The vienna writers circl.., p.29
The Vienna Writers Circle, page 29
“We have come about the matter of the death of Carl Brunnerman, watchmaker and jeweler,” Lindner announced. “Who I understand you knew?”
“Yes, I... I read about his death. Very sad,” I said forlornly. It had been in the newspapers, so showing surprise would have struck an odd chord, started on the wrong foot. “And, yes, I did know him.”
“You visited him on a number of occasions.”
A statement rather than a question. I nodded. “Yes, I did.”
“What was that for, may I ask?”
“To get a watch fixed.” The stock response advised by Lorenzo; Brunnerman dealt with clocks and watches more than jewelry and diamonds.
Piehler looked at me doubtingly. “You went three times just to get a watch fixed?”
I shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, the first time I went to buy a clock. But then I found out he mended watches. I returned another time to get an old watch fixed, then came back when it was mended to pick it up.”
Piehler continued to look at me doubtingly. Though he had one of those dour, scowling countenances, his dark eyes oddly magnified through thick-lensed glasses suggested he doubted practically everything he heard.
I hoped I’d appeared outwardly calm—as calm as anyone could hope for with a Gestapo and SS officer in their front rooms—but inside my stomach was writhing. So many times I’d written scenes like this, convinced I’d know how to give the right, balanced impression in such a situation; but the reality was something else. I could hardly think straight. Constructing these scenes, I was calm, looking at them objectively, detached. Here, I was far from detached.
“And have you visited Brunnerman’s on other occasions?” Lindner asked.
I wondered whether they might know I’d visited other times, and this was where they’d catch me out. “I’m not sure. I might have visited another time to look at his collection of new watches,” I answered ambiguously. “I can’t remember now.”
Lindner and Piehler exchanged a glance. They knew something.
“And is your son here now?”
My heart skipped a beat. What on earth would they want with Ivor... Alex? “No, he’s still at school. Why do you ask?”
Piehler answered curtly. “Because some things might be difficult to handle while your son is around.”
That was the first moment I realized they’d probably come to arrest me. Any answers I gave that didn’t match what they already knew would later be used against me, further putting my head in the noose.
Piehler looked down. “New rug, I see?”
“Yes, it is,” I said as plainly and calmly as I could. Quick flash image of the old rug with Schnabel’s body, too bloodstained to be cleaned. His body had been rolled up in it before being bound in double plastic, taken out and dumped in the boot of my car. “Yes, changed not too long ago.”
“I see.” That doubting stare again, then Piehler’s eyes shifted to look around the room.
I’d scrubbed the wooden floor beneath as thoroughly as I could with bleach, but I daresay Piehler might still discern a faint bloodstain if he lifted up the new rug and looked. He didn’t. He moved to the far side of the room, focusing on a large mountain-scenery painting on my wall.
“And you visited Brunnerman’s quite late at night?” Lindner asked, pulling my attention away from Piehler on the far side. “Why was that?”
“Brunnerman said that he handled many repairs after his shop had closed.” Again, the stock answer recommended by Lorenzo. “He preferred that, leaving the day free for handling sales.”
My nerves tensed, noticing that Piehler was lifting up the painting, peering underneath. He’s looking for a safe! They’d already discovered Brunnerman’s empty safe at the back, were looking for the diamonds and cash.
“And you wish to keep to that account?” Lindner asked, staring at me intently.
My chest tightened. What is it they might already know that I haven’t answered satisfactorily? Of course, there were a myriad.
“Yes...because that’s what happened,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as uncertain as I felt.
I didn’t have a wall safe, so Piehler searching for one didn’t worry me—but I suddenly realized with panic what was behind the third painting along, which I’d hung up only two days ago. The hole made by Schnabel’s stray bullet. Hopefully the plaster would have dried by now.
Piehler lifted the bottom of the painting, and was halfway through putting it back down again when he appeared to notice something. He put one hand underneath, feeling for a moment. He looked toward me.
“You appear to have an area of freshly laid plaster beneath this painting. Would you care to tell me what that is from?”
I looked at Piehler evenly as I considered my answer, knowing that if I answered wrong, the handcuffs would come out and I’d be marched off.
Being a crime-thriller writer had the benefit of knowing various ways to cover up a crime. But it also meant I knew the countless ways the police could catch me out.
49
Andreas
“What were you writing about in this manuscript?” Commandant Toepfer demanded.
I didn’t answer.
“Was it anything to do with what goes on in this camp?”
I shook my head. “No, it wasn’t.” At least that part I could answer openly.
We were in Commandant Toepfer’s office. He ran the questioning while Vogt and Meisel sat to one side. Vogt had started with a statement of what he’d discovered upon walking into Meisel’s office, then Toepfer took over with his questioning, referring to the two of them only briefly for confirmations and clarifications.
“And you announced that this manuscript wasn’t yours. Who might it have belonged to, if not you?”
I stayed silent, looked down, didn’t even glance Meisel’s way.
“As I thought,” Toepfer said with some satisfaction. “You obviously said that simply to try and save your own neck. And you wrote this without Vice-Commandant Meisel’s knowledge? Or without at any time asking his permission to do so?”
