The White House

by O’neil Sharma

  Then somehow Isaac had messed it up and Fuchs became alerted to his presence. The predator instinct had lashed out and killed to protect its new identity.

  Wrong: Mark was killed first. This made no sense.

  Saul watched the rain beat down on his windshield and enjoyed the steel drum music the drops made on the roof of his car. The thunderstorm had moved in thick and fast but had done nothing to break the heat. He hoped the rain would not ruin things. Winding down his window a crack in order to let some air in he smelt the dusty streets being tamed by the thick drops of rain.

  Isaac must have gone to Mark first. They ran the operation together and it was only after Mark’s death that Isaac had gone to him. The SS were nothing if not thorough; Fuchs would have tortured Mark for information and he would have given it up. Isaac, then, felt guilty. Who knew what Mark would have said and hence, he came to Saul for help and to warn him.

  Saul didn’t blame Mark at all. In the end, everybody cracked. The tough guys who never gave up anything existed only in the movies. The best one could do was delay but Saul could not imagine Isaac had delayed that much with Fuchs ripping his teeth out. It was the method he faulted. As soon as they had identified Fuchs for who and what he was they should have killed him outright rather than go swimming with the shark. Still, there was a chance Mark had not mentioned his name. This might explain why he was still alive. He examined the possibility that he could still walk away from this.

  He shook that thought from his head. This was about justice. If this Wunsch was really Fuchs, he deserved to be in jail. Justice. Saul could go to his grave a happy man. There was only one thing Saul wished more for in his life: he wished he could have saved at least one person from the gas. If he could truly travel in time that is what he would do.

  He poured a coffee from the thermos and offered the cup to Aaron who sat in the drivers seat. Aaron shook his head and continued to stare through the rain at the building.

  ‘A brothel? How do you even know he’s in there?’

  ‘A man can change nearly everything: his name, where he lives, how he looks. But he can’t change who he is. You asked how we catch him. We catch him by his habits.’

  ‘That does not answer the question: do you go here, Papa?’

  Saul was saved from having to answer by Charlotte, who appeared at the window, waved at them and then let the curtains fall back into place.

  ‘It’s time,’ said Saul.

  A moment later a man stood in the doorway and also studied the rain. Aaron and Saul were squinting from their parked car trying to get a look at his features. From this distance it was no easy feat, but the man certainly looked old enough. Deciding not to wait for the rain to pass the man used his raincoat to cover his head and trot to his car.

  ‘Is that him?’ said Aaron starting the car.

  ‘I don’t know. What do you think?’

  ‘I didn’t get a good look.’

  As the red BMW 5 series pulled out into traffic so did Saul’s Mercedes. They followed the BMW through the crowded streets of Schöneberg as it headed west and then south. The rain petered out and eventually stopped by the time they were in Dahlem. Saul wound his window down further rather than turn on the AC and the car was filled with the shhhh of tyres on a wet road.

  ‘Why are you slowing down?’ said Saul.

  ‘He’ll see us if we don’t,’ said Aaron. ‘In the city it was easier with all the traffic.’

  The gap between the cars increased and the BMW passed a traffic light just before it turned red. Aaron stamped on the breaks.

  ‘No!’ said Saul as the car came to a halt at the junction. ‘Drive.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s empty. Drive!’

  Aaron submitted to the pressure and floored the gas. The Mercedes sprang to life with an acceleration that brought an unexpected smile to Aaron’s face but despite the velocity they could see no sign of the red BMW.

  ‘He couldn’t have gone that far,’ said Aaron enjoying the power of the engine.

  Saul, frustrated was frantically searching the side roads as they zipped past:

  ‘He’s turned off. Take a – ‘ but the word was gone so he pointed frantically. ‘-TURN!’

  Aaron made a left.

  ‘This is just a guess now.’

  Saul was having none of it.

  ‘Double back.’

  ‘Papa…’

  ‘Do it!’

  Aaron swung the car into the next street, the tyres screeching their protest. They straightened out in time to see Helmut Wunsch stepping out of his BMW and start to cross the street. Aaron slammed the breaks and the car went into a slide, stopping centimetres from knocking Helmut into the next world.

  For a moment Helmut was fully illuminated by the headlights in a state of frozen panic. The shock was replaced by anger and Helmut beat his fist down on the bonnet. A metallic thud reverberated around the hull of the car. Saul, petrified that Wunsch might want to start a fight with them, waited helplessly to be identified by his murderer.

  Helmut kept walking, much to their relief, and entered a house that proved he had also done well in life. A detached, rustic affair with large windows, all lit up and a well kept front-garden. They watched him open the front door and shut them out of his world.

  Aaron gathered himself and kept driving. At the end of the road Saul asked him to stop. Aaron obliged, while his father got out of the car and noted down the name of the street. Saul could have done this from the car but he needed some time to compose himself. He had just seen a man that held a prominent part of his nightmares, a man who had killed with pleasure. A murderer of countless men, women and children. He looked gentler now and Saul recalled the rounded edges of his face. But age did not make him less dangerous. Judging by the size of the house Wunsch lived in he had much to lose. Saul wrote the name of the street on his cheat sheet with trembling hands and returned to the car. When Saul got back in Aaron asked:

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. Was it him?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ lied Saul. ‘You saw him too. What do you think?’

