The Good Cop

by Peter Steiner

  ‘Have you heard something?’ Willi said.

  Benno shrugged. ‘I don’t hear much any more, but I still know a couple of people. They know you are interested in Otto Bruck. So he knows it too. I don’t have to tell you, he is extremely dangerous.’

  ‘Do you know him?’ said Willi.

  ‘I know of him.’

  ‘He’s a school principal,’ said Willi.

  ‘Now he is. Before that he was a medical doctor. Under a different name. I’ll get it for you.’

  ‘So, who is he really?’

  ‘I don’t know, but whoever else he is, he’s a criminal. And he’s been a devotee of Hitler’s since the beginning. Thanks to his ruthlessness, he’s become one of Hitler’s favorites. He and Röhm have been keeping the Party in shape while Hitler’s in prison. And they know about you.’

  ‘I met him once, briefly,’ said Willi.

  The doorbell rang.

  ‘Be careful, Willi,’ said Benno, placing a hand against Willi’s cheek. ‘I can’t protect you.’

  The Swedish diplomat Edvin Lindstrom came into the room. Geheimrat Gerhardt Riegelmann arrived a moment later. He and Lindstrom avoided one another except for a handshake and a perfunctory guten Abend.

  Gottfried Büchner, the film critic, was there and in an ebullient frame of mind. After the guests were sitting here and there, Büchner opined that things were looking up for Germany. The central government had managed to stabilize the currency by issuing new money and tying its worth to the wealth of the nation.

  ‘But not before people’s savings disappeared into thin air,’ someone else said, obviously speaking about themselves.

  ‘Well, at least, the inflation is over,’ said someone else. It had gone as high as fifty billion German marks to the dollar, which meant the mark was worthless. People had stories about running to cash their paycheck and spending the money immediately on whatever groceries it could buy before its value fell further. People used suitcases or wheelbarrows to carry cash.

  ‘I had a neighbor who was robbed,’ said Büchner. ‘The robbers dumped out the money and ran off with his wheelbarrow.’ Everyone started laughing and then couldn’t stop.

  ‘Thank God that’s behind us,’ said Margarete finally when everyone had caught their breath.

  The burden of the war reparations had also been eased, thanks to the Dawes Plan, which Riegelmann tried to explain, but, when it came down to it, no one could quite understand. It had to do with the removal of occupation troops from the Ruhr area, the staggering of reparation payments, and other economic manipulations. Anyway, it seemed to be helping facilitate a vigorous reconciliation with the Allies and, miracle of miracles, a growing economy.

  ‘I have to say,’ said Margarete, ‘shopping is a pleasure again. There are things to buy. That probably sounds frivolous.’

  ‘No, no, not at all, my dear,’ said Benno, and everyone else chimed in.

  The cold roast beef was plentiful and delicious. There was French champagne.

  ‘The Republic is up in the polls. Even Stresemann is popular,’ said Riegelmann. He did not seem happy about it.

  ‘Well, it’s thanks to stability,’ said Oscar Sponeck, an investment banker. ‘Everybody wants stability, and the government that ushers it in, whether it’s their accomplishment or not, will always be rewarded.’

  ‘Well, Stresemann accomplished nothing,’ said Riegelmann. ‘Either as Chancellor or as Foreign Minister. Nothing.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Sponeck. ‘But it doesn’t really matter. What matters is who’s in office when it happens. It happened on Stresemann’s watch, so he gets the credit. I think 1925 is going to be a very good year.’

  ‘To Germany’s future,’ said Büchner, lifting his flute of champagne. Everyone else raised their glasses in agreement.

  ‘By the way, what’s happened to the Nazis?’ said Sponeck. ‘You don’t hear much about them anymore, do you?’

  ‘Hitler’s in jail, and they’re saying they’re done for,’ said a young woman. ‘And good riddance.’ No one there had a kind word to say about Hitler or his National Socialist German Workers’ Party anymore.

  Not long after that, Willi found himself in Edvin Lindstrom’s small, spare office at the Swedish Consulate. Edvin had invited him for tea. ‘Have you been to Japan?’ Willi asked. He stood studying one of the Japanese prints Lindstrom had hung facing the window.

