by Chris Petit
Morgen was furious when Stoffel came out, confronting him for trying to frame the man as some kind of super-murderer.
‘You’re wrong. He has huge animal cunning.’
Axel Lampe’s case-history folder had been left in the anteroom. Morgen waved it and said he had just read it.
‘Lampe is a simpleton. He doesn’t know how many days in a year or minutes in an hour. He thinks Silesia is a city. Is there any forensic evidence?’
‘I am doing you a favour. Come and talk to him and he will tell you. Strangulation! Strangulation! Strangulation!’
They went into the stifling tank. Lampe resented their intrusion and looked at Schlegel with sulky eyes.
‘Tell these gentlemen about the Jew you killed last week,’ said Stoffel.
‘Which one was that?’
Before Stoffel could prompt him, Morgen snapped, ‘Let the man remember for himself.’
Lampe accused Morgen of spoiling his train of thought.
Stoffel said gently, ‘In your own time. Tell the gentlemen what you told me.’
Lampe furrowed his brow in a show of concentration and at last asked, ‘Is this about Abbas?’
Morgen gave Stoffel a warning look not to interrupt.
‘I am not stupid. It’s important to get it right.’
After another silence, Lampe said in a rush, ‘I killed Abbas because he was an interfering Yid.’
Morgen asked how Lampe knew Abbas was a Jew.
‘This woman told me she was being pestered by this Yid.’
‘What is this woman’s name?’
‘I met her in a bar. I come up to town on my days off. She said she didn’t want to take the Jew’s money. That’s why I stuffed it in his mouth.’
‘Where did you leave the body?’
‘I don’t know. The last thing I remember was cutting off the Jew’s tool.’
‘Remember that then you must remember where you were.’
‘I just went along. I can’t remember where.’
Lampe started to whine.
The story was full of holes and contradictions, yet he seemed to believe what he was saying. He and Abbas had spent the day drinking, with the woman at first. In one version they both fucked the woman, which was when he realised Abbas was a Jew. Abbas also boasted of having lots of money.
Challenged or contradicted, Lampe said he could only tell them what happened according to what he remembered.
He broke down, shouting, ‘Why should I be telling you this when it’s going to get me the guillotine?’
‘Tell them what happened next,’ said Stoffel.
Lampe looked as though he was facing an examination question where he had no idea of the answer.
Schlegel could no longer tell what was true. Stoffel had clearly fed Lampe his lines and worked on him, but through a willed act of absorption Lampe had made them his own, and volunteered several versions.
By one account, he had stayed up in town overnight, in a daze, and on the Monday carried on drinking and looking for the woman who had complained about Abbas.
Stoffel interjected to say they had checked. It was Lampe’s day off. There were no laundry deliveries on Mondays.
The woman he strangled that night was the first woman. They had gone on a bar crawl and he had no idea where they ended up. Or it might have been another woman he had picked up along the way.
‘We agreed a price then she refused, so I did her anyway and the money was the price we agreed.’
Lampe was sweating and shaking as though reliving the experience.
‘Please don’t let them kill me,’ he mumbled to Stoffel, who laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
‘You know that won’t happen. You’re clause fifty-one. That makes you exempt.’
‘I know. I mean these gentlemen. They are going to take me out and shoot me.’
Lampe’s story started to take on a ghastly plausibility. He and Stoffel argued over what he had done with the money in the second murder.
‘You didn’t,’ said Stoffel softly. ‘You stuffed it up her cunt.’
‘No, I shoved it up her arse.’
That was money he had taken from the Jew. Five minutes later he said it might have come from money stolen elsewhere and used to finance his bar crawl. He admitted to stealing frequently.
Stoffel said, ‘Tell them about the job you did last year.’
Lampe puzzled for a long time as his features composed themselves into a play of remembering. He and a friend had done the job. A print works in Gesundbrunnen.
He suddenly announced as though he had just remembered, ‘The man’s cock I made a present of to the first woman. That’s why we argued.’
He put his hand to his mouth and giggled.
Schlegel asked if he remembered anything out of the ordinary happening on the night he killed the woman.
Lampe went blank, then brightened and said, ‘Apart from killing her?’
‘The bombs?’
He smirked and quickly came back with, ‘There are bombs going off in my head all the time.’
He stared at Schlegel with a beguiling emptiness.
Thinking he was supposed to add something, Lampe recited, ‘I found pleasure in killing animals. I began doing humans at the age of eighteen. For years I stalked, stabbed and strangled as many women as I could, raping them before and sometimes after. I killed men too. The dick I cut off should have been my own. I understand that now.’
