by Philip Kerr
“You may have lost the war but—and this is a first, I think—it looks like you’re going to win the peace. Germany is still going to help rule Europe as part of this new EEC. Greece is already desperate to join. We’ve been trying to be good Europeans since the fall of Constantinople. And mostly succeeding, too, I’m happy to say, otherwise I’d probably be wearing a veil and covering my face.”
“That would be a tragedy.”
“No, but it would be a hardship, for me at least. In Greece, tragedies usually involve someone being murdered. We practically invented the idea of the noble hero brought low by some flaw of character.”
“In Germany we’ve got plenty of those to go around.”
“This is Greece, Herr Ganz. We’re not about to forget any of those.”
“And yet you still want to join our club?”
“Of course. We invented hypocrisy, too, remember? As a matter of fact I’m hoping to be part of the Greek delegation in Brussels when we lobby the Germans and the French for membership next year. My French is good. On account of how my mother is half-French. But you’re wrong about my German. I make lots of mistakes.”
“Maybe I can help you there.”
“I didn’t know it was possible to insure against those kinds of mistakes.”
“If it was I certainly wouldn’t be your man, Elli. I don’t sell insurance. I just check the claims. Disappointing people is usually part of my job description. But only when they’ve disappointed me. There’s something about insurance that brings out the worst in people. Some people can just smell dishonesty. I’m one of those, I guess.”
“Papakyriakopoulos said you used to be a cop. In Berlin. Not a German-language teacher.”
“That’s right. But I wouldn’t mind talking to you, Elli. In German or in French. We might meet from time to time and share a cup of coffee or a drink. In here since it’s so public. When you’re not too busy, of course. We could have some German conversation.”
“That’s one I certainly haven’t heard before. Hmm.”
“Does that mean you’re thinking about it?”
“You amuse me, Herr Ganz.”
“Next time I’ll wear a straw hat and carry a cane if it will help.”
“I bet you would, too. If you thought I’d like that.”
She should have said no, of course. Or at the very least she should have made me work a little harder for the pleasure of her company. She could have asked me what the German was for “pushy” and I wouldn’t have minded in the slightest because she’d have been right. I was being pushy. So I let her off the hook for a moment wondering if she’d hitch up her skirts and wriggle her way back onto it.
“But what about your father? Don’t you speak German to him?”
“He’s dead, I’m afraid.”
“Sorry.”
“But maybe you’re right. We could meet, perhaps. For a little conversation.”
“Those are the best kind.”
“You don’t like to talk?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“On who I’m talking to. Lately I’ve gotten out of the habit of saying very much.”
“I find that rather hard to believe.”
“It’s true. But with you I could make an exception.”
“Somehow I don’t feel flattered.”
“Haven’t you heard? There’s nothing like speaking a language with a native to get better at it. You could think of yourself as the horse and me as the emperor Charles V.” Still testing her. The insult was deliberate.
She laughed. “Didn’t he have an unfeasibly large jaw?”
“Yes. In those days you didn’t get to be a king unless there was something strange about you. Especially in Germany.”
“That probably explains our own kings. They’re Germans, too, originally. From Schleswig-Holstein. And they have the biggest mouths in Greece. But as it happens, you’re right. There’s not much German conversation to be had here in Greece. For obvious reasons.”
“Lieutenant Leventis speaks quite reasonable German. Almost as well as you. Maybe we could ask him along to our little class.”
“Lieutenant Leventis?” Elli smiled. “I couldn’t meet him without half of Athens getting to hear about it and drawing the wrong conclusion. Besides, his wife might object. Not to mention the fact that he and I hold very different political opinions, so we’d probably spend most of the time arguing. He’s rather more to the right than I am. Only don’t tell anyone. I try to keep a lid on my politics. Konstantinos Karamanlis is hardly a great friend of the left.”
“There’s no film in my camera, Elli. Politics don’t interest me. And in Greece they’re beyond my understanding. The left most of all.”
“Maybe it could work,” she said, persuading herself some more. “Why not? I might even get to understand the German people a little better.”
“I know that feeling.”
“You don’t think it’s possible?”
“I’m not sure. But let me know when you think you’ve got a handle on us. I’d love to get a few clues as to why we are who we are.”
“My father used to say that only the Austrians are really suited to being Germans; he said that the Germans themselves make excellent Englishmen, even though they all secretly wish they could be Italians. That this was their tragedy. But he liked Germans a lot.”
“He sounds like a great guy.”
“He was.”
The barman brought her something green and cold in a glass and she toasted me pleasantly.
“Here’s to the new Europe,” she said. “And to me speaking better German.”
I toasted her back. “You really believe in this EEC?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“I quite liked the old Europe. Before people started talking about a new Europe the last time. And the time before that.”
“It’s only by doing away with the idea of nation states that we can put an end to fascism and to war.”
“As someone who’s fought in all three, I’ll drink to that.”
“Three?”
“The Cold War is all too real, I’m afraid.”