  Lindstrom had been to Japan, although he had never served there. ‘Not yet anyway,’ he said. ‘I admire the culture, though, and would like to be posted there some day.’

  The two men sat in silence for a while and sipped their tea. Finally Willi wondered aloud how Lindstrom’s opinions about Germany might have changed since that first time they had met.

  ‘That was a while ago, wasn’t it?’ said Lindstrom. ‘The Horvaths are such lovely people. I didn’t want to cast gloom over their recent soiree.’

  ‘Which means, I take it,’ said Willi, ‘that there’s gloom to be cast?’

  ‘Well, you know, Willi, we Scandinavians are a gloomy people,’ said Edvin.

  ‘So, everything’s fine?’ said Willi.

  Edvin smiled. ‘Not exactly. At least not in my opinion,’ he said. ‘Hitler’s trial, for instance. It changed everything, and not necessarily for the better.’

  ‘At least it took him off the public stage,’ said Willi. ‘No one talks about him anymore, unless it’s as a joke.’

  ‘And that’s a big mistake,’ said Edvin.

  ‘You think so?’ said Willi.

  ‘Did you follow the trial at all?’

  ‘Not really. Did you?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Edvin. ‘I followed it closely; I was there for most of it. I expect he’ll be released from prison soon.’

  ‘Really?’ said Willi. ‘But the trial was just last spring. The sentence was five years, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was. But with parole possible after eight months.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s been over eight months. I expect he’ll be paroled.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘From what I hear, he’s been a model prisoner,’ said Edvin. ‘His guards and wardens treat him like royalty. He’s gotten fat from all the cakes and cheeses people bring him.’

  ‘And what do you make of all that?’ said Willi.

  ‘I think we’re living in the calm before the storm,’ Edvin said. ‘Sure, Germany’s having a good moment. But I don’t think that’s going to last. The economic boom is built on quicksand, on the illusion that there’s bedrock supporting this new prosperity. But German prosperity is built mostly on American money, and that won’t last forever. And the Dawes Plan, which has relaxed reparations and other unpopular aspects of the Versailles Treaty, is unlikely to solve anything. Allowing Germany to rearm, for instance, in light of the ongoing political instability, is extremely dangerous.

  ‘I hope you don’t take this personally, Willi. But you Germans are all in favor of democracy when times are good and prosperity is on the rise. But when things go bad, you don’t have the patience for it. Meanwhile, you still have a very divided country. The upper classes are on one side of things, the poor and discontented are on the other. And everyone, whatever side they’re on, is just looking for a savior, some hero to shake things up and magically build a new, better society.

  ‘Did you know that while Hitler’s been in prison he’s had a constant stream of visitors? Pilgrims have been going to Landsberg to pay homage. I heard he asked them to stop coming. You know why? He’s writing a book. I haven’t heard exactly what it’s about. But it’s easy to guess. It will be all about him, a grandiose memoir, probably laying out his plans to lead Germany back to greatness.’

  Hitler was released from prison four days before Christmas. He was escorted to the arched iron gate by the warden, who then took his hand in both of his and pumped it warmly. Guards lined up to say their farewells as well. Hitler was followed by his disciples carrying his papers and personal belongings
to a waiting car.

  ‘Ein feiner Mann,’ said the warden as they drove off.

  They sped through the wintery landscape. The snow shimmered under a wintery sun. They passed through Windach and Greifenberg and Inning am Ammersee. They were passing a lake, the Wörthsee, when Hitler said to stop. He got out and walked to the frozen lake’s edge. He stared across the snow-covered ice. ‘That island,’ he said pointing. ‘Mouse Island. You know why they call it that?’ Of course no one knew.

  ‘An old legend,’ he said. ‘A terrible famine. The count was asked for food by his starving peasants. The count had the peasants driven into a barn. He set the barn on fire. When the cries of the peasants had finally stopped, the count heard another noise, a kind of faint whimpering. “What’s that?” he said. “That, mein Herr, is the mice and rats who are also suffering.”

