‘Then Wolfgang asked, all innocent like, what I’d been doing since the end of the war. I told him the same as you, a bit of buying and selling. He smiled. “And now you are in a bit of trouble,” he said. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. Wolfgang smiled again. “Word gets around.” So I told them what had happened. “Don’t worry,” he said, “we’ll soon sort it out for you.” Then he looked at his brother, “Won’t we, Ludwig?” Ludwig grinned and said nothing but nodded his head. Then Wolfgang drained his glass and stood up. “Come on brother,” he said, “we’ve got work to do.” He looked at me and smiled that funny lopsided smile of his and said: “We’ll be in touch.” Then they left.
-0-
Russell settled back in his seat. The suburbs of eastern Paris soon gave way to open countryside. The train was surprisingly comfortable and he sat back and enjoyed the journey. When he arrived at Vitry le François he had to change trains. He found the platform for his connection to his next destination, Metz, and was soon on his way again, dozing happily. He hadn’t thought that he needed so much sleep but perhaps it was because he was relaxed after the tension and drama of the past few days. A couple of hours later the train pulled into Metz; he stood up, stretched luxuriously and made his way on to the platform. He had to wait a little longer this time but just as he was beginning to get anxious, the train pulled in and he was on his way again.
On this stretch of the journey Russell got out his picnic. At home this action would have been greeted with surprise if not hostility but, here in France, no one raised an eyebrow. In fact he saw at least three other people in the carriage doing the same thing. His next stop was Strasbourg, where the customs officials came aboard the train. The man who examined his papers looked at Russell and smiled, but refrained from asking what an English detective was doing on a train bound for Germany. He returned them and moved silently on, leaving Russell sitting in his seat, smiling too. The formalities were soon over, the officials left the train and, with a mournful blast from the locomotive’s whistle they were on their way again.
-0-
Sandy and Christopher were sitting side by side on a piece of driftwood in Weeks’s front garden. He had found a bottle of lemonade, which still had some fizz, and each of the boys clutched a chunky glass full of the bubbly liquid. ‘Right lads, now you’ve got a drink and you’re sitting comfortably, you’d better tell me what you’ve seen.’
‘Well, Sir…’
Weeks grinned. ‘I think you can call me Johnny if you like.’
Sandy grinned back. ‘Thank you, Sir, er, Johnny. Well, we were just setting up camp in the dunes when we heard a boat approaching the beach.’
‘We were surprised,’ Christopher went on, ‘because we picked that spot as no one goes there, once the trippers have gone home. Anyway, we heard this engine and when we looked we could see a boat coming in to the shore.’
‘Don’t worry, Johnny, We made sure we couldn’t be seen,’ Sandy added.
‘So what happened next?’
‘This little man put a ladder over the side of the boat and climbed down. We saw him wade through the shallow water then walk along the beach. Thing is, he seemed to find it difficult.’
‘How do you mean?’
The boys looked at each other. Sandy continued: ‘We weren’t close enough to see clearly but he seemed to have something wrong with his leg.’ Weeks tilted his head to one side and raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I dunno, Johnny, he could walk on it but it seemed to drag in the sand.’
Weeks nodded. ‘I think he may have had a built-up boot.’
‘Oh yes! That must have been it!’ Christopher enthused.
‘Go on.’
‘Well, he came right past us, climbed on the jetty, rang the bell then sat down. It wasn’t long before that ferryman, Jack Spratt, came across the estuary in his boat.’
Sandy was eager to carry on. ‘When he saw the little man he tried to go back but he held on to the rope so he couldn’t. Anyway, they had a conversation and some money was handed over.’
‘Did you hear what they said?’
The boys exchanged a glance. Christopher took a gulp of his drink. ‘Not all of it – just bits.’
‘What can you remember?’
Furrowing his brow Sandy said: ‘I think the little man wanted Jack to find something out for him.’
‘Any idea what?’
‘We couldn’t hear very clearly but I think it was something about his brother?’
Christopher butted in: ‘Yes I remember, he wanted to know if his brother was in the police station!’