“We’ve nothing to fear from the Russians. I’m sure of that. They’re just like us.”
I let that one go. The Russians were not like anyone, as anyone in Hungary and East Germany would have told you. If Martians ever did make it across the gulf of space to our planet with their inhuman plans for conquest and migration they’d feel quite at home in Soviet Russia.
“But if we meet,” she added, “for conversation, let’s avoid politics. And let’s not make it in here.”
“Your boss?”
“What about him?”
“He might see you.”
She stared at me blankly, as if she had no idea what I was talking about. But that could just have been my German.
“In here,” I added. “With me. Having a conversation.”
“Yes. You’re right. That would never do.”
“So. You suggest somewhere. Somewhere that isn’t cheap. I have an expense account and no one to take to dinner this weekend except Mr. Garlopis. He’s MRE’s man in Athens. But he’s a man. A fat man with an appetite. So it will make a nice change. These days I’m alone so much that I’m surprised when I find someone in the mirror in the morning.”
“If he’s the one who booked you into the Mega then I’d say you should have him fired. I bet he’s got a cousin in the hotel business.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Everyone in Greece has a cousin. That’s how this country works. Take my word for it.”
But I didn’t know if I would. Seated at the very bar where I’d already been duped by one liar, I wasn’t sure I believed what she’d told me but she seemed like a nice girl and nice girls didn’t
come my way that often. Then again, the truth is never best and seldom kind so what did it really matter why she was there? A lot of lies are just the oil that keeps the world from grinding to a halt. If everyone suddenly started being scrupulously honest there’d be another world war before the end of the month. If Miss Panatoniou wanted me to think our meeting again was purely accidental then that was her affair. Besides I could hardly see what there was in it for this woman to deceive me. It wasn’t like Siegfried Witzel was alive or that she had an insurance claim against MRE I might settle in her favor. I really didn’t have any money or any powerful friends. I didn’t even have a passport. Nor was I about to persuade myself that she was just one of those younger women who are attracted to much older men because they’re looking for a father figure. I was attracted to her, sure, why not? She was very attractive. But the other way around? I didn’t buy that. So I searched her briefcase when she went to the ladies’ room, like you do and, to my surprise, I found something more lethal than a few critical reports about the Greek economy. I’d been around guns all my life and about the only thing I didn’t like about them was when they were hidden in a woman’s bag. Suddenly everyone in town seemed to have a gun except me. This one was a six plus one, a .25-caliber with a tip-up barrel and it was still wrapped in the original greaseproof paper, presumably to protect the lining of her bag from gun oil. They were called mouse guns because they were small and cute. At least that was always the rumor. My own feeling about this was somewhat different. Finding a woman with a Beretta 950 was like discovering that she was the cat and that maybe I was the mouse. I figured there were plenty of moths around to put holes in my clothes without finding one in my guts as well.
When she came back to the bar smelling of soap and yet more perfume I thought about mentioning the Beretta and decided not to bother. Who could blame her if she was carrying a Bismarck? By all accounts Greek men weren’t very good at taking no for an answer, so maybe she needed it to defend those magnificent breasts. I told myself everything would be fine between us just as long as I didn’t try to put my hands on those, and that her little mouse gun would certainly stop me making a fool of myself, which was probably a good thing. So I ordered another round of drinks and while I was looking at the barman I tried to twist my eyes to the farthest corners of their sockets so that I might at least look down the front of Miss Panatoniou’s cleavage, but discreetly, so she wouldn’t notice what I was up to, and shoot me simply for being the swine I undoubtedly was. In March of 1957 that was what I called my sex life.
TWENTY-EIGHT
–
On Monday, March 25, West Germany, France, Belgium, Italy, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands signed the Treaty of Rome, creating the European Economic Community. I suppose it made a welcome change from a peace treaty bringing a war to an end and maybe it would even prevent another one from happening, as Elli Panatoniou had told me it would. But only four years after the end of the Korean War and another briefer conflict more recently concluded in Egypt, I found it impossible to have much faith that the EEC heralded a new era of European peace; wars were easy to begin but, like making love, very hard to stop. The community of economic self-interest seemed almost irrelevant to what real people needed.
More important for me and Garlopis, Philipp Dietrich telephoned the MRE office in Athens, as arranged by Telesilla. While I took the call at Garlopis’s desk I watched him out of the corner of my eye flirting with her like an overweight schoolboy. I couldn’t hear what was said but the redhead was laughing and, in spite of his earlier denials, I formed the strong impression that they were a lot closer than he wanted me to believe. Not that it was any of my business. For all I cared he could have been flirting with Queen Jocasta.
“I got your telegram,” said Dietrich. “This Athenian cop, Leventis, sounds like a real pain in the ass. Are you sure you and Garlopis don’t need a lawyer?”
“No thanks, I think we’re all right for now. If we start throwing lawyers at him he’ll probably just toss us in jail and I could be stuck here for months. He’d be justified in doing it, too. Almost. Right now we’re both at liberty. At least we are as long as I play detective and help him find the killer.”