  ‘“Well,” said the count, “exterminate them as well,” and climbed onto his horse and rode back to his castle. One evening, as the count was being served dinner, the dining hall filled suddenly with rats and mice who swarmed onto the table and ate the food from his plate and from all the platters and serving bowls. The count fled by horse and then by boat, to that island. But the mice and rats followed him there, where they ate him alive.’ Then, without saying another word, he got in the car and they drove off. His men puzzled all the way to Munich over the meaning in this bizarre parable.

  The city was decorated for Christmas with greenery and colored lights. The streets were bustling with holiday shoppers. Hitler took little notice. He had had eight months to think and plan and reconsider, and now his future, Germany’s future – they were one and the same – was all he could think about.

  Hitler’s followers were more eager than ever for an armed insurrection. They felt the revolution slipping away from them but were convinced it could succeed this time. They thought they now had the army on their side, and the Berlin government, they said, was increasingly despised. This was the moment to act.

  ‘No,’ said Hitler. ‘Insurrection is not the way. The Putsch was a mistake. We have to hold our noses and run for office. We have to be elected to the Reichstag; we have to run and win against the Socialist and Catholic and Marxist deputies. That’s the only way we will come to power.

  ‘Outvoting them may take longer than outshooting them. But when they are finally outvoted – and they will be outvoted – the result will be guaranteed by their own ridiculous democracy. Our victory will be completely legitimate according to their law. They will be bound by their democratic principles to uphold our duly elected dictatorship.

  ‘Yes, I know what you’re going to say. The process is too slow. And you’re right: it is slow. But before long we will have a majority, and then we will have Germany. Germany will be ours.’

  Their first task, he said, was to rebuild the National Socialist German Workers’ Party from the ground up. They had to transform the Party from the diminishing collection of fractious malcontents and misfits into a smoothly functioning political machine. To accomplish that they had to stop all the backbiting and feuding among factions. ‘And the only way to do that is to place the Party under my absolute control.’ The NSDAP would be an extension of the Leader, der Führer – as he had begun to call himself – from whom all order and meaning would flow.

  Hitler said all this to a roomful of his most devoted followers, men who had been with him through thick and thin. ‘Our movement must be irresistible, unstoppable,’ he said. ‘And it must be organized as though it were already the government that it will eventually become.’ The men all looked at one another.

  ‘But, mein Führer,’ said someone, ‘the setbacks …’

  ‘The setbacks are insignificant. Less than insignificant! They are nothing.’ He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘This government of traitors in Berlin is a pitiful cripple, propped up by American money. And, never forget: the German people’s humiliation isn’t going away; it sticks in our throats like a chicken bone. Every true German has a yearning, an insatiable thirst for vengeance and victory. And we will bring that to them.’

  ‘But, mein Führer, look at the recent elections. The socialists are gaining …’

  ‘Stop it!’ he shouted. ‘Stop it!’ He jumped up and leaned forward, his fists on the table. ‘Not another word, do you hear me?’ His voice rose to a shriek. ‘I will not tolerate doubt and defeatism. Is that understood?’ His fists were clenched, his eyes were wide, his mouth was a hard, grey line. He stared hard from one man to the next. They remained silent.

  ‘Now here are your posts,’ he said. The storm had passed. He nodded to Rudolf Hess, who handed around a list with their names attached to various offices and departments: treasury, defense, foreign affairs, domestic affairs, industry, agriculture, race and culture, propaganda. These were to be ministries in the coming NSDAP government, he said. ‘And you are my ministers.’ The men looked at one another, then found their names on the list. They were astonished.

  Hitler unrolled a map, and the men got up from their chairs and crowded around the table. He had drawn red lines dividing the country into political districts he called Gaue. He had given each district an old Germanic name like Ostmark, Schlesien, Sachsen, Pommern, and begun selecting a Gauleiter – district leader – for each. Each district would in turn contain multiple circles or Kreise, with their own dedicated leader or Kreisleiter. And each circle would contain local groups with group leaders. And each group leader would have sworn allegiance not to Germany but to the Führer. ‘We will be organized down to every village, every city block. Everything will be in place when the time comes. As it will.’

