Suddenly, Oppenheimer revived. He shifted to the edge of the chair and interrupted Vogler. “Hold on. Let’s proceed chronologically. What time frame are we talking about?”
“Christina Gerdeler was murdered in August 1943. Julie Dufour in February this year.”
“So this has been going on for nine months?”
“The SS were consulted only after Ms. Dufour was discovered. Her”—Vogler hesitated—“her employer, SS Gruppenführer Reithermann, called us in. We later found out about the Gerdeler case. It was more of a coincidence. We were following a lead in the Hotel Adlon when we were told about a similar case that took place several months prior. I fear that the investigating authorities didn’t examine the case all that carefully. Both Ms. Gerdeler and Ms. Dufour frequented the Adlon on a regular basis. There are indications that the cases were connected. Since Ms. Friedrichsen’s death, we have certainty.”
It was happening again. Oppenheimer felt strangely weary. Once again, he was chasing a madman, a serial killer. As if his experience with Großmann hadn’t been enough. Once again, a merciless creature was bringing terror to Berlin, and no one could foresee what nightmare this would lead to. From the window, Oppenheimer could see a few rays of sun shining through the pine trees, though for him, it was anything but a nice day. He thought of what Hilde would say in this situation.
“Bloody hell.”
Vogler looked at him in surprise. Oppenheimer figured he must have not only thought the words but also spoken them out loud. But there was nothing to make light of. “Bloody hell,” he said again, took off his coat, threw his hat into the opposite corner of the room, and got to work.
* * *
Whether the first victim, Christina Gerdeler, was simply crazy about men or whether she purposefully instigated relationships with wealthy middle-aged men was up for debate. Oppenheimer at least was quite convinced that her prime interest lay in the financial conveniences that such sexual relationships brought with them. Her savings account spoke volumes. There had been regular large cash payments. They had also found a tatty school booklet among her things, where she had meticulously noted down her expenses and earnings. Christina Gerdeler, in her late twenties, lived in a room in the city center that she shared with another tenant. She spent most of her money on elegant clothing, probably unavoidable expenses for an adventuress of her sort. She was a frequent guest at the Hotel Adlon, which served as an oasis for the members of the upper crust while the bomb war raged outside. Any self-respecting man made sure he passed by the Adlon at least once a day to eat in a cultured environment, to exchange important information, or to enter into an occasional adventure with willing and cultivated ladies such as Ms. Gerdeler, who were on the prowl for men in the noble hotel. And Ms. Gerdeler was cultivated, that much was proved by the small but exquisite collection of German literature that had been found alongside all the sophisticated clothing.
Oppenheimer examined the three photographs included in the file. Ms. Gerdeler clearly had them taken by a professional to promote herself among the gentlemen. The photographer had done a good job. The first photo showed her in half profile, wearing a tailcoat and top hat. She had regular features; her eyebrows had been shaved off and replaced with two dark painted lines. The picture emphasized the model’s pretty appearance and its light-dark contrast made it highly appealing from an artistic perspective. If the photograph of a woman in men’s clothing was quite daring, the second photograph—optically, at least—brought Christina Gerdeler a lot closer to party ideals. The picture showed her sitting on a tree trunk in traditional garb, her hair in two plaits, smiling at the camera. Oppenheimer had no idea what sort of costume she was wearing, but there was no doubt it most certainly emphasized Ms. Gerdeler’s impressive cleavage, thereby probably serving its main purpose.
In contrast to this picture, he doubted whether the third photograph of Ms. Gerdeler was presented in public all that often. In it, she was depicted lying naked on a plush chaise longue. Her body, supported by her arm, rested on the extended seating area, and she had bent back her head so that her hair was displayed in its full glory. Reflecting light made her hair shine, and shadowy areas were combined with an optical brightener, which gave Ms. Gerdeler’s body a radiantly enticing outline. This picture was most certainly designed to be passed on to special clients. An effective advertising method, Oppenheimer thought.