“Is that even possible?”
“I don’t know. But I can certainly persuade him I’m trying. And that’s probably good enough. He’s not a bad sort, really. From what I’ve learned since I came here, the Greeks had a pretty rough time of it during the war. He figures I owe him some personal reparation. Because I’m German, I guess.”
I thought I’d leave Alois Brunner out of our conversation; Nazi war criminals were still a very sensitive subject in Germany for the simple reason that almost everyone had known one. I’d known quite a few myself.
“What the hell happened anyway?”
“Garlopis and I went to an address where we believed the insured party was living, to tell him that we were going to disallow his claim pending further investigation. Witzel carried a gun so, under the circumstances, we were a little concerned for our safety and went in the back door, which is when and where we found his body. He’d been shot dead.”
“Jesus.”
“On our way from the house, the cops turned up and arrested us both on suspicion. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all. It’s an old story and any Bavarian court of law would throw it out in five minutes. But my being German hardly helps the situation here. With the Greek love for cosmic irony they’d be delighted if they could pin this on another German.”
“I’ll bet they would. Murderous Germans are all the rage these days. You can’t go to a movie theater without seeing some sneering Nazi torturing a nice girl. Look, do whatever you think is necessary, Christof. Mr. Alzheimer is delighted with the way you’ve handled this so far.”
I didn’t doubt that for a minute; a saving of thirty-five thousand deutschmarks would have put a smile on anyone’s face, even a sneering Nazi’s.
“We’re just sorry that this has been more difficult for you than we thought it would be. That it’s landed you in trouble with the police.”
“Don’t worry about me, boss. I can handle a certain amount of trouble with the police. That’s one of the only advantages of being a German. We’re used to cops throwing their weight around.”
“All the same, if you change your mind about that lawyer, I’m told by our legal department that you should contact Latsoudis & Arvaniti, in Piraeus. They’re a good firm. We’ve used them before.”
I picked up a pen and wrote the name down, just in case. Then I wrote down Buchholz’s name and underlined it, willing Dietrich to get to the point. I also wrote out the name of Walther Neff, to prompt me, courteously, to ask a little later on, how my sick colleague at MRE was doing.
“I’ve got a feeling you’ll need them anyway on account of what I’ve found out here in Munich,” added Dietrich. “I don’t think it will help.”
“You spoke to Professor Buchholz?”
“I did.”
“And what did he say?”
“Not much. Nothing I could understand, anyway, on account of the fact that he had a massive stroke before Christmas and it has left him paralyzed down one side of his body. He can hardly speak. He’s in Schwabing Hospital right now and is not expected to recover much.”
I drew a small rectangle around Buchholz’s name. It was a rectangle that was shaped like a coffin, a toe-pincher like the ones they’d shipped to the Western front in their hundreds before an advance on the enemy trenches, to encourage the men’s morale.
“But that’s not all,” continued Dietrich. “I also went to the Glyptothek Museum, where he was assistant director, and they told me they have absolutely no knowledge of any expedition to Greece. None. Nor of any deal done with this museum in Piraeus. Frankly, it’s impossible to see how Buchholz could arrange a taxi home, let alone a boat charter for Witzel and the Doris. I also spoke to his wife and she showed me his
passport. The professor hasn’t been out of Germany in over a year. The last Greek stamp on his passport was in June 1951. Either Siegfried Witzel was lying about him or someone has been impersonating Buchholz. He’s a goddamned vegetable.”
“So maybe that’s why someone picked him off the stall.”
“How do you mean?”
“You remember that break-in at the museum?”
“I remember. Yes.”
“The cops never found out who was responsible. Kids, they thought. But at the time I had my doubts about that.”
“Are you saying these two cases are connected?”
“They were kids who broke into the assistant director’s desk and left the cash box alone. Which is a kite that simply doesn’t fly. I’m thinking that it was maybe his office stationery someone was after. Business cards, headed notepaper. That and a few small pieces of marble that no one could be bothered to claim for.”
“For what purpose?”
“Perhaps this person wanted to persuade the authorities here in Greece that they were mounting a proper expedition to recover bigger, more valuable historical artifacts. Some official German paperwork and a few bits of bronze and marble might have helped that story stay afloat. And I think your first guess was probably accurate. Either there’s been a local invasion of the body snatchers or someone has been impersonating Professor Buchholz. The question is, who? If I can find that out, then maybe the Greek police will let me come home. Look, sir, see what else you can dig up on Siegfried Witzel. War record. Wives. This underwater movie he made. Anything at all.”
“All right.”
“By the way, how’s Neff?”
“That’s the damnedest thing. He discharged himself from hospital and has since disappeared. The police are looking for him, but so far without result.”
“That is strange.”
“Even stranger than you imagine. His wife reckons a cop from the Praesidium came to visit him at home the day before he suffered his heart attack, only they don’t seem to know anything about it.”
