“Your wife—is she also in the country?”
“No, she’s here. Close by.”
“Ah, I understand. I sometimes quite like having Margarete off my back. But it’s not a long-term solution. And the children. I do worry about them when they’re gone.”
“I understand. That’s the way it is with children.”
The guard looked at them briefly. Then he looked past them again.
“Good-bye,” Holm said on his way out to the guard.
When the heavy door closed behind them, Oppenheimer breathed a sigh of relief. He crossed the garden by Holm’s side and eventually exited from the front gate into the street. He’d made it. He had escaped. Oppenheimer had not considered it possible that it could be that easy. He could see Lüttke’s car at the next corner.
“Do you want to come for a drink?” Holm asked.
“Another time. My wife is waiting.”
“See you soon, then.”
“Indeed,” Oppenheimer said, relieved. He turned away hastily. Too hastily, as suddenly the two files slipped out from under his coat and landed directly in front of Holm’s feet on the pavement.
Oppenheimer felt his heart stop. He’d betrayed himself. Bauer and Lüttke were too far away to be able to help. They also weren’t counting on him coming out of the front gate.
“Whoops!” Holm said and bent down with a groan. He picked up the files and looked at them curiously. “What have we got here, then?” He was unable to read the labels on the file in the darkness. Holm looked at Oppenheimer attentively. “Are they yours?”
“I—I took them with me,” Oppenheimer stuttered.
Holm looked doubtfully at the files. He seemed to be considering what to think of this. Then a grin spread across his face as he thought he understood. “Homework, what? Good for you.”
He handed the file to Oppenheimer, who tried not to appear too frantic as he took them back. “Many thanks. Yes, work, work.”
Holm chuckled. “Carry on, my diligent chap. Heil Hitler!” With these words, he turned around and a few seconds later had disappeared into the darkness.
* * *
The glow of his lighter would have to do. Although they were outside the city now, Oppenheimer didn’t dare to switch on the flashlight because of the blackout order.
Bauer and Lüttke had not been particularly happy about him having taken the two files, but Oppenheimer had talked his way out of it by saying that after having run into the man named Holm, he wouldn’t have been able to get rid of them unobtrusively. Now, he and Hilde at least had the opportunity to scan the files during the drive and find out who their perpetrator was. They put their heads together over the papers. They had quickly decided how to divide their tasks. While Hilde went through Lutzow’s medical report, Oppenheimer browsed through the two men’s files, looking for consistencies. After only a couple of minutes, he came across something.
“Here it is.” Oppenheimer could barely contain his excitement. “The connection between Ziegler and Lutzow. Here are copies of the registration entries. They lived in the same block of flats in Köpenick for several months, three and a half years ago.”
“That means they know each other.”
“It’s likely, but we can’t prove it. We’d have to ask former residents. If I were still with the crime squad, I’d also go through the files there to see if there were any unsolved murder cases in the Köpenick area at the time. Maybe other women fell victim to them.”
“Bullshit. You’re always too cautious, Richard. Common sense tells us that they met there.”
Oppenheimer couldn’t prevent himself from smiling. “Common sense? Wow! From you of all people? Normally, you base everything on facts!”
“Look, Lutzow definitely fits the age profile that we have. If we assume that the two of them worked together, this also explains the differing injuries the victims had. It’s been bothering me the entire time. I couldn’t explain it properly, but now it makes sense.”
Oppenheimer interrupted her before Hilde could continue. “Wait a moment. You’re already three steps ahead.”
Hilde took a deep breath. With all the forbearance she could muster, she began to explain her train of thought. “It’s quite simple. Let’s assume that Ziegler was just an assistant. Let’s say he just wanted to satisfy his sadistic impulses. In that case, the recordings are probably a sort of souvenir—a trophy, if you will. The recordings show the victims begging for mercy while nails are being hammered into their ears. That is connected to Ziegler.”
Oppenheimer nodded. “Right, that could be the case. What about the mutilated genitals?”