Weeks leant forward. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes!’ said Sandy eagerly, ‘that’s why he gave him the money!’
‘Well done. Can you recall any other details?
‘Umm. Oh yes. He told Spratt to ask that captain at Compass Point, You know, the one who owns the place, and the railway.’
‘Captain Salt?’
‘That’s him!’
‘Was that it then?’
Sandy looked at Christopher. ‘Can you think of anything else?’
His friend shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t think so.’ He paused, then spoke again. ‘Oh yes, he told the ferryman to meet him there tomorrow.’
‘Do you know when?’
Another pause. ‘I’m not sure, it was difficult to hear everything. Maybe the same time? Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry. You’ve been really helpful.’ Weeks looked up. He could see the sun getting lower in the sky. ‘Now, can I give you a lift back to your camp?’
Christopher tipped up his glass and drained the last drops of lemonade. ‘No that’s all right, Johnny,’ he said rising, ‘we’ll cut across the dunes and I reckon we’d be back before you in the car.’
‘Fair enough,’ Weeks said, grinning at the boys. ‘You might have to come into the station to repeat all that. I’ll let you know.’
‘Ok, Johnny,’ Sandy said. ‘Glad we could help. Thanks for the drink.’ With that the two boys trotted out of the garden and back along the track, waving over their shoulders as they went, Weeks holding Aggie’s collar to stop her racing after them.
-0-
DI Parker had paused the interview and asked for tea to be brought in. It was getting late, plus it was Sunday, and everyone was feeling jaded. However, he was determined to get more out of the squaddie before the day was done, hence the refreshment. Mugs of thick brown liquid were placed on the table, along with a chipped bowl of sugar and stained teaspoon. Rankin helped himself to three heaped spoonfuls and stirred them into his tea.
‘Right, you were telling us what happened when you hooked up with the Miller, sorry, Müller brothers again,’ Parker growled.
Rankin took a swig of his tea, put the mug down in front of him, cupped his hands round it and cleared his throat. ‘Well, I didn’t know what they were going to do. But I felt much happier having them around.’
‘Why was that?’
`’I knew what they, well Ludwig especially, was capable of.’
‘How do you mean? Had you seen him in action before?’
The soldier took another drink of his tea. ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice almost inaudible.
‘Pardon?’
‘Yes, I had - ’ slightly louder.
‘When was that?’
Rankin sighed. ‘Well, you’ve worked out that I knew them before the war. So I might as well tell you.
‘I met them in the mountains, near Innsbruck. It was summertime. I’d gone to do some climbing there. I was out one day and didn’t realise how long it would take to get back down from the mountain. It was getting dark and I was a long way from the village where I had me digs. I lost me way and was stumbling down when I came across a log cabin, quite high up. There was lights in the windows and smoke coming out of the chimney. I were desperate so I banged on the door. It were opened almost immediately. I got quite a fright.’
‘Why was that?’
‘It were Ludwig, and he filled the doorway. I’d
never seen anyone so huge before. At first I thought I’d made a big mistake. Then he stepped aside to reveal his brother. He saw I was in a fix, and invited me in. There were another man there who turned out to be a third brother, Franz. We spent a very nice evening. They fed me and gave me plenty to drink and asked me to stay the night.’ He smiled at the recollection. ‘When they found out I spoke reasonable German they was delighted. They said the cabin belonged to their family and asked me to stay for as long as I liked.’
Next morning Ludwig went down to the village. Turned out it weren’t so far away. Collected me things. Paid me bill at the guesthouse where I’d been staying. Wolfgang, Franz and me had breakfast. When their brother returned, the four of us set off to explore the mountains.’
Parker looked perplexed. ‘Wait a minute. We’ve had no mention of a third brother.’
Barrow leant across and flicked through the papers in the file on the table. ‘Here, Sir,’ he said, holding up the photograph that had been found in the secret hideout at the brickworks.
‘Oh, yes,’ Parker said slowly. ‘I wonder what happened to him?’ He looked up at the squaddie, just too late to see the pain that passed across his face. ‘Well, carry on.’