These were the only photographs in the file. It seemed that no pictures had been taken of the crime scene or the discovery of the corpse. In Oppenheimer’s opinion, the entire Gerdeler case had been handled in a shockingly unprofessional manner. Her body had been found on Sunday, August 8, 1943, near the Protestant village church in Alt-Marienfelde. An early churchgoer on his way to Sunday service had perceived something light on the grounds, which on closer inspection had turned out not to be rubbish but the dress that Ms. Gerdeler had been wearing. Her body lay in front of a memorial for the fallen of the First World War, but foul play had not really been taken into consideration. Similar to the Friedrichsen case, Ms. Gerdeler’s exposed lower abdomen was facing the stone monument, and the genitalia had been removed. However, the police report said that it was likely stray dogs had a go at the corpse, a conclusion that ignored the strange circumstance that only the woman’s genitalia had been mutilated.
The fact that the police hadn’t looked deeper into the crime scene was probably because bodies were nothing unusual during wartime. And yet Oppenheimer could only shake his head. The investigators seemed to have been primarily concerned with removing the body as quickly as possible. No evidence had been collected. A hastily written report, no police photographs, no witness statements. Oppenheimer considered his colleagues’ unbelievably sloppy work a total fiasco.
The second batch of documents contained the papers pertaining to the Dufour case. This was a completely different situation as far as the material was concerned. While Oppenheimer barely found any information regarding Julie Dufour in the notes, Vogler’s men had done an excellent job of documenting the circumstances under which this body was found, as well as the investigation results. It had happened almost exactly six months after the first murder. Ms. Dufour disappeared during a daylight raid on Friday, February 11. An SS Gruppenführer named Reithermann then reported her missing and explained that Ms. Dufour worked for him as a foreign-language correspondence clerk. He exercised his obviously significant influence within the party to arrange for a large-scale search to be carried out. The mortal remains of Julie Dufour were found at the crossroads between Baerwaldstraße and Urbanstraße in Berlin-Kreuzberg on Saturday night. The parallels to the third murder were far clearer this time. The strangled body had also been placed in front of a memorial, the mutilated lower abdomen facing the stone monument. Two long steel nails had been found in Ms. Dufour’s ear canals, the tips embedded in her brain. This had been different in Christina Gerdeler’s case, but Oppenheimer thought it more than likely that the police had simply overlooked this in the first murder.
The fact that the body had not been found on church premises was not the only difference between the other two murders. The only witnesses in the cases of Inge Friedrichsen and Christina Gerdeler, respectively, were the persons who discovered their bodies. In Ms. Dufour’s case, the problem was that there was a flood of potential eyewitnesses, as she had disappeared in broad daylight from the Hotel Adlon, of all places.
Oppenheimer leafed through several hundred pages of interview protocols for hours on end, but try as he might, he could not find a useful lead. She had last been seen at the beginning of the daylight alarm. While the guests from the Adlon went down to the hotel’s own air raid bunker, it appeared that Julie Dufour had disappeared in plain sight of everyone. Afterward, no one could say for certain what exactly had happened in the general upheaval, as at the time in question, everyone was busy with themselves. The staff were interviewed, the hotel guests who had a reservation at the time, and also the guests from Berlin who had made a habit of turning up in the Ad
lon occasionally. But no one could remember where the young lady had last been seen.
Oppenheimer thought about the first two cases. It was understandable that the investigators had initially been unsure whether the Gerdeler case was connected with that of Ms. Dufour. The documentation on the first murder was insufficient. But it seemed that Vogler had gotten it into his head that the first victim, who had been found in Marienfelde, was also part of the murder series, and Oppenheimer tended to agree with him. In conclusion, it could be said that the distinct similarities between the Dufour and the Friedrichsen case at least left no doubt that they were connected and that it was highly likely that the first murder bore the hallmarks of the same killer.
