The sergeant had taken an age to find the right file. ‘His name is Kriminalkommisar Amon Toth. Not that he told us his real name first time around. According to the file, we picked him up right after the surrender. He tried to pass himself off as a normal soldier when he was first questioned, but one of the inquisitors flagged him as being suspect, so he was sent back to the cage. Then a German soldier told us who he really was: Toth is ex-SS and ex-Gestapo. He was quite high up in Department C.’
‘Department C? That was Administration and Party Affairs, wasn’t it?’ Lieutenant Taylor said.
‘Yes. And that’s the problem. We know he was linked to the Einsatzgruppen that were going round shooting civilians when the Jerries invaded Poland and Russia, but we can’t find any trace of it. Toth’s a crafty sod. Most likely he destroyed all of his own records. I know the inquisitors at the interrogation centre in Bad Nenndorf are keen to have a crack at him, but I think they’re still gathering the information they need.’
When Taylor and Payne entered the interrogation room, Toth pointed at Payne’s civilian clothes. ‘Who are you? Why do you not wear a uniform?’
The German smiled when he received no answer. ‘I know what you are doing. You are trying to intimidate me with your silence. I, too, have been trained in interrogation techniques.’
Toth spoke good English, but pronounced it with an air of amused contempt, like an adolescent forced to play with children’s toys. ‘I wish to smoke also,’ he said when Taylor lit a cigarette.
‘Is that your way of asking?’
‘Our conversation will be mutually beneficial, I assure you.’
Taylor handed him a cigarette. Payne could see the lieutenant looked nervous and uncomfortable. That wasn’t a good frame of mind in which to start an interrogation, Payne thought.
He was right.
Taylor was a disaster.
Payne had learned that the worst thing you could do when questioning intelligent, voluble men like Toth was to enter into a verbal joust with them, but that was precisely what Taylor did.
‘That’s Lieutenant Taylor, to you,’ he said when Toth kept referring to him as Mister.
Toth shook his head. ‘I can tell you are not a professional soldier, Mr Taylor. You are like most of your army, a civilian in uniform, a dilettante.’
‘Dilettantes that won.’
Toth waved his hand. ‘It was the Russians’ inexhaustible contempt for human life that broke the Wehrmacht, not your cosseted soldiers. Were it not for the eastern front, your armies would have learned of what the German soldier was truly capable.’
Payne said nothing. The only way to make things worse would have been to interrupt Taylor and undermine the miniscule amount of authority he had managed to establish. Payne awaited his opportunity. Eventually, Lieutenant Taylor said, ‘Detective Inspector Payne has some questions to put to you.’
‘Detective Inspector Payne,’ Toth said, pretending to be impressed. ‘After the chisel comes the scalpel. Where do you serve? Are you from the famous –’
‘I’ll ask the questions, Herr Toth.’
Toth smiled at the interruption. ‘The voice of authority. At last,’ he added, nodding his head contemptuously towards Taylor. ‘What is it you need to – ?’
Payne made a point of looking at his watch. ‘What do you know about the murders in Eichenrode? Get straight to the point, or you’re going back outside to the cage.’
Toth made himself comfortable in his seat.
‘It has come to my attention that certain crimes were recently committed in a house outside the town of Eichenrode. A man and a woman were found murdered in the cellar, I believe. I am in a position to help you.’
‘How?’
‘I know who the murderer is.’
‘If you know this man so well, tell me what I found at the crime scene in Eichenrode.’
‘Oh, I imagine there would have been some scalpels, yes? And some form of sewing implement? And vaccines that perhaps were not all they appeared to be.’
Payne tried hard to hide his reaction, but Toth was good. He watched Payne’s face carefully as he spoke and smiled when he saw the evident interest there.
‘And what does he do with these scalpels?’ Payne said.
‘Oh, it’s far more fun if you find that out for yourself. And you will do, soon, that I can promise. I imagine your security forces have yet to realise the extreme danger the individual responsible for these crimes poses. If this man has been living free among you since the end of the war there will be more than two victims, I can assure you. You just haven’t found the others yet.’
‘And who is he?’
‘He is what the doctors call a psychopath, a man with no conscience, no morals and no qualms – a monster, if you will, whose only concern is following the dictates of his twisted pathology. He led the Reich’s security forces a merry dance for nearly eighteen months before we caught him. And he was extremely active during that period. He managed to kill a total of thirteen men and women.’
Payne was making notes as Toth spoke.
‘Tell me how you became involved in this case.’
‘My involvement began in Berlin, in July 1943. There had been a particularly heavy air raid and the rescue teams were searching the cellars of damaged buildings for the dead. In the cellar of one building they found the remains of six men and women.
‘There was no question of their having been killed in the air raid, as each person’s remains had been very carefully butchered and the body parts stored in lime. The matter was first reported to the Kripo criminal police, but when it became apparent three of the dead men were soldiers who had previously gone AWOL, the matter came to the attention of the Gestapo.’
‘I suppose you’ll tell me these murders were all hushed up and that there’s no way of corroborating them?’