  ‘Fuck it,’ said Aaron slamming the steering wheel. ‘But I do know seeing a whore is not a crime.’

  Saul waited for him to calm down and drive on his own accord. They managed the rest of the drive, the walk up to the apartment and their parting into different bedrooms in silence.

  Keep digging.

  CHAPTER 27

  Mira.

  Earth.

  Sara.

  Cool.

  Rattle, rattle

  I wonder if you know what Jews are?

  CHAPTER 28

  On Tuesday morning Saul went to Kripo headquarters in Berlin. A pre-war building with a stark grey facade and columns borrowed from the Romans. It’s many and perfectly spaced eyes watching his approach: intimidating. He felt a shudder of regret run through him. It was time to admit defeat. He felt no longer capable of continuing. He had spent the whole night mulling over what had to be done and in the end he kept coming back to kill or be killed. In the early hours of the morning when no one can hide from their truth, Saul faced up to the fact that he was no killer. The police were the only option.

  Hannah was not talking to him and her silent pressure tactic was too much to bear. He had spent Saturday at work and most of Sunday playing detective hoping that some distance would calm her down or even elicit some worry: it did not. He also distanced himself from Aaron and Mira, not being able to face lying to them anymore; unsure of what he had already said it was getting too complex to keep facts, lies and truth in order. They had also made no attempt to bridge the divide that had grown between them. Aaron, he could tell, was still angry after the stake out and try as he might Saul could not bring himself to talk to his son. There was an unfamiliarity present between them, as if they had just met and not had a life long relationship. Later on there was also the guilt of rea
lising that he could have endangered Aaron by exposing him to Fuchs. So he had decided to go it alone.

  In his heart he knew that Hannah was right. Soon it would be too late for him to lie and he should consider coming clean while he still could. Even Aisha approached him with caution these days. Dying alone was something he knew that all men did. Dying a stranger was something he was not prepared for.

  The following had actually been easier than he reckoned. He knew where Manfred/Helmut lived and what car he drove. Hiring a taxi for the day, he waited patiently for the BMW to emerge from the street. The taxi driver, reluctant at first was soon overcome by his excitement of being on a case with a private detective and of course the large cash payment that Saul handed over in a brown envelope didn’t hurt.

  They had followed the red car to the local tennis courts where Saul observed Manfred/Helmut playing a game with his teenage son. They were dressed the part and the boy even had a Boris Becker hair cut. Manfred/Helmut played well for a man of his age showing a skill and technique that was only let down by his physical ability. His son, the young Boris, easily defeated his father but it was all smiles and hugs at the end. Manfred seemed proud to be beaten by the boy.

  Later that day he followed them to the Botanical Gardens. Taking seats on the terrace of the café, with its views of the enormous greenhouses and impressive gardens beyond, he had watched as they both stood to greet a blonde woman. Saul recognised her from the partial photograph that Mira had developed. Kisses all around again as the perfect family sat down to afternoon coffee and cake.

  At one point a Turkish family had passed the café. Three children walked and one was being pushed in a pram by its mother. The child inside the pram had, unseen by the family, dropped its stuffed elephant. Manfred/Helmut had sprung out of his seat and handed the elephant back to the child with a smile, ruffling the boy’s hair for good measure. He even exchanged pleasantries with the parents: we have all been there or something to that effect. This was not the monster that Saul remembered. Not the man who laughed and tortured and shot and hit and had the dogs tear men to pieces.

  At the reception Saul had been directed to the fifth floor. The interior of the building was as impressive as it was imposing and Saul wondered what branch of the National Socialist Party had used this building to hatch its nefarious plans.

  He exited the lift and found himself in a long corridor with many doors on each side. There were chairs placed sporadically along the corridor and Saul guessed it must also double as a waiting room. Some of the doors were ajar and as he walked he caught a glimpse of the offices inside. He stopped at one and knocked politely on the door.

  ‘I’m here to see Steffan Müller. They said he would be up here,’ he said to the young woman typist.

  ‘I’ll tell him you are here. Please have a seat.’

  Saul sat with a smile.

  ‘Is he expecting you?’

  ‘No. My name is - Saul Cohen.’

  ‘I’ll let him know,’ she smiled and walked briskly down the corridor.

  Saul took the opportunity to down a few ‘mints’. The office door opposite was also open and Saul could see it was all but empty. He thought the buzzing sound odd though, and got up to investigate.

  As he approached the door the buzzing sound intensified and as his aspect of door changed he noticed bare feet on the floor. Closer now he could see the legs of the bodies, still shiny and wet.

  Pushing open the door he was accosted by the sight of perhaps twenty bodies lying on the floor. A Sonderkommando shaved the heads, his electric trimmer accounting for that buzzing sound. As he completed his task the hair was stuffed into a sack.

  Another Sonderkommando removed gold teeth with a pair of pliers. He worked with haste: a quick look in a mouth to see if there was anything of value; if not, straight onto the next one.