Oppenheimer now knew how he needed to proceed. Top priority was finding additional parallels between the three cases. This was the only way to unravel the perpetrator’s motive and possibly discover what type of woman was at risk. But the most salient consistency in the first two cases was not a shared character or physical trait, no; the key to it all was the Hotel Adlon.
* * *
A lot of things had happened during the week, and Oppenheimer planned to tell Hilde everything on Sunday. Now the time had come to instigate the diversion he had planned. After lunch, he put on his old coat and pulled out an envelope he had received from Eddie a few days ago. Inside was the promised door key as well as the address.
Lisa was doing the dishes when Oppenheimer went into the kitchen. She looked at him in horror. “Richard, you can’t go out in that old thing. I have to wash it first.”
“It’s just a diversion,” Oppenheimer replied. Then he slipped into his raincoat, which had also seen better days.
“It’s not going to rain today,” Lisa said. “You’re not going to see a rag-and-bone man, are you? These are the only things we still have!”
“No, I’m not going to give them away. I need to see Hilde and want to try to cover my tracks. Don’t worry, I have a plan.”
“Did you also plan for the fact that you’re going to sweat like a pig?”
The thought made Oppenheimer pause briefly. “Hmm, I don’t think there is any alternative. I’ll be back by dinner at the latest.”
Lisa shook her head.
* * *
He hadn’t been wrong. When Oppenheimer stepped out of the front door, he saw a man leaning against a doorway and reading a paper on the other side of the street. He had probably been assigned to watch him.
The key Eddie had given him was for a room in the Beusselkiez neighborhood. Oppenheimer just had to walk toward the subway station Beusselstraße and then steer west. The area was ideal for disappearing. Originally built to house the Loewe factory workers, it now contained countless flats, all stacked alongside one another like the combs of an enormous beehive. Consequentially, the place was very busy. Thanks to the chaotic building activity, it was impossible to estimate how many people had found somewhere to live here in the last few decades. Numerous backyard flats to the rear of the buildings had turned the area into a labyrinth. Oppenheimer recalled that the Beusselkiez had always kept the police busy. The residents held a traditional sympathy for the Social Democrats. Many of them were even radical communists. As the leftist Spartacus League had also been very active here, the rise of the National Socialists had led to repeated street fights.
Oppenheimer went straight through the front door upon arriving. On the third floor, he found the small digs to which the key fitted. Once inside, he noticed that there was a window facing out onto the street, though the room was almost empty. A stove whose iron pipe ran straight through the room, a bed, and a sideboard—that was it. So this was the den Eddie had mentioned. However, there was no trace of the things that small-time gangsters tended to keep.
Oppenheimer removed the two coats he wore. Lisa had been right; large damp patches of sweat had appeared under both his arms. He gave himself a couple of minutes to cool down, then took a few tentative steps toward the window until he was able to see the opposite side of the road. Luckily, it was so bright outside that nobody would be able to spot him in the gloomy room. Unsurprisingly, the man who had been waiting for him outside the Jewish House now stood in the doorway of the house directly opposite.
After Oppenheimer made sure that his tail was alone, he put his coat back on. He hung the raincoat across the back of a chair. He wouldn’t need it until he headed back home. Luckily, it was possible to exit the building through a back door. Eddie had thought of everything.
The street where the man tailing Oppenheimer stood lay in the sun, but barely a ray of light found its way into the narrow backyard of the block. Still, Oppenheimer put on the sunglasses he had with him. Despite this meager disguise, he hoped he wouldn’t be too easy to recognize from a distance with a different coat and the dark glasses.
Apart from a few children playing noisily among the washing that had been hung out to dry, there didn’t seem to be anyone around. Without hesitating, Oppenheimer ran across the backyard and disappeared around the next corner.
* * *
Vogler heard his own steps echo down the corridor. The summons to the Reich Security Main Office had given him an uneasy feeling. He would have been less worried if it had been his direct superior who had asked for him, but the fact that he was supposed to appear before a certain Oberführer Schröder was anything but a good sign. One could accuse Vogler of a number of things, but not of being naïve. Even before he met this man, he knew the appointment had been arranged for him to justify his collaboration with Oppenheimer.