I kept my gaze stoically down, said nothing. If Meisel was to intervene on my behalf, it would be now. But he remained silent also.
“Your refusal to say anything on the matter speaks for itself. And could be seen as tantamount to insubordination and disrespect.” Toepfer took a tired, fresh breath. “Which at least makes my decision now simpler. We have a fresh consignment of prisoners arriving tomorrow afternoon. You will be put in a chamber along with—”
“It’s mine,” Meisel cut in with a heavy sigh. “Prisoner Siebert has been helping me with it over the past months.”
Toepfer and Vogt exchanged a look, as if that answered a number of things in their minds.
Toepfer looked at Meisel sharply. “I therefore ask you the same question I asked the prisoner. Does it involve any activities here at the camp?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Meisel said resignedly. “It’s set in the lead-up to World War I and its first years.”
“I see.” Toepfer considered the information for a moment, then looked at me. “You are dismissed. I wish to talk for a few moments in private with Vice-Commandant Meisel about this matter.”
* * *
Meisel left Toepfer’s office about forty minutes later without looking my way—I was sitting in front of the Sonderkommando dormitory looking across the yard—or toward anyone else for that matter. Head down, as if he didn’t wish to see or acknowledge anyone at that moment.
No message the next day from Dalit, Meisel’s new coffee and cleaning maid, to go to his office. I was back laboring with Jan. And when it got to the second day with the same, I began to worry.
I understood that Meisel would be angry at his secret being revealed, and would hold me partly responsible—but surely we were so close to finishing now that he wouldn’t give up at this stage?
Then it struck me: perhaps with only thirty pages to go, Meisel thought he could handle those on his own from my notes and the discussions we’d had. I was suddenly surplus to requirements.
An outbreak of typhus had hit the Sonderkommandos beyond the fence harder than our side, so after some tilling and planting in the vegetable patch, once again Jan and I were commandeered to help out. Halfway through helping Jan level the ground over the last batch of bodies in a burial ditch, I voiced my concerns. After all, now that Vogt knew, it was no longer a secret, would be around the camp in no time.
“Explains those long hours you’ve been spending in Meisel’s office,” Jan commented as I finished. A faint smile teased his lips after a moment. “At least you won’t have to put up with any more camp rumors about the two of you having a raging affair.”
“Every cloud, eh?” I joined Jan in a smile and light chuckle. Jokes and laughter were a welcome release in the camp, even if they were often gallows humor or at your own expense. Though at that moment, with the line of bodies only a foot beneath the fresh soil we’d laid, I felt a stab of guilt.
When we’d first approached, I’d noticed a couple of young children in the ditch, hardly older than Nadia. I couldn’t look, had to let Jan lay down the first few shovel-loads—until those frozen, gaunt eyes were covered and not staring up at me—before I joined in.
“I know what you mean, though.” Jan’s expression as quickly became more serious. “I’ve got pretty much the same worry now.”
“In what way?”
Jan waved one hand toward the ditches. “Last night’s consignment was only about eighty people—whereas six months ago we’d be getting a hundred-and-fifty or more. Sometimes two or three hundred. They’re getting less each time, and rumor has it that the next one might be only fifty or sixty.”
“Why is that?”
Jan looked around, took a quick bead on where he thought was east. “The Red Army’s making strong advances on the eastern front, and word has it that the SS are winding down the camp operations, getting ready to pack up if and when the Red Army gets too close.”
“What will they do?” I held one hand out from my shovel. “Move us all to another camp?”
“No, I don’t think so. The people remaining here will be put in death chambers by myself and the other Sonderkommandos. Then, as happened when the camp was first built, we’ll have to dismantle and knock it down at rifle point before being shot by the guards. The guards will then raze the rest to the ground. No trace will remain.”
I looked emptily across the field of body trenches toward a gray mist beyond. Even if I survived a short while longer with Meisel’s manuscript, there was no long-term hope.
50
The children of Jews, Mischlinge and Gypsies shall not be allowed to attend Reich schools, and any currently attending will be expelled.
Josef
“So who was it that came to see you, Daniel?” Aware that they were in a public place, Josef kept to his new name rather than Mathias.
“Scharführer Lindner from the SS and a Gestapo Kriminaldirektor, Heinz Piehler...”
As Mathias-Daniel related their visit, Josef noticed his hands shaking on the table. They’d gone to the University of Vienna coffee shop again. One of the few places they’d never seen an SS or SD officer, possibly due to its proximity to the library.
Josef had taken a tram and walked the rest, mindful of the fact he might have been tailed. His car was too distinctive.
“Piehler’s as heavyweight as you can get,” Josef remarked. “He introduced himself to me briefly after I spoke to Lindner at the crime scene. Then he phoned me at Kärntnerstrasse two days later to confirm how he saw the investigation running. He’d primarily investigate Schnabel’s death, I’d be investigating Brunnerman’s death. In his own words—‘Though obviously there will be areas where the two will cross over and we should share information.’” Josef noted that Lindner had been promoted to a Scharführer—possibly to take more of a lead in the investigation, or with Schnabel’s death there was a gap to fill in that SS unit. “Do you think they accepted your explanation of why you went to Brunnerman’s three times—first buying a clock, then dropping off and picking up a watch to be fixed?”