‘On the contrary, they were widely reported. Especially when more houses with more bodies began to appear across the Reich. They were attributed to English air crews at first. It was a way of stirring up a little extra hate, I suppose. Any of the national newspapers should have coverage of the murders.’
Payne looked at Toth’s face. Was he bluffing? No, Toth was too good for that. He must know Payne would check up on what he was saying.
Toth smiled, as if reading Payne’s thoughts. ‘Although, I must warn you, the newspaper reports do contain one very important factual error.’
‘Which is?’
Toth smiled, said nothing.
‘You mentioned that this man was caught,’ Payne said. ‘If that’s so, how is it he is free now? Surely he would have been executed.’
Toth smiled and wagged a finger playfully. ‘No, Mr Payne. I have no intention of telling you that.’
‘And how was it he was able to possess so many houses?’
‘Nor that.’
‘So, what precisely are you offering us?’
‘I can provide a detailed description of your man, both physically and psychologically, perhaps even provide you with photos if I am granted access to the correct files. I can tell you how he hunts, the profile of his victims. I can tell you enough to ensure his swift and easy capture.’
‘And what is your price for supplying us with this information?’
‘I want safe passage out of Allied Europe. You will take me to some point close to the Spanish border – Perpignan, for example – and supply me with all the necessary documentation. I will then divulge all I know about the nature of your problem.’
When Taylor laughed, Toth sneered at him.
‘Do you think it is not already happening? I’ll wager if I had been working at Peenemünde on the V-weapon project I would already be in America or England, living like a lord. I know of men with questionable backgrounds – far more questionable than my own – who have successfully bought their way out. There are upward
s of 5,000 men in this camp alone. It would be simplicity itself for one man to disappear.’
Taylor had been shifting on his seat while Toth spoke. Now he stood up suddenly and began berating the man in a voice made shrill by emotion.
‘You’re wanted for war crimes, you bastard. You won’t be allowed to wriggle off the hook.’
Toth waved his hand dismissively. ‘War crimes? Human history is a litany of massacre. In the last war, the Turks slaughtered the Armenians; the Greeks slaughtered the Turks. What answer would you receive from a Boer, were you to mention concentration camps? Or talk of the civility of British government to an Irishman? Or an Indian? Colonial government is never easy. History will either absolve the Germans or it will accuse all empires of these ‘war crimes’.’
Taylor’s face was bright red. Payne saw tears had formed in his eyes.
‘Why don’t you go and get a glass of water, Lieutenant?’ he said.
Taylor left the room, his hands shaking.
‘How did you catch him?’ Payne said, when the door had closed. ‘It will be very difficult to go to my superiors with details of your proposal if I have nothing to offer them.’
Toth blew smoke rings towards the light bulb as he considered this. ‘Very well. Check the newspapers and you will readily discover the discrepancy in the official version of the story. And look for details on the military operation codenamed Greif. It was that which finally allowed us to capture him. When you have done this, return here with details of when and where I am to be released and we will talk further.’
‘Greif? What was that?’ Payne said. The word meant gryphon in German.
‘I will say no more. But from that you will discover a detail that will be particularly useful if you wish to catch this man. And particularly dangerous, given the current circumstances in Germany.’
When Payne left the interrogation room, he found Taylor outside, leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Taylor said in a flat voice. ‘I just . . . hate them all.’
‘Do you think there’s any truth to what he says? About Nazis escaping, I mean?’
Taylor waved his hand dismissively. ‘One hears rumours, naturally, but I don’t believe them. If there were organised routes of escape, why did we manage to capture people like Göring and Himmler? They would have been the first to use these so-called ratlines, don’t you think? You don’t look convinced, Detective Inspector.’
Payne wasn’t. Men were fallible. And greedy. There was always a way.
Taylor put out his cigarette. ‘Surely, you don’t put any faith in what he said, do you? Didn’t you get the impression he was a flim-flam operator of the highest order?’
Payne thought about that as they walked back to Taylor’s jeep. He didn’t like Toth; that had been his first, overriding impression. There was something oily and unpleasant about the man. Then Payne realised there was one other impression he’d formed while interrogating Toth: he was damned glad their situations had not been reversed.
6
THAT EVENING, CAPTAIN Booth attended a drinks party hosted by Colonel Bassett’s staff.
Military Government social events were the bane of Booth’s life: it was bad enough having to serve alongside these idiots, but socialising with them off-duty was torture. Colonel Bassett was the sort of crusty old imperialist Booth would have walked a mile to avoid back in civvy street and the rest of the occupation forces stationed at Eichenrode were just as bad: braggarts, blusterers and blunderers, the lot of them. Most had never seen a shot fired in anger and yet they strutted around before the German civilians like they’d stormed the Normandy beaches single-handed. And this werewolf scare had got them all lathered up. You could see it in their faces: they were excited at the prospect of seeing some ‘action’, especially now the chances of sustaining a serious injury were minimal.
Booth went to stand beside a window. Outside, the streets were filled with military activity. Bassett had ordered numerous roadblocks and extra guard posts to be established on all the major thoroughfares in the town and the night patrols had been doubled.