  Finding a gold tooth the Sonderkommando reached for his pliers and pulled the tooth to the sound of a sharp crunch. He did so with the ease of man who had been doing nothing else for twelve hours a day, months on end. The tooth was placed in a pouch on the Sonderkommando’s ankle. These men were true robots: nothing in their movements indicated a waste of time or energy: a perfection that made the SS happy.

  A hand grabbed Saul by the shoulder.

  ‘Thanks for coming in,’ said Steffan. ‘Why don’t we go to my desk?’

  This time the vision vanished with a snap. The room was empty but as they walked the sound of the buzzing continued to fill Saul’s ears and he had to shake his head to make it stop. That bitter almond and swimming pool scent that wafted from the chambers remained with him though.

  The office was open plan and in contrast to the building, modern looking and busy with officers – many of whom were women – going about their jobs. The wooden floor had been covered with brown carpet tiles and a smoky haze drifted across the ceiling. Computers had not yet found their way onto all the desks and the sheer quantity of paper gave Saul an indication of the level of crime in the city or at least the bureaucracy of the force that had to deal with it.

  Torsten and Steffan shared a desk that was actually neat in comparison to the others. Steffan lit a cigarette and pulled deeply from it.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I was wondering how the case was going?’

  Torsten snorted.

  ‘I normally make my report to my boss,’ said Steffan.

  ‘So you haven’t got anywhere?’

  This time Steffan laughed out loud but decided to humour the old man.

  ‘Well, it’s not political. But I didn’t think that anyway. That leaves the neo-Nazis - not the easiest people to deal with, but we are making enquiries and of course there is your good friend Rudi Pascal. Looks like Rudi is becoming the banker of choice for business men that want to avoid taxes, launder money or just keep things off the balance sheet.’ He paused ‘How’s your investigation going?’

  ‘It’s not the neo Nazis – ‘

  At that point Helmut Wunsch walked into the office meeting and greeting the officers as he made his way to Steffan’s desk: A thoroughly open management style.

  Saul froze, his stomach churning as he watched Manfred use his hands to comb a lose strand of silver hair that had fallen out of place back into the pack. Manfred made his way towards them.

  ‘Everything okay?’ asked Steffan.

  ‘I – I don’t feel well.’

  Saul rose to his feet and sped away. Steffan about to follow when:

  ‘Morning Mr. Müller,’ said Helmut.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ said Steffan and Torsten.

  Helmut shot Torsten a quick smile that said ‘I’m actually here to see your boss not you.’

  ‘How are your cases?’

  Steffan watched in vain as Saul slipped out of the office and out of sight.

  ‘Going well.’

  ‘Good. I’ve been getting some calls about our most sensitive case, you know the one I mean. There are some who say we aren’t taking it seriously enough. Anything promising turn up?’

  This was the part Steffan hated: the pressure. How would having his boss ask him for a progress update somehow make him work harder? He knew of course this was politics and hence part of the game but he hated it nonetheless. Most murders were committed by people that knew the victim and therefore could be solved by manner of elimination of close family members, colleagues, business associates and the like. It normally boiled down to a crime of passion (which were easy to solve) or finding the person who had the most to gain: Cui bono; and matching that up with the evidence found at the crime scene. Where the murderer was sloppy, stupid or unprepared he had made an arrest, sometimes in a matter of hours. It always surprised him just how easy some people gave it up, almost wanting to be caught.

  This was different. Here such connections were not apparent and hence, the murderer would be harder to find. Steffan was not ruling out the scenario that the murderer would never be found. So
far there had not been much by way of physical evidence and until there was a motive or some connection found between the victims finding the culprit would be tough if not impossible: especially if the killing stopped.

  Of course they would keep investigating, but in the end it might come down to them being lucky. He knew it, his colleagues knew it, his boss knew it, the politicians knew it but they had to be seen to be doing and saying something, especially when Jews were being murdered in Germany. Steffan was not blind to this fact but still he hated lying.

  ‘To be honest, not really, sir.’

  ‘You understand the urgency though, yes?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Good. This is your priority. I will shift your other cases. Let me know if you need anything more.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Pressure applied, Helmut moved onto the next desk on his tour of the office.

  ‘That wasn’t too bad,’ said Torsten.

  Steffan got up and grabbed his jacket, ignoring Torsten’s comment. Steffan hurriedly threw his jacket on, concealing his weapon.

  ‘He wanted to tell us something. Go check the toilets.’

  ‘On my way,’ said Torsten.

  The men separated. Steffan ran down the corridor and slammed the lift call button. Eyeing the lighted indicator panel, willing the lift to move faster.

  ‘Shit,’ he said. Deciding he could not wait, Steffan turned and sprinted down the stairs.

  #

  Saul stepped into the dazzling sunlight, his mind still reeling from the discovery. No wonder Isaac and Mark had not gone to the police. In a way it made perfect sense: it was common knowledge that after the war many former Nazis and party members had joined the ranks of the establishment. This is how the country was able to bounce back so fast after the defeat. Those well-trained bureaucrats that ran the war simply carried on running the democracy using their readily transferable skills. The SS and Gestapo were perfectly trained to run a modern police force and even the BND.