“I was just getting to that. It has to be connected to the second perpetrator, to Lutzow. Judging by the letters, he hates women. His motivation is to put the so-called prostitutes out of action. Which is exactly what he does. He doesn’t only kill them but also steals their genitals so that they can no longer be a danger. In any case, it has to be Lutzow who wrote the letters; Ziegler is simply too stupid. Lutzow dressed up his deeds ideologically, he wants public recognition, and he goes as far as displaying the corpses in public. He is definitely the driving force behind these murders.”
“Well, here is a document that shows Lutzow was at the front during the last war. So there is a connection to that time, that much is true. It seems he didn’t get any sort of award, but there aren’t any indications that he was dishonorably discharged either.”
Hilde cast a brief glance at the piece of paper and then pointed to it. “Lutzow’s abnormal behavior must somehow be connected to this period of time. Otherwise, it makes no sense that he presented the women in front of the First World War monuments.”
“So you mean that he had some sort of experience with women during this time that shaped his thinking?”
A cynical smile played around Hilde’s lips as she waved the medical report in front of his face. “Do you know when this was dated? In 1920. Lutzow was treated for syphilis during this time. Did you read it?”
Oppenheimer shook his head in surprise. “What does Lutzow’s former illness have to do with it?”
“He experienced exactly what he describes in his letters. He contracted syphilis from a woman, and years later, he blusters on about how the German man’s body is damaged by prostitutes. This speaks for itself. He probably saw some sort of connection to his own wartime experiences. Maybe he visited a brothel for the first time at the front, possibly even had his first sexual experience altogether. This wouldn’t be unusual. He is young, lives among soldiers, feels grown-up and paints the town red.”
Oppenheimer frowned. “That’s quite a few ifs and buts.”
“It doesn’t matter as long as it’s the truth. All that matters is whether Lutzow believes it. He must have construed some connection, and this experience later shapes all his actions. And the crazy thing is that we might have been spared all of this.”
“You mean Hitler’s amnesty? Billhardt mentioned it. It must be mentioned farther on.” Oppenheimer started to thumb through the file, but Hilde interrupted him.
“Not Hitler. I mean the doctors Lutzow consulted back then. They definitely didn’t treat him correctly. Do you know the symptoms of syphilis when it is not completely cured?” Hilde didn’t wait for Oppenheimer’s answer. “Sometimes the nerve tissue in the spinal cord or brain slowly degrades. Personality changes, hallucinations, delusions of grandeur, the full range. These are exactly the symptoms that can be deduced from our murderer’s letters. Lutzow was not insane when he sought treatment. This only happened because the doctors mistreated him, these stupid idiots.”
After this observation, Hilde sighed deeply and looked outside where the moonlight was shining onto the flat fields. Lüttke had decided to take the southern route around the city. It was the shortest way to the murderer’s hiding place. But Oppenheimer barely knew where they were right now.
“Lutzow might have become a bastard,” Hilde mumbled, “but he is also a pretty interesting case. If only I’d g
otten my hands on this file earlier. What happened to him after the war?”
Oppenheimer briefly looked at the papers. “Well, for the first few years, there is no trace of him. The medical report that you have is the only document from this time. The rest sounds like the usual party career. The court files paint a pretty good picture of what he was getting up to. He was a war veteran, but he’s not able to get established. I’m guessing that he didn’t feel accepted by society, like so many returning German soldiers. In any case, he kept the wolf from the door by working as an unskilled laborer, took every job he could find. He even worked at a butcher’s once, which would fit in with the precise cuts found on the victims. But he didn’t stay for long anywhere. Then, in the mid-1920s, he signed up with the SA storm troops.”
Hilde snorted derisively. “Of course. The perfect refuge for the chronically disadvantaged. So Lutzow haunted the streets with his Nazi activists. Doesn’t surprise me.”
