The Constant Man

by Peter Steiner

  ‘My car! He stole my car!’ Reinhard tried to shake free.

  ‘Keep walking!’ said one of the SS men.

  ‘How dare you!’ Reinhard screamed. ‘Take your hands off me!’ He tried to shake free again, kicked at them, struggled to get his hands free.

  The SS men were uncertain about the situation. But they had been trained to respond to uncertainty with brutal resolve. One pulled Reinhard’s two arms behind his back while the other began beating Reinhard with his fists. He punched his middle over and over again. Reinhard sagged in pain, but he was held upright and punched again. They maneuvered him in the direction of the Juhrhaus.

  Once inside, someone went in search of the duty officer, an SS captain. He came running and quickly determined that Reinhard was who he said he was. The duty officer sounded the alarm that the prisoner Willi Geismeier had escaped. All work details were immediately herded back into camp. The guards and kapos were on edge and there was lots of pushing and hitting.

  The prisoners were assembled on the Appelplatz for an emergency roll call. It was not announced that there had been an escape, but everyone had figured it out. And by that evening, they all knew it was Willi Geismeier and how he had done it.

  ‘No one escapes for long. He’ll be back.’

  ‘No, he won’t,’ said Neudeck. He knew Willi. ‘He’s long gone.’ The thought that Willi had succeeded and that he had played a small part in his escape made Neudeck happy. You had to hand it to that son of a bitch Geismeier.

  SS Obersturmbannführer Reinhard Pabst had suffered a concussion, a broken jaw, some cuts to the face, and a gunshot wound to the hand, and that was just from the prisoner. Then he had suffered possible kidney damage, and other serious damage to his body from the two SS guards.

  Reinhard filed a complaint against the guards that had beaten him up.

  ‘But how were we supposed to know that guy was an SS colonel?’ one guard said at his hearing.

  ‘I mean, did you see him?’ said the other guard. ‘He was wearing prison clothes. He had shit his pants. He was bloody and filthy. He was fighting like crazy. What were we supposed to do?’

  The captain conducting the hearing reduced both men in rank. SS Obersturmbannführer Pabst had insisted that they be punished, and that was the lightest punishment the captain could get away with. That’s the way it went sometimes. You did what you were supposed to do, and still they punished you.

  The Man Who Loved Women

  According to the urgent bulletin tacked up on police notice boards all over Germany, the convicted criminal Willi Geismeier had attempted to murder a senior SS officer and had escaped from Dachau. Standartenführer Pabst (Reinhard had just been promoted to full colonel) had extracted a confession from the prisoner for various crimes when the prisoner had seized his weapon and grievously wounded him. The escaped prisoner was now also being sought as a suspect in the serial-killer case. He was considered armed and dangerous. A substantial reward was offered for information leading to his apprehension.

  Gruber muttered as he read the notice. ‘My God! That son of a bitch Geismeier. How does he do it?’

  ‘No kidding,’ said Bergemann.

  ‘I didn’t take him for a killer though,’ said Gruber. ‘Thirteen women? Jesus!’ Gruber seemed unconcerned by the fact that Willi had been in Dachau when four of the murders had been committed. The official position was that Willi had done the murders, which meant that Willi had done the murders. Truth was a matter of policy, not a matter of fact. And it followed therefore that Willi would be sought for the serial killing of thirteen women. The police, the Gestapo and the SS were so notified.

  After a week in the hospital and eight weeks at home recovering from his injuries, Reinhard Pabst went back to work. His subordinates and coworkers lined the hall and applauded as he arrived on his first day back. ‘Thank you for your good wishes,’ he said to them. ‘Now, let’s get back to the serious and important tasks at hand. We have a killer to catch.’

  Reinhard’s first task, as he saw it, was to take over the serial-killer case again. His deputy, an ambitious young Gestapo man and SS lieutenant, had taken over in his absence and had been a little too conscientious for Reinhard’s taste. The deputy had fortunately not discovered the connection between the murders and the streetcar lines. But he had been going around to city hospitals trying to find out exactly what sort of wound the killer had sustained in his attack on Suzanna Merkl, and, having failed to do so, was about to begin questioning at smaller clinics.

