hospital. We would follow her and bring her home again, but nobody was to see us together.
Our driver, old Russian Father Ivanov, nodded as I explained things to him. All he said was "Xorosho" then he drove like mad through the worst traffic and was at Adolfstrasse in no time flat. From there he followed Edith's taxi without once losing sight of it. Fine. Edith disappeared into the hospital; but now, only twenty minutes later, she was leaving it again. Our taxi stopped near her and she got in. I slid open the glass between us and the driver and said, "Back to Adolf strasse." Vladimir Ivanov nodded and drove off, and I closed the window again. I leaned back and only then noticed that Edith, who had sat down between us, was weeping.
"Oh God," I said. "Is he-?"
"No," she sobbed, and blew her nose. "He's going to make it. He's all right."
••Wonderful!" said Bertie. "So they're tears of joy?"
She didn't answer but cried harder than ever.
"Was he conscious?" asked Bertie.
"Yes."
"Were you able to speak freely with him?"
"No. There was a guard in the room all the time. Outside his room, too, and another at the entrance to the private wing. He's out of the intensive care unit. He sends greetings to you both—that much he managed to say—and I told him I'd tell you. I may come back this evening, and after tomorrow I can visit him twice a day. Then he wanted to kiss me. I had to bend down and lean over him, and he asked me to loosen my hair and let it fall over him, and I did, and all that with the guard watching us. And Conny kissed me and whispered in my ear, The men are from MIB. TeD Bertie.' It happened so fast, I think the guard didn't notice. What's MIB?"
I managed to say calmly, "Oh...Murder Investigation Bureau. A branch of homicide."
"That's what I thought. But why did he want you to know?"
"It's a highly specialized department," said Bertie, who had recovered from the initial shock. "Murder Investigation Bureau. MIB for short. They investigate murders only."
"Really? Are you telling the truth?" Edith was crying again and I knew why—not for joy but in fear. I thought of the threats on the phone—that Conny would die if he said anything. And he
had said something
"He's telling the truth," I said, and could only hope that Edith wouldn't ask anybody else.
"Then that's all right," she said. "Then nobody can get at him and harm him, right?"
"Of course not," I said. "Impossible!"
"But those calls—"
"They can't do a thing to him. I swear they can't."
"Oh, my God, if only I wasn't so afraid!"
Edith sobbed and we let her cry. At last, when we got to Adolfstrasse, she calmed down. We again impressed it on her that she should stay home and let no one in, and I promised I'd call her. And when she went to see Conny that evening, she was to ask for this driver. He had told her that he worked until ten o'clock. I wrote down his name and the telephone number of the taxi office, and his license number. Edith kissed us both before she got out, and as she ran into the house she was crying again.
"Poor woman," said Ivanov. "Is in trouble, yes?"
"Yes," I said.
"God will help her."
"Yes, please," said Bertie.
"Where to next?" asked Ivanov.
"You can let me off at Jungfernstieg," I told him, "and then drive my friend to police headquarters." Bertie had to get our car. As Ivanov drove, I said softly, "So... MIB—"
"Yes," said Bertie. "It is a case of public interest, and we have some very nice letters of recommendation, and Conny is being guarded by the MIB...."
MIB is short for the official spy organization of the Bundesrepublik, not M for "murder" but M for "military"—the Military Investigation Bureau.
On Jungfernstieg I went shopping for Irina, and I took my time about it. I had arranged with Bertie that on his way back from police headquarters he should drive around the block until he saw me, because there was no place to park on Jungfernstieg. I
went into five stores and bought a lot of things for Irina. I had plenty of money with me and I knew her measurements. I considered the fact that the things should cover what she might need now, so I bought a red silk cocktail dress, sleeveless; a green wool dress with a black patent-leather belt; and an ochre-yellow jersey suit. Then I bought a black coat with mink trim and a mink button-on hood. All the time I kept imagining what Irina would look like in the clothes.