“I think so. Perhaps a moment’s doubt at first, but then they moved on to other things.”
“They didn’t suspect you might have visited other times, perhaps even seen you directly?”
“I don’t know.” Daniel looked aslant for a moment. “I answered vaguely, just in case. Said I might have visited one more time, I wasn’t sure.”
Josef nodded slowly, slotting the pieces into place. He was sure Mathias-Daniel was holding something back. Not just because of what he’d uncovered the past twenty-four hours, but also Daniel’s shaky, distressed disposition. There didn’t appear to be sufficient threat in this recent visit to make Daniel so nervous. And it also seemed like a curtailed account, as if Daniel was only sharing half the story.
Josef had been the one to call for this meeting—the elements he’d struck upon burning too strongly through his mind—saying simply there were a couple of things he wanted to clarify, with Daniel adding with a resigned sigh, Good idea. I in fact had a visit just yesterday over this that I wanted to discuss with you.
Josef took a sip of his coffee. “And Lindner’s and Piehler’s questioning just revolved around Brunnerman? They didn’t ask you whether Schnabel might have paid you a visit?”
“No, they didn’t.”
Josef looked at Daniel steadily. This at least struck Josef as the truth. For various reasons, it appeared the SS and Gestapo were keen to keep the identity of that other body under wraps. Until they’d ascertained how and why Schnabel might be implicated.
Daniel lit a cigarette, took a heavy draw. “I... I worried that they might know about Brunnerman’s diamonds and cash in his hidden safe. Because Piehler started peering under some of my paintings at home—as if he was looking for a wall safe I might have.”
One possible reason for Daniel’s hands trembling.
“They still don’t know about Brunnerman’s safe—the panel at the back is still in place and hasn’t been disturbed.” Josef exhaled tiredly. “Though I daresay if and when they do discover it and also find it’s empty, as I did, it will be a different matter.”
“I know.” Daniel closed his eyes for a second, shook his head.
Something about the empty safe seemed to particularly disturb Daniel. And while Josef could understand Daniel’s nervousness at telling him everything—concerned perhaps that he might be forced to share some of it with the Gestapo, or that with something so serious, his hands might be tied—at the same time, Josef felt slighted. He thought their long association and friendship went beyond that. I nailed a cross above his mother’s door to mislead the SS, introduced him to Lorenzo’s network in the first place. What was so terrible that Daniel didn’t think he could share it with me?
Josef spat it out. “Why are you holding things back from me, Daniel?”
“I—I’m not.”
But Daniel’s hand trembling on his cigarette belied his words.
Josef shrugged, held out a palm. “Put it this way. If Lindner and Piehler had asked if Schnabel had visited you, what would you have told them?”
Daniel considered for a moment. “I’d have told them the same as I told you. That he visited earlier in the evening before going to Brunnerman’s.”
“Except that’s not true, is it?” Josef looked at Daniel searchingly, watched his trembling bite deeper. “Schnabel called later that evening—and that’s when you shot him with the gun you got from Lorenzo.”
* * *
At first, Josef’s thoughts had been too burdened with Deya and Dachau to think clearly. And when they did finally clear, the first thing to strike him was in fact that imparted tale about Deya.
Schnabel had specifically tried to keep that secret, so that Josef wouldn’t track her to Dachau and appeal on her behalf: Why on earth would Schnabel tell Daniel, fully knowing that Daniel would share that news with him?
The only possible reason is that Schnabel didn’t expect Daniel to live to tell the tale.
The other factor was the mismatched calibers—the two shots in Brunnerman’s wall not matching the gun found in Brunnerman’s hand, a Browning 640.
Josef didn’t think Brunnerman carried a gun, and if it had been Schnabel’s as part of a setup, then no doubt the bullets in the wall would have matched the gun in Brunnerman’s hand. But what if the gun had been Daniel’s?
Josef had made another phone-kiosk call to Lorenzo’s number in Switzerland, returning to that kiosk eight hours later to get Lorenzo’s callback.
“The gun that was given to MK in the batch you had in mid-November—what type was that?” Josef had masked the original Mathias Kraemer name as much as possible and had said batch rather than people.
“One moment.” Another voice in the background, Lorenzo no doubt checking with Alois. “It was a Browning Hi-Power 640.”
Josef watched Daniel crumple in front of him as he laid out how he’d arrived at his conclusions.
“That gun is no longer with you, is it?”
“No...it isn’t.” Barely a whisper, Daniel’s body shuddering.
“It’s the gun we found in Brunnerman’s hand at the crime scene, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” Daniel’s hand trembled on his cup as he finished the last of his coffee. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I should have told you before. But I was afraid...and maybe thought, too, that if I didn’t admit it to anyone, I... I’d start to believe myself that it hadn’t happened. Blot it from my mind.”
“I understand.” Josef took a fresh breath. “But if I can work out what happened, it won’t take long for the SS and Gestapo to do the same. So you’re far better off going through a dry run with me first—then we can start to lay plans, see if there’s some way out of this mess.”