Across the room, Booth could see Lieutenant Taylor standing by the drinks table, getting quietly sloshed in the same way Tubbs seemed to do five nights out of every seven these days. Booth sipped his own drink, lost in thought.
In his heart of hearts, Booth knew that what had happened to Tubbs Taylor wasn’t really his fault, but he had never really been able to shift his sense of guilt. It had all happened so quickly.
Back in April, a call had come through that a group of SS men had approached 2nd Army’s lines to warn them of a typhus outbreak and said that they were offering to surrender. Could someone from Field Intel go up there and help with the arrests? Booth had been all set to go, but Tubbs had said, ‘I don’t mind popping over there, Jimmy. I’ve just filled the utility up. What’s this place called?’
Booth looked at his notes. ‘Bergen-Belsen.’
Tubbs returned two days later, a changed man. He’d never really spoken about what he saw there, but his usual nervy introspection had been replaced by something else, something raw and vulnerable, as if he were a tree stripped of its bark.
That first night after his return Tubbs had wet the bed. He had tried to hide it, rising early and removing the bedding and turning his mattress, but after ten years being educated at boarding schools Booth could read the signs of what had happened.
That was why Booth had ensured that, since his visit to Belsen, Tubbs had been given the lightest of duties: mostly paperwork, carrying out background checks on suspected Nazis, liaising with officers from the Public Safety Branch and vetting the Fragebogen questionnaires. Booth and the sergeants handled most of the hands-on stuff now.
That was why it irked him so much that Detective Inspector Payne had taken Tubbs off to interrogate this Gestapo man earlier in the day. Tubbs simply wasn’t up to it.
When Booth had asked how the interrogation had gone, Tubbs was non-committal. That almost certainly meant it had gone badly. Booth had sat in on some of Tubbs’s interrogations and he could picture what had happened. Tubbs just couldn’t avoid getting genuinely angry. Let the prisoner realise that, and the battle was pretty much lost before you’d even begun.
To make matters worse, Colonel Bassett had bawled Booth out for it.
‘I hear that policeman has been out hobnobbing with the bloody Gestapo today, Captain Booth,’ Bassett had said as soon as Booth had arrived. ‘With the Gestapo. And to cap it all, one of your officers went with him to facilitate the process. Did I not make myself clear? I do not want this wretched Peeler interfering with army business.’
Booth had tried to defend himself. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but Detective Inspector Payne is investigating crimes that –’
‘A bloody Waffen SS officer and his floozy get their just desserts and you call it a crime? Do you know what this Gestapo bastard said to the policeman? He wants to cut himself a deal in exchange for giving us information. That’s the real crime. Well, I’ve pulled the rug from under his feet. I’ve had him shipped off to the high-level interrogation centre at Bad Nenndorf. They’ll know how to look after him there. There’ll be no deals cut with any of these bastards, not while I’m in charge.’
A roar of laughter drew Booth’s attention back to the party. He lit a cigarette and began mingling again.
Guest of honour at tonight’s bash was Professor Svoboda, a small Czech man from the World Medical Association whose surname nobody had been able to pronounce correctly even before the serious drinking began. Accompanied by an escorting officer, Svoboda was touring Germany and Austria to gather evidence on the human experimentation that had taken place in the concentration camps. Svoboda’s presence was the reason Booth had agreed to attend the drinks party. He needed to speak to the man.
All of the documents Booth had found at Wolffslust were
here in Eichenrode now. Booth had organised a work detail from among the prisoners and had had them load all of the boxes and crates aboard a lorry. The offices of Booth’s field intelligence unit were now crammed with them.
Since coming back from the prison, he’d had a cursory look at the documentation and had quickly realised it was so far beyond his field of experience that he would have to seek outside help. All he’d established so far was that there were medical records for more than forty patients, all of whom had German sounding surnames, and that, according to the Nazis’ warped racial criteria, their bloodlines were faultlessly Aryan.
Except one.
This man, Patient 14, had a half-Jewish ancestor on his mother’s side from three generations back. The word Mischling – mixed-blood – had been written at the top of this patient’s records in red ink. The word had been underlined and was followed by three exclamation marks. Booth thought there was an almost triumphant flourish in the way the word had been highlighted, as if this was what the investigators had been seeking all along.
That was Booth’s sole find of any real interest. Much of the documentation consisted of endless transcripts of conversations that had taken place between the chief doctor, Wiegand, and the patients. The transcripts covered all manner of subjects: childhoods, sexual fantasies, relationships with their parents.
The prisoners at Wolffslust knew very little about what had gone on in the cellars of the prison. Some remembered that in the autumn of ’44 soldiers with construction equipment had come to begin work in the cellar. Lorries filled with SS men and civilian workers had arrived with crates of equipment. Then had come a number of vehicles that had arrived in the dead of night. They contained men in white overalls and ‘special’ prisoners who were kept apart from the others.
One prisoner remembered helping to drag huge blocks of ice to the door of the cellar. Another mentioned seeing a man in ankle and wrist chains being walked from one of the cells on the lower floor down into the cellar.
Booth poured himself another pink gin and hovered by Svoboda’s side, waiting for an opportunity to get the man’s attention.
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