  Reinhard was eager to steer the investigation toward Willi Geismeier. This might require manufacturing some evidence, but that would be simple enough. He had already found a report filed by a man named Schleiffer, a neighbor of Geismeier’s, that Geismeier, living under an assumed name, had left home late on the night of the Suzanna Merkl murder. Then there was also the fact that Geismeier had used a different false identity to impersonate a detective asking questions about the very murders he had himself committed.

  In any case, Reinhard wouldn’t have to convince a judge or a jury of Willi’s guilt. The case was never going to reach a court of law. Geismeier’s guilt was less a question of culpability than of utility. He had only to demonstrate that naming Geismeier as the killer would be useful to the Führer and his Reich.

  With his recent promotion, Reinhard now reported directly to Heinrich Himmler. So he had only Himmler to persuade of Geismeier’s guilt, or rather of the utility of Geismeier’s being made the scapegoat. Himmler would dutifully report to the Führer that Willi was the killer. Then the full wrath of the Third Reich would come down on him.

  Reinhard could not know the extent to which SS Hauptsturmführer Albrecht Altdorfer was a danger to him. After all, Altdorfer was merely a low-level SS thug, of prodigious size perhaps, but also of minimal intelligence. And he had himself punished Willi Geismeier mercilessly. But Altdorfer was also a man who loved women. He was kind and solicitous to his aging aunts, and tender and loving to his wife, to his daughters, to his mistresses, to all women. He never hit them, never even thought of doing so. He believed that women should be stood up on a pedestal, should be worshipped, should be wrapped in lace and veils and great swaths of pink silk, should be cherished for their innocence and innate virtues. He secretly wrote poetry in praise of women, all of it dreadful but at the same time entirely heartfelt.

  After he had stormed out of his interrogation with Willi Geismeier those many weeks ago, Altdorfer had brooded for the rest of the day. And it had gotten even worse once he was at home with his women. The unbidden thought of some man savagely stabbing one of them over and over until she was dead kept entering his mind. A vivid dream of a blood-covered stabbing man woke him with a start in the middle of the night. He cried out and sat up in bed.

  ‘Are you all right, Albrecht?’ said his wife.

  ‘I’m sorry, Liebchen,’ he said. ‘A bad dream. Go back to sleep.’ By morning he had decided he had to search out Friedrich Grosz at least and take his measure.

  It was not too difficult for an SS captain to find out that Friedrich Grosz was Reinhard Pabst, and so he made an appointment and called in at Reinhard’s office. He was shown in, they exchanged salutes and shook hands. Pabst seemed a perfectly pleasant young man. He had a soft handshake, but then so did a lot of men. He was surprisingly young for an SS lieutenant colonel. Altdorfer was older by ten years and still a captain. He had been passed over for promotion several times and was likely to remain a captain for the rest of his career. Altdorfer didn’t mind; he felt like a fortunate man. Rank wasn’t everything. He liked his work, and he was as happy at home as any man could ever hope to be.

  After some preliminary small talk, he told Reinhard about interrogating Geismeier at Dachau and about Geismeier’s accusations. Reinhard was startled; he had never heard of Willi Geismeier, but he wrote down his name. Altdorfer told him what he knew about Willi, that he was a good cop gone bad and had been finally driven from the force for his malfeasance. Geismeier had turne
d to illegal activities, undermining the regime when he could, going so far as to impersonate a police detective. Altdorfer assured Reinhard that he didn’t believe a word of Geismeier’s accusations. Willi had long been known for his outrageous accusations and ridiculous charges concocted out of whole cloth. He just thought Reinhard should know.

  Reinhard listened with his hands folded in front of him, a half smile on his face. Finally he had laughed and waved it all off as though it were nothing. ‘Thank you, Captain, for telling me,’ he said. They chatted a little longer about this and that. Altdorfer had asked Reinhard about his family and Reinhard had told Altdorfer he lived alone. Altdorfer had spoken a bit about the joys of family life. Then they said their pleasant goodbyes, and Altdorfer had gone on his way.