The salesgirls who waited on me were wild about me. That's the sort of man they wantedl I went to another store and bought a robe, underwear, nightgowns, stockings, and so on. I also imagined Irina in the underwear. I bought a gold evening bag to go with the cocktail dress, and then I thought, What the hell! And bought a black alligator bag for twelve-hundred marks. I could always send for more money if I was short. In the bag shop I also bought a black leather suitcase to hold all the things, and as I was going on to the next store I saw Bertie, driving around the block. He waved to me, I waved back, and went into a shoe store where I bought a pair of black patent-leather pumps that Irina could wear with anything, and gold leather shoes for the cocktail dress. Then I went to a cosmetic shop and bought lipsticks, powder, creams, eyeshadow, and mascara; things like that, also a botde of Est6e Lauder perfume and Eau de Toilette. Now the suitcase was full and quite heavy, and I had everything I needed. I walked out into the sleet storm and waited for Bertie to pass by again. He saw me, stopped, and I got in. 'To the Metropole," I said. It was 1:25.
"You smell gorgeous, sweetheart," he said.
"Shut up, idiot!" I said, and slapped him on the back.
"I could do with a litde Chivas," he said. "As an aperitif."
I unscrewed the flask and handed it to him, and he drank with one hand on the wheel, then I drank. As I look back, this drive to the hotel in the shitty weather, with both of us drinking whiskey and my holding the suitcase on my knees, has remained with me as one of my happiest days in Hamburg.
Old Karl Concon wept. He was sitting in the room next to the one in which his son had been stabbed, on the second floor of the Paris Hotel in the Kleine Freiheit. The day was dawning, and the feeble morning light filtered through the filthy windowpanes. All the lights were still burning, and the old man still had on the white coat he wore in the King Kong men's room, because the police had brought him here straight from there. He sobbed; the tears were streaming down his pale face. He was sitting on an unmade bed, and a lot of men were milling around, sporadically talking. There were officers from homicide, from the Identification Bureau, photographers, fingerprint experts. They were working routinely and fast.
When Fr&ulein Louise arrived with her guide, Wilhelm Reimers, they had just finished, and two men in gray smocks were getting something that looked like a metal bathtub out of a van parked in front of the hotel. They took it up to the second floor, opened it, laid Karl Concon, Jr., in it, closed it, carried it downstairs again, and put it back in the van. And Karl Concon's father sat on a whore's bed and wept.
The corpse in the metal tub was carried past Fraulein Louise just as she was about to go upstairs. Nobody paid any attention to her: The men were too busy, and the desk clerk wasn't drunk anymore, only unshaven, pale and sober, and reeking of schnapps. At that point the Ukrainian servant, Panas Myrnyi, confronted Fraulein Louise and said, "You can't go up there
IM
Fraulein Louise, who had walked from King Kong to the Paris Hotel, looked Myrnyi up and down. She was in a great state of excitement, and this made her forget her good resolutions and caution. She winked at Myrnyi and whispered, "Ukrainian, no?"
He nodded, taken aback, which she didn't notice.
"Were a peasant in your native land, right?"
He nodded again, astonished, which she still didn't notice.
"So here, too," she said. "Why, you're everywhere, just as you promised! So what happened? Tell me."
The servant hesitated. "Who are you, please?" he asked.
"You know who I ami" sai
d Fraulein Louise, and Reimers said, "They told us what happened at King Kong. The lady wanted to speak to Herr Concon, but that's impossible now."
"The police upstairs," Myrnyi said hesitantly. "I not supposed to give any information."
"You can tell me," said Fraulein Louise, opening her bag and letting him see her money. "Three hundred for you if you tell me everything," she whispered, taking three bills out of her bag, which she then put down on a chair.
Myrnyi stepped into a hall that led to some cellar stairs. She followed him. Reimers stayed behind. "So take it," she said. "You saw what happened, didn't you?" Suddenly she was again overwhelmed with the feeling that she knew everything that had happened.
"I not exactly see it—"
"Of course not," said Fraulein Louise, and stuck the three one-hundred mark bills into the pocket of his apron. "But you saw everything else that was going on. How did it happen?"