  Even though the Party had been forbidden in Bavaria and throughout Germany, and the number of its adherents had shrunk to national insignificance, Hitler saw himself ruling Germany as though dominance by the NSDAP were an unassailable and inevitable fact. His genius was that he made the men gathered around him see it too.

  Hitler made an appointment to meet Heinrich Held, the newly elected Bavarian State President, the man who could lift the ban against the Party. Held was an elderly and congenial man, a Catholic conservative, an orderly man whose political agenda centered around peace and conciliation.

  ‘Herr Hitler,’ announced the president’s secretary as he showed Hitler into the office. The president looked up but remained seated. He put on an unsmiling face. Instead of the swaggering, blustering demagogue he had expected, however, he saw a diffident man, dressed in a suit and overcoat, with his hat in his hand. Hitler bowed slightly.

  ‘Herr Präsident,’ said Hitler and took the president’s hand in his and bowed again. ‘Thank you for seeing me.’ Held invited Hitler to sit and they spoke for a half-hour. The president was stern at first. He said the Bavarian government would under no circumstances put up with the outrageous behavior in Hitler’s past, and would use the entire authority and force of the state to prevent it happening again.

  Hitler looked down at his hands. ‘Herr Präsident,’ he said finally, ‘I cannot express how deeply sorry I am for much of my past behavior, most particularly for the attempted coup d’état. That was a terrible error for which I have been justifiably punished. I believe in the supremacy of the law and of the elected government, of your government, and I promise my allegiance to it. I promise too that I will do everything to make amends for my past behavior.’ His expressions of remorse went on for some time. President Held found them fulsome and convincing. He saw that he was dealing with a changed man.

  The prohibition against both the NSDAP and Hitler’s public speaking were soon lifted. ‘The beast is tamed,’ President Held said. ‘We can loosen the shackles.’

  ‘The man is a fool and an idiot,’ said Hitler.

  THE GOOD COP

  Penzigauerstraße was a street Bergemann had never heard of. It was in a neighborhood made up mostly of industrial buildings that had emptied out after the war and then fallen into neglect and ruin. Many were boarded up or had broken windows. No buses or streetcars came anywhere
nearby. A few people lived here and there, but most were squatting illegally. The red-brick building, number twenty-six, looked like it might have once been a factory or warehouse, something other than the apartment block it seemed to have become.

  Detective Bergemann had to catch his breath after climbing three flights of stairs. He thought maybe it was nerves. He knocked on the door, tugged at his jacket, and smoothed his hair. A woman opened the door. ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m looking for Willi Geismeier.’

  ‘Who are you?’ she said. She had a foreign accent.

  ‘Detective Hans Bergemann. I’m a colleague … a former colleague of Detective Geismeier.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ she said and closed the door. He heard footsteps on the stairs behind him as a man passed on his way downstairs. He gave Bergemann a hard look up and down. Bergemann was in plain clothes, but he still looked like a cop. Finally the door opened.

  ‘Hello, Herr Geismeier,’ said Bergemann and held out his hand.

  Willi took it. ‘Hello, Bergemann.’ They hadn’t seen each other for over a year.

  ‘How are you, Herr Geismeier? I would have called first, but no one has your phone number and it’s not listed.’

  ‘No,’ said Willi. ‘But you found my address.’

  ‘Well,’ Bergemann smiled sheepishly, ‘I’m a detective.’

  ‘What do you want?’ said Willi.

  ‘I need your help.’

  ‘Do you?’ said Willi. He didn’t sound interested, and gave no indication he was going to invite Bergemann inside.

  ‘Could we talk somewhere private?’

  ‘Just a minute,’ said Willi and closed the door. Bergemann waited. He began to wonder whether that was the end of their conversation when the door opened again and Willi came out wearing an overcoat.

  ‘It’s warming up; the sun is out,’ said Bergemann. Why did I say that? he wondered.

  Willi led the way down the stairs to the street. Bergemann wondered whether Willi was paying rent or squatting. Was the woman at the door his wife?

  Willi and Bergemann walked four blocks to a small cafe with no name or sign. They were the only customers. Willi took off his coat, hung it on a hook, and then sat down at the nearest table. ‘What’ll you have, Bergemann?’