. Could these men be merely searching for a wayward youth? Perhaps they weren’t looking for their victim at all? Perhaps they didn’t even know an SS member had been murdered last night. “His son?”

  “Joachim Konrad. Sixteen years old. Missing since an incident last night involving…”

  “Involving?”

  “Involving Corporal Griese, a member of the Colonel’s personal staff.”

  “And what was this incident?”

  “We haven’t been informed of that, sir. We are merely tasked with finding both.”

  “And was Corporal Griese in uniform when he went missing?”

  Jander’s eyes narrowed. “I’m…not sure. I believe he was on duty at the time, so I would assume so.”

  Vogel frowned. “Then I definitely need to see your commanding officer.”

  The man paled slightly. “Why?”

  “Because I believe we have the man you’re looking for.”

  Jander appeared hopeful. “You have him in custody?”

  Vogel shook his head. “No. We have him in the morgue.”

  26 |

  Berlin-Mitte Morgue Hannoversche Straße, Berlin, Nazi Germany

  Medical Examiner Naumann wiped his hands dry then picked up the phone demanding attention on his desk. “Naumann.”

  “This is Holz from Central Records. I have a match for one of your bodies.” A reference number was rattled off.

  “Give me a moment.” He flipped through the stack of files on his desk and fished out the one in question. His eyebrows shot up when he saw who it was. “I just sent this in. You’ve IDed him already?”

  “Yes. Corporal Klaus Griese. Second SS Infantry Brigade, part of Colonel Rudolph Konrad’s personal staff. He’s deceased.”

  Naumann rolled his eyes, glancing at the body not five meters from where he was standing. “No, really?”

  “Yes. Died in the air raid last night.”

  Naumann’s eyes narrowed. “You mean he died during the air raid last night.”

  “No, in. According to the official record, he died as a result of the bombings. Killed when the building he was in collapsed after it was hit by a downed enemy bomber.”

  Naumann dropped into his chair, his body tense. Something was wrong here. It was likely a clerical error, though Central Records prided themselves on making few of those. “I think there’s been a mistake.”

  There was a pause, offense about to be taken. “What makes you say that?”

  “The man I sent the prints on is lying in my morgue, with a gunshot wound to the back, and no evidence of injuries from a building collapse.”

  The pause was longer this time. “That’s impossible.”

  “Well, all I can tell you is that if the prints match, then there’s a problem. This man did not die because of the air raid, and I can’t see how anyone identified him, because he’s been here all night with only myself to keep him company.”

  “But that’s impossible.”

  Naumann growled. “Why do you keep saying that?”

  And when he heard, his stomach flipped as his ears pounded with fear.

  What have I got myself mixed up in?

  27 |

  Konrad Residence Berlin, Nazi Germany

  Maximilian stood near the door, pressed against the wall, peering into the next room, his breath held. His father’s aide, Captain Hoffman, was kneeling near the fireplace, a bundle of something in his hands. The man glanced over his shoulder, as if to check if he were alone, and Maximilian jerked his head back, his heart hammering.

  He listened, then heard the fireplace screen scrape on the hearth. He inched his head toward the opening and finally caught sight of Hoffman once again, and his eyes bulged. His father’s aide poked at something now roaring in the fire, something that appeared to be clothing.

  Black clothing.

  A uniform!

  He gasped. Hoffman’s head whipped around and Maximilian spun, scurrying away as his little feet pounded on the hardwood floors then up the stairs. He rushed into his bedroom and slammed the door shut before diving onto his bed and burying himself under his blanket. He grabbed his pillow, pulling it under the covers with him, and hugged it hard as he strained to hear anything over the pounding of his heart.

  And he heard nothing.

  Then footfalls.

  His heart hammered even harder.

  He could hear them now, slowly walking down the hallway, approaching his door.

  They stopped.

  As almost did his drumming heart.

  He had never been so afraid in his life. He had seen something he shouldn’t. He had seen Hoffman burning a uniform. An SS uniform. Why, he had no idea, but he could think of no good reason someone would burn a uniform.

  The doorknob squeaked.

  It was a squeak that had always annoyed him. He could never sneak out of his room at night without someone hearing it, so he hadn’t bothered in ages.

  But this time the squeak worked to his advantage.

  The knob stopped turning, Hoffman obviously hesitating.

  “What should I do?”

  “Scream.”

  He flinched at Frida’s harsh whisper, then pressed his ear against the wall. “What if they don’t hear me?”

  “You don’t have a choice. He’s going to kill you.”

  “Are-are you sure?”

  “Why else would he follow you? He’s obviously mad. What did you do?”

  “I was spying.”

  “Again?”

  “What else am I supposed to do? I’m so bored.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I saw him burning an SS uniform.”

  The doorknob squeaked again.

  He cringed. “He’s coming.”

  “Y
ou have to scream.”

  “If he kills me, will you tell my parents’ that I love them?”

  “I-I can’t.”

  His eyes burned at the thought of never seeing them again. “Why not?”

  The door opened and he held his breath, praying Frida didn’t say anything that might give away the fact she knew what was going on. Despite her refusals, she might still do the right thing should he not survive the next few moments.

  The doorbell rang, and the footsteps approaching his bed stopped. Somebody downstairs rushed toward the door then he heard a muffled exchange before feet pounded on the stairs.

  And inside his room, Hoffman retreated back through the doorway, the knob squeaked, and the door shut.

  And Maximilian remained shaking in his bed, wondering what to do.

  I wish Joachim was here!

  28 |

  Konrad Residence Berlin, Nazi Germany

  “I’m concerned about Maximilian.”

  Renata turned toward her husband, the fussing with her wiry hair momentarily forgotten. “What do you mean?”

  Konrad exhaled loudly as he checked his collar in the mirror, already regretting adding to his wife’s burdens. “I caught him talking to Frida in his bedroom.”

  His wife paled slightly, a hand darting to her mouth. “But he mustn’t!”

  He frowned. “You don’t think I know that?”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him to stop talking to his imaginary friend. Then I told him I had one too when I was his age.”

  “You encouraged him?”

  He gave her a look. “I tried to comfort our crying son. What would you have me say?”

  “You tell him he’s too old to have imaginary friends and that he should forget about her.”

  He sat beside his wife, taking her hand in his. “You know as well as I do that a boy that age will never obey such a command. The more we attempt to dissuade him from talking to her, the more he will latch on to her.”

  “But we must! If someone hears him speaking to her, your career could be over. Our sons could be ostracized. We could lose everything, perhaps even our lives.”