“Well, here it’s paraphrased as political activities. But now things are getting interesting. At the time, Lutzow lived in Charlottenburg. The SA people have a meeting place there, the restaurant Zur Altstadt in Hebbelstraße. Once they’d set up camp there, they turned the place into their ‘Storm Joint.’ The owners apparently tolerated it, although their regulars seem to have been more communist than socialist. There was also some sort of dungeon for locking up political prisoners.”
Hilde’s features had hardened during Oppenheimer’s description. “You don’t need to explain that to me.”
When she sensed Oppenheimer’s questioning gaze, she added, “I had a patient at the time. He was unlucky enough to get taken to such a place. They beat him with burning torches, and when he got thirsty, they gave him wood preservative to drink. It’s almost unimaginable. When they finally let him out, all I could do was send him to hospital. He lay in a bath of boracic acid for a week, suffering terribly, before he died. Considering that there are probably dozens of such hideouts here, it makes you wonder how many more Lutzows are running around Berlin.”
Oppenheimer stared ahead glumly. After clearing his throat, he said, “Well, nobody is likely to be able to answer that question. In any case, the authorities didn’t become aware of Lutzow until he attacked the unionist’s wife in Moabit. That was in September 1932. These files were originally put together for the murder case. The judge considered Lutzow’s behavior to be a malicious attack and sentenced him to death.”
“And then Hitler came to power just a few months later.”
“Exactly. Lutzow got lucky. His murder was seen as a politically motivated attack, and the sentence was never carried out. They let him go without further ado. But a short while later, Lutzow’s career within the party falters. When the power struggle within the various camps of the NSDAP flared up, he seems to have remained loyal to the SA.”
Hilde considered this. “In that case, he was pretty stupid. If he really only wanted to climb the career ladder, then he would have joined the SS no later than the Night of the Long Knives, when Röhm and the entire SA leadership were massacred.”
“Well, I can understand it,” Oppenheimer replied. “He was probably of the opinion that he and his SA comrades had been doing all the donkeywork. The street fights had laid the foundation for Hitler’s rise to power. But the führer’s gratitude failed to materialize, and the competitors from the SS gained ever more influence.”
Hilde shook her head. “Hang on; don’t forget that it was the SS who were primarily responsible for the SA being scrapped. Röhm was stupid enough to pick a fight with the Reichswehr. That egotistical idiot dreamed of having the entire military dancing to his tune.”
“Of course I know that,” Oppenheimer protested. “Maybe Lutzow hoped for the same. In any case, the SA had no chance of asserting themselves. Hitler deemed the brown-shirted rabble that had brought him to power too unrefined. He was Reich Chancellor now and trying to appear respectable. It was just inconvenient that Röhm of all people was heading up the SA in this situation. Röhm saw his own people as the spearhead of the new ideology and played the part of the revolutionary, while Hitler primarily wanted to secure his power. When Röhm refused to be fobbed off and became too recalcitrant, he basically signed his own death warrant. Now imagine what Lutzow thought in this situation. The way was cleared for the SS; the SA officially continued to exist but no longer held any power. Now all Lutzow and his comrades were good for was making up the numbers during parades.”
Hilde’s eyes narrowed as she spun this idea on. “Initially, Lutzow would certainly have felt alienated. He saw that National Socialism was going in a direction that didn’t suit him. This could have been the trigger for him to begin distancing himself from the party line.”
“But there is one important point to all of this.” Oppenheimer raised his index finger. “He does not question the foundation of this ideology. He just wants his own form of National Socialism.”
“But his attitude is getting ever more bizarre.” Hilde was clearly agitated. She seemed to have come across something. “Not even the politics of a madman like Hitler can keep up with this. Of course, Lutzow’s latent hatred of women plays an important role once again. When he discovered he had syphilis, he started to demonize the women he considered to be whores. Regardless of how exactly his definition runs, he classifies them as unclean and is afraid of renewed infection. It all comes to a head with the murder of the unionist’s wife. At the latest since that deed, his hatred of women becomes intertwined with the National Socialist ideology.”