"Two men were here and asked me the same thing. I mean, besides the police. They were here in the night and they saw the dead man and took pictures of him. I can't tell you anything, lady. I've signed a contract, and these two men gave me money for not telling anyone."
"I know those two men," Fraulein Louise said grimly. "Ah exclusive contract with Blitz, isn't that it?"
"Yes," he said, baffled. "How you know—?"
"I know a lot more," said Fraulein Louise, "and you know that I know a lot more." She gave him a piercing look, and suddenly Panas Myrnyi was scared to death, because he had no idea what Fraulein Louise was really referring to and he thought he was caught. She was still staring at him silently. "So," she said at last, "you saw Concon's murderer."
"How you know?"
"That's neither here nor there. Shall I go up to the police and ! tell them you saw him?"
"No, no! Please don't do that!" he whispered, wringing his hands. "He got away. If I tell the police, what will he do to me?"
As already mentioned, I learned about this conversation and about everything else Fraulein Louise experienced in Hamburg, much later. But it was true. Contrary to what he had told us, the servant had not only heard the murderer arguing with Karl 318
Concon, he had also seen him running down the stairs. Myrnyi had been standing in this very hall, not daring to move, and he hadn't told the police or us about it, because he feared for his miserable life. And now a totally strange, sopping wet, ridiculous old woman was threatening him and telling him straight to his face that he had seen the murderer. Panas Myrnyi was terrified.
"What did he look like?" Fraulein Louise asked relentlessly. "I have to know. Because it is possible that this murderer also killed my litde Karel. Are you going to tell me or do I go to the police? You should be ashamed of yourself! I thought we were friends."
Her last bewildering words didn't register. The Ukrainian was much too frightened. He whispered, "He'll kill me, just the way he killed Concon, if I tell. You can't ask me to tell about him, lady!"
"But I am asking you. It's up to you. Either you tell me immediately, or I'll find out from the police!"
The Ukrainian was close to collapse. "So?" hissed FrSulein Louise.
"So ... if it must be..." the Ukrainian stammered, "he was a big man. Well dressed. Didn't fit into this place. A blue coat, visor cap—Hey!" he yelled suddenly, shoving Fraulein Louise aside and dashing forward.
"What—?" Fr&ulein Louise began to say, then she saw what was happening. Her guide, Wilhelm Reimers, had picked up her bag and was about to leave the small hotel lobby. "No!" screamed Fraulein Louise. "Herr Reimers! Herr Reimers!"
The Ukrainian tackled the tall old man from behind and hung onto him. "You dog!" he cried. "Stealing from an old lady!"
"Help! Help!" Reimers screamed in his shrill voice. He had turned pale and seemed to have gone crazy suddenly. When the Ukrainian tore the bag out of his hand he began to howl like a wolf. "Bastard! Pig! Fucking thief!" cried the Ukrainian.
Suddenly there was the sound of feet coming down the stairs, and the litde lobby was filled with men in civilian clothes and in uniform. An elderly man in a trench coat, his hat on the back of his head, said in a loud voice, "Quiet!" And it became quiet. "What's going on here?"
"This man here was trying to steal this lady's handbag, if you please, Chief," said Myrnyi. The ex-SS leader was trembling so violently, he had to lean against the wall. He was crying just as hard as old Concon in his filthy room upstairs.
"Is that true?" the chief asked Fraulein Louise, who was
terrified suddenly. Police! She couldn't afford to get involved with the police! "No, no—" she stammered.
"What do you mean, no, no?" cried Panas Myrnyi. "I saw it myself! So did you! You screamed, didn't you?" He opened the bag and showed the contents to the chief. "Here you are, Chief. The fellow was trying to get away with all that money!"
"What's your name?" the chief asked Reimers.
"I—I—Reimers. Wilhelm Reimers. My God, this is terrible!" He held his hands up to his face and sobbed so that his whole body shook.
"And yours?" asked the chief.
"Louise Gottschalk," she said fearfully, and thought: What's going to happen now? What next?
"And what are you doing here?" He was addressing Reimers again.