  Geismeier had to be lying, didn’t he? Making the whole story up for some reason? Geismeier was a known liar. And the lieutenant colonel had been very pleasant and relaxed about the whole thing. But that was a bit strange, wasn’t it? How could he be so relaxed about such a terrible accusation? Wouldn’t you at least be shocked or angry or disgusted to learn that somebody, even a criminal and a liar, had said something like that about you? And now that Altdorfer thought about it, when he had spoken of his own happiness in the bosom of his family, had named his women one by one in glowing terms, the lieutenant colonel’s face had turned to stone.

  Altdorfer had to be careful. The lieutenant colonel was Gestapo, after all. Still, Altdorfer decided he would make a few discreet inquiries to see whether there might be any reason to take Geismeier’s accusation more seriously.

  Altdorfer Investigates

  Nobody had anything bad to say about SS Lieutenant Colonel Reinhard Pabst. He was well educated, thoughtful, dedicated to his work, a gifted interrogator. He was a little aloof, moody sometimes, a loner, but a good man.

  On the other hand, almost everybody Altdorfer asked – former colleagues from his time in the police – spoke ill of Willi Geismeier. Captain Altdorfer decided again there was nothing to Geismeier’s accusations. It was just more of the same troublemaking mischief that had always been his way.

  After several weeks of asking around and several more of hesitating, Altdorfer called Dachau and asked to speak to the duty officer. He wanted to arrange to interrogate the prisoner Willi Geismeier one more time. ‘That son of a bitch needs to be taught a lesson,’ he said.

  There was a moment of silence. Then the duty officer said, ‘I’m sorry, Captain, but that isn’t possible.’

  ‘Isn’t possible? Why isn’t it possible?’

  ‘I’m afraid, Captain, the prisoner has escaped.’

  ‘What? Escaped?’ said Altdorfer. ‘Nobody escapes from Dachau.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I know. But … well, Geismeier did.’ Altdorfer wondered how it had happened. ‘He was being interrogated. He somehow overcame his interrogator and fled in his car.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  Altdorfer thought for a moment. ‘Who was his interrogator?’

  ‘I am not allowed to say, Captain. The case is still being investigated.’

  ‘Was it SS Lieutenant Colonel Pabst?’ said Altdorfer.

  There was a pause. ‘I’m not allowed to say, Captain.’

  So it was Pabst. That changed everything.

  Captain Altdorfer thought about visiting Pabst again but decided against it. The only thing he could ask, that he hadn’t asked the first time, would be about Geismeier’s interrogation and his escape. And since the lieutenant colonel was responsible for Geismeier’s escape, anything he would say would be self-serving and of little use. The one person he really needed to talk to was Geismeier, and that wasn’t going to happen.

  Bergemann was at his desk one morning, typing up reports that were due – actually they had been due the Friday before – when a very large SS captain, his hat at a cocky angle, came into the office. He ducked his head as he came through the door.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Gruber?’ he said.

  ‘In the office, sir,’ said Bergemann, and pointed at the door. The large captain nodded, stepped to the door and knocked. Gruber looked up, seemed to recognize his visitor, and got up to let him in. The two men seemed on friendly terms. They spoke for a while and then came out of the office together.

  ‘Bergemann,’ said Gruber, ‘Hauptsturmführer Altdorfer is looking into Geismeier’s escape. I told him you were here when Geismeier was still with us and that you knew him. He’d like to ask you a few questions.’ He turned to Altdorfer. ‘Geismeier and Bergemann were friends back then. Sometimes I think they still are.’ He laughed. ‘A little joke,’ he said.

  Altdorfer stuck out his enormous hand. ‘Albrecht Altdorfer,’ he said.

  Bergemann took his hand. ‘Bergemann, Hans.’

  Altdorfer looked around the office. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk, Hans?’

  Bergemann took the captain into an interview room. ‘How can I help you, Captain?’

  ‘So, what did your sergeant mean about you and Geismeier?’

  Bergemann gave an exasperated shrug. ‘His favorite joke, Captain. He hates Geismeier.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I liked Willi. But I haven’t seen him for years.’

  Captain Altdorfer studied Bergemann for a moment, then seemed to decide to believe him. ‘You know about Geismeier’s escape …’

  ‘Everybody does,’ said Bergemann.