In the highly bureaucratic SS organization, everyone was busy exploiting their comrades’ weaknesses. One could not count on solidarity from inside the ranks. When Vogler had come to Berlin, he hadn’t been under any illusion in this regard. For someone in his position, the most important thing was keeping the possible target area for attack as small as possible if one didn’t want to be degraded or passed over for a promotion.
Vogler knocked and entered the anteroom. “Heil Hitler! Hauptsturmführer Vogler for Oberführer Schröder.”
The male secretary behind the desk looked up from his papers. “Heil Hitler. Please wait here.”
The man stood and went into the adjoining room. Vogler heard low voices through the heavy oak door. The secretary reappeared after a few seconds. Before he could ask Vogler to step inside, an authoritative voice called out, “Come in!”
“Hauptsturmführer Vogler, as per your order!”
“Sit down,” Schröder ordered. He turned back to his papers, presenting Vogler his profile, which was dominated by his bald head and the black eye patch. For the next few seconds, Schröder continued to make notes. Vogler realized that he was being kept on tenterhooks.
Surreptitiously, he looked around the room. Wood paneling everywhere. Two photographs hung on the wall. Both were innocuous images—a portrait of Hitler and one of Himmler. There were no other personal items in the room. Either the Oberführer had not been billeted here for long, or he rarely used the office. Vogler wondered what sort of picture he would present if he were sitting behind that desk.
Finally, Schröder put the pen aside and turned to his subordinate. “You have been charged with the Dufour case?”
“Yes, Oberführer.”
“Tell me, what is this I’ve heard? Although you’re looking for the perpetrator among the Jews, you’ve selected a Yid of all people to help solve the case?”
“Yes, Oberführer.” As Vogler answered, he wondered who had betrayed him. Probably Hauptsturmführer Graeter. Right from the beginning, Graeter had demonstrated that he had his own ideas about how the investigation should be conducted and that this did not coincide with Vogler’s approach. But Graeter had not gone to his superior to start an intrigue; instead, he’d turned to high brass, to Oberführer Schröder. You had to hand it to Graeter; he had excellent connections within the SS and had no scruples about using them.
“Have you taken leave of your senses, man?” the Oberführer said, crimson-faced. “A Jew join
ing the investigation? I hope you have a good explanation, Vogler!”
“I made some inquiries, and I was told that Oppenheimer was the best man for the job. He also has a significant amount of prior knowledge.”
“And you forgot to notice the tiny details that he is of foreign race? I must remind you that this investigation has the highest priority. Your behavior may compromise us.”
“As far as I know, this information was classified, so none of it should become public knowledge.”
“If anything does get out, you’re going to be in the doghouse, my dear man. I will make sure of it!”
“May I state my reasons for choosing Oppenheimer?”
The Oberführer paused briefly. “Go ahead.”
“I consulted him to be able to control the investigation better. It is my intention to work with separate units to whom I give as little information as possible about the results achieved by the other group. I am the only coordinator. The case of the subway murderer showed how careful we need to be.”
“What in the world has that son of a bitch Ogorzow got to do with it?” Oberführer Schröder asked in astonishment.
“As an employee of the Reichsbahn, Ogorzow had access to the results of the investigation. He had an impeccable history, and since he was SA sergeant, he was not initially suspected.”
“The crazy person we are chasing this time must not be a National Socialist. Does this—this Oppenheimer know that the investigation is top secret?”
“I made it abundantly clear.”
“And you think he’ll keep mum?”
“Oppenheimer has been under constant surveillance ever since he came on board.” This was only half the truth. Vogler had only seen the necessity of putting surveillance on him a day later, but he trusted that Graeter didn’t know that.
The Oberführer leaned back in his chair. Vogler sensed that his approach had impressed Schröder in spite of everything.
Germania: A Novel of Nazi Berlin Page 13