Reimers stopped sobbing and said, "I only brought her here. She's from out of town."
"From where?"
Fraulein Louise was silent.
"Where do you come from, Frau Gottschalk?"
"From Neurode."
"And what do you want here?"
"I don't want anything," said Reimers, with the cowardly adroitness of a rat.
"No. Only to steal the woman's handbag with her money," said the chief.
"I only wanted to get some fresh air!"
"A likely story."
"I only came here because the lady asked me to accompany her. We've already been to Sankt Pauli."
Fraulein Louise nodded, looking devastated.
"So will you please tell us what you are doing here?"
Fraulein Louise shook her head.
"You don't want to tell us?"
"I—I—please, Herr Kommissar, have mercy upon us. Well leave. You'll never see us again."
"Oh, no," said the Herr Kommissar. "Things aren't as simple as that, Frau Gottschalk. There's been a murder committed here, you must know. Or don't you know?"
"Yes, Herr Kommissar" Fr&ulein Louise said humbly. "I know."
"And is that why you're here?"
"Yes. That's why I'm here," she said, and thought: It's no use. Nothing's any use anymore.
"Officer Liitjens!" cried the chief.
"Yes, sir!" A young police officer in uniform came clattering down the stairs.
"Take these two people to the Davidswache. Take another man with you. I'll be there in half an hour."
"No!" cried Fraulein Louise, in abject misery now. "Not to the police station, please!"
"Where else?" said the chief. "We'll be able to have a quiet little talk there. I'm sure you have quite a few things to tell me."
"But you can't arrest me just like that!" Fraulein Louise cried feebly.
"I am not arresting you. I am just asking you to go to the Davidswache with two officers. You have almost been robbed. We'll arrest your companion for attempted theft."
"Herr Kommissar, on my word of honor!" Reimers began, but the chief stopped him and said in a disgusted voice, "On your word of honor? Stealing money from an old woman—that's your honor! Go ahead, Liitjens, take them both."
The young police officer took Louise by the wrist, politely, and pushed her forward gently, while another officer twisted one of Reimers's arms behind his back. The chief gave him Fraulein Louise's bag and said to the ex-SS leader, "Get going!"
"Please, madam," said Officer Liitjens.
Fraulein Louise looked up at him. She had come to the end of the line. She walked out into the rain and got into the patrol car beside Reimers. The car drove off, and the siren wailed, and Fr&ulein Louise was more
desperate than she had even been in her whole life, except for the time of her mother's death.
I can't remember a more miserable lunch. One should never look forward to anything. When Bertie and I finally got back to the hotel, it was already two o'clock. Irina was in the salon, staring out at the rain. She had very little to say. I decided to give her her
things after lunch, and carried the suitcase into the bedroom. Then I rang for the maid to clean the room.
When we got back I had spoken to an old friend, bell captain Hanslik, and he had said we could take our meals in a free salon on our floor, if we didn't want to eat in the dining room, which I definitely didn't want to do. I was afraid something might happen to Irina. "But you'll have to hurry, Herr Roland," Hanslik had said. "They only serve lunch until 2:30. And if you have room service, it takes longer." "That's all right, Herr Hanslik," I said, but Hem was waiting for news. I had to call him before anything else.
Two maids appeared with a vacuum and their little cart of cleaning stuff and fresh towels. I was nervous. Irina's sadness worried me. It occurred to me, idiot that I was, that I was beginning to be jealous of this bastard Bilka. That was all I needed! I took a swig from my flask, lit a cigarette, and told the girls to start with the bedroom and bathroom. And I told Bertie to take Irina to the salon Hanslik had mentioned and order lunch. I would join them in a minute.
"What do you want?" asked Bertie.
"I don't care. Anything."
After he and Irina had left, I sat down on the couch, took another swig from my flask, and gave central the number of Hem's office in Frankfurt. I could hear the vacuum in the bedroom. It drowned out the voices of the two girls, who were probably chatting, so I could risk speaking freely when Hem answered.
The Traitor Blitz Page 35