  ‘I interrogated Geismeier twice at Dachau myself,’ said Altdorfer.

  ‘Really?’ said Bergemann.

  ‘And he accused an SS Gestapo officer of being the serial killer.’

  ‘Really. Did he name somebody?’

  ‘Your Sergeant Gruber tells me you briefly worked on the serial-killer case yourself. I wonder whether you discovered anything that would substantiate Geismeier’s accusation. Anything at all …’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘So Geismeier is making it up?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I just didn’t find anything conclusive. Excuse me, Captain. I think I should get my case notes.’ He went to his desk, got the folder, and came back. He looked through his notes for a minute, then told the captain about the streetcar connection, that all the women had been killed along three streetcar lines. He led him back out to the bullpen where there was a large map of Munich and put his finger on Gestapo headquarters at Briennerstraße, where the three streetcar lines intersected. ‘This is as far as I got.’

  The captain stared at the map, then at Bergemann, then back at the map, at Briennerstraße, where a few days ago he had been sitting in SS Gestapo Major Reinhard Pabst’s office chatting about his wife and daughters. ‘Hans,’ he said, ‘can I take you to lunch?’

  The two men walked around the corner to the Gasthaus Zum Schwabinger Bach.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Elsa. ‘What’ll it be?’

  Bergemann was hungry. ‘Gulaschsuppe and Weißwurst and a half liter of Hofbräu dark,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll have the same, Fräulein, thank you,’ said the captain.

  Bergemann and the captain touched glasses – ‘Prosit!’ – and drank.

  ‘Hans, are you in touch with Willi Geismeier?’ said the captain.

  ‘No, I’m not. If I saw him, I’d have to arrest him,’ said Bergemann. ‘I have no idea where he is.’ That last statement was actually true. Bergemann had helped Willi to a safe house after his escape. And Willi had disappeared from there.

  ‘OK,’ said the captain. ‘OK, Hans, I believe you. Do you think Geismeier knows more about the case than you do?’

  ‘He probably does. Here’s what I do know, Captain. The Detective Geismeier I knew never made accusations without evidence, he never made arrests without evidence. He had the best arrest record in the department, and his arrests usually ended in convictions because he always had the evidence. Always.’

  ‘Really? Every other policeman I’ve ever heard talk about Geismeier says he was a serious troublemaker.’

  ‘Th
at’s true, Captain. He was a troublemaker. But it’s also true he was a good cop whose arrests led to convictions. He always had good evidence. Always. Whether that’s still true, I couldn’t say.’

  ‘Fair enough. So, going back to your own investigation, having discovered the connection to the streetcar lines and the intersection of the three lines and all that, what would have been your next step?’

  ‘I was taken off the case.’

  ‘If you hadn’t been taken off the case.’

  Bergemann opened the case notes folder once again. ‘It was kept out of the papers, but there was evidence that one of the victims had seriously injured the killer with a knife of her own. I would have looked to see whether he had been treated at a hospital or clinic. That would have been my next step.’

  Altdorfer was making notes. ‘How would you have looked? Where would you have looked?’

  ‘Well, she was killed … here!’ Bergemann pointed at the map. ‘So I would have started looking at hospitals and clinics along that streetcar line between here and Briennerstraße.’

  ‘What else would you have done as a next step, Hans?’

  ‘Captain, I’m a little uncomfortable here. I’m supposed to be off the case; I don’t want to get in trouble.’

  ‘Hans, this isn’t the serial-killer case I’m investigating. I’m investigating the Geismeier escape from Dachau. Think of it that way.’

  The Bavarian Forest

  Bergemann and Willi rarely met these days. Meetings were dangerous for both men. When it became urgent that Bergemann talk to Willi, he called Edvin Lindstrom at the Swedish consulate. Bergemann left a coded message, and Lindstrom got back to him with a meeting time and place Willi had chosen. It had been easier when Willi was in Munich, but now, because the hunt for Willi had gotten broader and more intense, they met in the Bavarian Forest, two hours northeast of Munich, not far from Schloß Barzelhof where Willi had been in school, and not far from the Czech border.