Rankin took a deep breath. ‘I had a wonderful time. Some of the best days of me life, I must say. Just walking, climbing and talking. Some of the steeper climbs were too much for Wolfgang. But he was happy to sit and wait. Quietly smoking, or just watching, while I climbed with his brothers.’
‘How long did you stay with them?’
‘About three weeks in all.’
The DI consulted the notes he had been making. ‘You mentioned you’d seen Ludwig “in action” before.’ He looked quizzically at Rankin.
‘Yes. Let me think.’ The soldier considered for a few moments. ‘We’d been out climbing as usual. For a change, we’d walked down to a little town called Mutter. Then went up on the Muttereralmbahn.’
Parker snorted. ‘What’s that when it’s at home?’
‘It’s a cable car that takes you higher up the mountain.’
‘Mmm, I see. Carry on.’
‘Well, everyone was cheerful as we went up. Even Ludwig said a few words. That were quite unusual. We reached the top and got out. I remember the air was real clean and fresh. I felt at ease and happy. As usual, Wolfgang was content to stay there while me and his brothers climbed higher. He said he would enjoy looking at the scenery. Maybe have a hot chocolate at the café there. Told us not to rush, but take our time.
‘We set off up a path. It were quite narrow and winding so every now and again we had to stand back, pressed against the rock or balanced on the edge, to let those coming down get past. After a while we got to a really narrow bit. There were a rock face on one side and a steep drop on the other. Ludwig was leading, me next, Franz bringing up the rear. I could see a group of four young blokes coming down. They was laughing and joking. We stood to the side of the path.’
Getting by the big German meant they had to slow down and creep by him. Getting past me was a bit easier. It should have been the same with Franz. But, with the mood they was in, jokey like, they thought it were funny to bump into him. Made him lose his balance and fall backwards. I grabbed him. Just managed to stop him from tumbling down the steep slope. Instead of saying sorry, the youths thought it was really funny and went on their way, laughing. In a flash, Ludwig ran past us and grabbed two of them by their collars. He actually picked them off the ground. Dangled them over the edge of the sheer drop. He was so mad. He yelled: ‘Sie sollen sich entschuldigen!’’
‘What does that mean?’ Parker wanted to know.
‘Oh, it means: ‘“You will apologise!”.’
‘I see. What happened then?’
‘The other two turned white. They began to say sorry and to plead with Ludwig. He were still dangling them by their collars. I was sure he was going to let them go over the edge. But after what seemed an age, but was probably only a few seconds, Franz shouted: ‘Nein Ludwig! Mach das nicht!’ and reluctantly he brought them back above the path where he dropped them in a heap. Before they could get up he landed a massive kick to the side of one. Trod hard on the hand of the other. Both yelled out in pain. They quickly realised there could be more of the same to come. They got to their feet, and without turning round, stumbled down the path. I were shaking. I was sure he would have dropped them over the edge if Franz hadn’t spoken. That’s when I knew what Ludwig was capable of.’
-0-
Russell’s train drew into Stuttgart station. It had been a long, if uneventful journey and he hoped Bruissement’s contact would be there to meet him. He wasn’t disappointed as, walking along the platform towards the exit, a smiling figure came towards him with a hand extended. ‘DI Russell?’
He took the proffered hand and received a firm handshake. ‘That’s right. Call me Sonny.’
‘Great. My name’s Greg Judd. Guillaume told me about you.’ Greg was not much more than five feet tall and as thin as a rake. He had short dark hair, neatly parted to one side and a large pair of dark-rimmed glasses that magnified his eyes. His smile was infectious. ‘Right, come on then.’ His accent was East Coast American and refined. ‘Give me your case,’ he said, taking Russell’s
platform.
He led the way out to a maroon Opel Kapitän parked by the kerb, put the suitcase in the boot and opened the passenger door for Russell. Climbing into the driver’s seat he looked at his watch and said: ‘It’s half after six. Do you want to check in to your hotel and freshen up or shall we go straight to the office and have a look at some papers?’