Oppenheimer considered Hilde’s comments. “After that, Lutzow cobbled together his own ideology from these elements. And we are now dealing with the result. You’re right, Hilde, it would fit.”
“Bother!” Lüttke swore. Oppenheimer and Hilde were flung to the side. From the corner of his eye, Oppenheimer was just able to see that they had avoided a pile of rubble in the middle of the road at the very last moment. A sure sign that they were approaching the outskirts of the city again.
Hilde also focused on their surroundings again. Her gaze fixed on the city map, and she scratched her chin thoughtfully. “Lutzow chose a strange hiding place.”
Oppenheimer looked at the map too. He’d been to the Müggelsee countless times. The Bismarckwarte lay on the southern side between Köpenick and Müggelheim. It was a popular destination, as the building also had a viewing platform that provided a fabulous view of Berlin. The view was so impressive that there was a second platform on the same hill, as well as a tavern in the forest and, a little farther on, the idyllic Teufelsee. Almost everyone who lived in Berlin had taken a weekend trip there once. And while the day-trippers happily splashed around in the water or wandered across the hills, they had no idea that an indescribable horror was taking place just a few hundred meters away from them.
“You mean it’s strange that Lutzow chose a place that is heaving with people at the weekends?” Oppenheimer asked. “Yes, it does increase the danger of being discovered.”
“No, I don’t mean that. The hiding place is very close to the Bismarckwarte. Doesn’t that tower make you think of the place the bodies were found?”
At first, Oppenheimer was puzzled as to what Hilde meant. But when he recalled the image of the Bismarckwarte, he understood her reference. The huge tower structure with the large entrance gate was similar to the water tower in Steglitz. With its blunt top crowned by a mighty fire bowl, the Bismarckwarte could almost pass as a vastly enlarged version of the monuments in front of which the murderer had placed his victims.
“Fair enough,” Oppenheimer finally said. “There may be certain similarities, but in contrast to the other sites, I don’t see a direct connection to the First World War. The Bismarckwarte was built around the turn of the century. It might just be a coincidence.”
“That may be right,” Hilde admitted, “but Lutzow had an affinity for phallic symbols. And what does he do? He finds a safe house in the direct vicinity of the biggest stone willy to be found far and
wide.”
Oppenheimer continued to be skeptical, but he saw no point in digging his heels in.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he conceded. “The main thing is that we’ve figured it out.”
The car stopped, and Lüttke said, “Right. We’re here.”
Covertly, Oppenheimer watched Hilde assessing the surroundings. To her surprise, she realized they were outside a subway station.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Hilde protested. “We’re not in Adlerhof yet. This is wrong.”
“We’re in the right place,” Oppenheimer replied calmly. To enforce his instructions, he looked Hilde straight in the eye. “You’re getting out here.”
Hilde was speechless for a moment. Then she said in a shrill voice, “I damn well won’t! You’ve taken me this far, so it doesn’t make any difference now. I want to see the matter through!”
“Hilde, it might get dangerous. The trains are still running. Take the next one to the city center. We’ll meet at your place later.”
“Men!” she said in bewilderment. “Will you stop with the whole gallantry thing!”
“You don’t understand; I’m worried about Lisa!”
Hilde paused when she heard Lisa’s name.
Oppenheimer continued, tried to explain. “If something happens to me, someone has to take care of her. Hilde, it’s the last thing I’m going to ask of you. Promise me you’ll take care of Lisa?”
When Oppenheimer saw that Hilde’s features relaxed, he knew that she understood. But he also knew that she wouldn’t simply agree with him. Finally, she shrugged and said with a feigned sigh, “It would be better if I came along, but if you insist.”
Oppenheimer had to smile. “Come on, then. Out with you.”
Hilde seemed reluctant as she opened the door. Once she was on the pavement, she looked back and nodded toward the files lying on the seat next to Oppenheimer. “What about those? Do you need them?”
Germania: A Novel of Nazi Berlin Page 38