‘That sounds fine. It would be good to do something after sitting in trains for so long.’
-0-
In less than half an hour, during which time they made pleasant conversation, learning a little about each other, they reached the quiet market town of Ludwigsburg. Turning off the High Street, Judd stopped the car outside an unassuming townhouse, the headquarters of the organisation known in short as the Z-commission - the full title, a more unwieldy ‘Central Office of the State Justice Administrations for the Investigation of National Socialist Crimes’. Leading Russell up the steps to the front door, he put a key in the lock, opened the door and ushered him inside. ‘There’s often someone working late,’ he said, ‘but I guess everyone’s packed up and gone home tonight.’ He led the way up a wide staircase to a large landing and opened the door to one of the rooms leading off it. The room had a desk and two walls lined with shelves, piled high with files. The floor was also littered with more folders, some of the stacks teetering precariously. The American moved a pile of papers off a chair and said: ‘Please sit, Sonny. Sorry about the mess. I never seem to get to the end of the files before another lot are dumped on me.’ He sat on the chair at the other side of the desk.
‘Sounds like a tough job.’
‘Well it is and it isn’t. I generally enjoy the work. There’s nothing more satisfying than tracking down one of the SS men, finding out where he’s hidden himself and starting the process of bringing him to trial. But it gets frustrating when you reach a dead end, usually when you’re this close to getting your man.’ He held out his hand with his thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart. ‘Then you’ve got to start all over again.’
‘What’s your success rate? I mean, how often do you get your man?’
Greg furrowed his brow and thought for a moment. ‘Difficult to say.’ He shuffled some papers in front of him. ‘Not as often as I’d like, but then many of the Nazi officers covered their tracks well. However, I’ve had some success with tracking down your dead Germans.’
‘Really?’ Russell leant forward.
‘That’s right. Your two mystery men…’ He shuffled the papers some more until he found what he was looking for. ‘Ah yes, our friend Bruissement passed on the details of…’ he paused and turned a couple of pages, ‘…of Rudolf Bausewein and Kaspar Bockelmann. Bausewein was an Obersturmführer and Bockelmann an Unterstur
mführer, both fairly low-ranking officers. I was able to delve into our archive and discover what they were involved in. It would probably be instructive if I gave you a bit of background.’
Russell nodded. ‘Go on.’
The American turned a few more pages in the file and took one out. ‘Well, in July 1933 the German government instituted what was grandly called ‘The Law for the Prevention of Progeny with Hereditary Diseases’.’
Russell shuddered. ‘That doesn’t sound all that pleasant.’
‘It sure wasn’t. This law called for the sterilisation of all persons who suffered from diseases considered hereditary. It included mental illness, learning difficulties, physical deformity, epilepsy, blindness, deafness and severe alcoholism.’
‘They certainly meant to cover all bases.’
‘They sure did. With the law’s passage the Third Reich stepped up its propaganda against the disabled. It regularly labelled them “life unworthy of life” and highlighted their burden on society.’
‘It’s quite unbelievable how coldly calculating they could be.’
‘That’s not the worst of it.’
‘How so?’ Russell asked.
‘Well you probably know about the euthanasia programme?’
‘I know a little about it.’
‘Did you know it extended to the systematic killing of the institutionalised mentally ill and physically disabled?’
‘No, I wasn’t aware of that.’
‘Well, I’m afraid to say it was rife. It was supposedly a secret operation, coded named T-four.’
‘T-four? What does that stand for?’
‘Oh, that’s simple. It referred to the address of the co-ordinating office in Berlin - Tiergartenstrasse four. Anyway, it seems that tracking down and dealing with these unfortunate souls was the main preoccupation of your two Germans. Obviously, they didn’t work alone and I’ve found two other Nazi officers who worked closely with them.’
Russell thought for a moment. ‘Are there descriptions of the men?’
Greg flicked through the file. ‘Yes here we are. Max Krull and Achim Pfeffer. Krull was another Untersturmführer but wait, Pfeffer had the more senior rank of Hauptsturmführer.’
Blood on the Tide Page 18