37
Gersten was waiting for them in a large and impressive room, as before. Big windows showed the river. He was alone, sitting with an accordion, playing it idly.
‘The old squeezebox. This is probably out of order, but would you like to come to a party tonight?’ He looked at them brightly. ‘Says he, about to face a formal questioning.’
He appeared beguiled by the situation, a man with nothing to hide. He gestured at the accordion. ‘A hangover from my days as a child actor. I am playing tonight with a bunch of Ivans. I can’t resist showing off.’
‘Russians?’ asked Morgen in surprise.
‘Yes, a wild foot-stomping band, not a hundred per cent approved, but music one can let one’s hair down to, and the Untermensch off its collective head is something one should experience at least once. That they might stick a shiv in you adds a certain spice. Of course, they know we’d shoot the lot of them.’
He unstrapped the accordion and laid it down.
‘Actually, such fraternisation is not altogether discouraged by more progressive schools. It opens channels. What those humourless cunts from SS Vienna don’t understand is you need an understanding of the enemy, you need to play with him. That bandy-legged idiot in charge considered it his duty to show us so-called Prussian swine how to deal with the Jew bastards. My arse! Look at them. A fuck-up from day one!’
He turned to Schlegel.
‘About tonight. I am to meet a particular Russian, who wishes to speak to me about a confidential matter. I have no Russian, he has no German or Polish but has a bit of English, which I believe you speak with your Irish friend.’
Schlegel was surprised Gersten knew about his association with Alwynd.
Gersten said Alwynd was bound to be watched. ‘You must know that. The thing is, we’ve been trying to cook something up with the Foreign Office using Alwynd as a conduit to the Republicans, but they are such lazy bastards, the Irish. Anyway, perhaps I could borrow you? Think about it. I guarantee you a mother of a hangover.’
‘Why not Lazarenko?’
‘Because this is about Lazarenko,’ Gersten muttered darkly. ‘What do you want to grill me about? I understand we are here for a frank and free-ranging discussion. Shall we be needing a stenographer or are you just taking notes?’
‘This is a preliminary questioning,’ said Morgen. ‘Should we need a record of any part of the discussion we will ask for a separate statement.’
‘Does he have to be here?’ Gersten asked, not so friendly, pointing at Schlegel.
‘I work with him.’
‘On whose authority? He has nothing to do with internal affairs.’ In a smiling aside, he said to Schlegel, ‘No offence.’
‘On my authority,’ said Morgen.
‘Are you still empowered to carry out such investigations? I heard you are in bad odour.’
‘Unless one is stripped of one’s authority, an investigative judge remains one regardless of circumstances.’
Gersten laughed. ‘Well, that’s me put in my place. Before we begin, can I get either of you gentlemen anything?’
They refused. Gersten said to Schlegel, ‘Nothing personal. I just like to be clear about where we stand.’
Morgen said it had come to their attention that Gersten had an agent who bribed him to look the other way.
‘Is that all? Ask away.’
They were investigating aspects of the Abbas case and had been told he was Gersten’s agent.
‘I don’t deny it.’
‘We have been told that the fake money was being forged by Jews to pay for stuff.’
‘What stuff?’
‘We will come to that. I repeat the question.’
‘I heard that too.’
‘That’s not what you said last time.’
Gersten gave a booming laugh. ‘I was lying. We have our interests to protect.’
Morgen stared back, stony. ‘You accepted that money or its equivalent—’
‘That part I didn’t hear.’
‘We are also told you stole or confiscated this money.’
‘I didn’t hear that part either.’
Nor had Schlegel. Franz had said nothing about that.
Gersten leaned forward. ‘Cards on the table time. How much do you two know about Jewish affairs?’
Morgen replied, ‘For the purposes of this conversation, nothing. Go on.’
‘They used to own everything and now they don’t. To put it bluntly, it has been an exercise in asset stripping. We take what they have and ask them to move on. It’s not the prettiest but it’s policy. Yes, I accepted money but I handed it over.’
Gersten picked up a table lighter and fiddled with it.
‘However much Jewish circumstances were reduced, the clever ones clung on to diamonds, jewellery and gold, put aside for a rainy day. Unofficially it has always been the case to let those that could afford to pay through the nose buy their way out. For us the question was a simple one of how to relieve them of what they still had hidden.’
‘How do you draw the line between negotiation and blackmail?’
‘How indeed? What is being undertaken here – as far as I understand and in as much as anyone bothers to inform my level – is a highly complex and modern reshaping in a social equivalent to the hygiene reforms of the last century. Wouldn’t you say?’
‘Go on.’
‘That was how it was explained in one of the few lectures we received on the subject I didn’t fall asleep during. The point I’m making is they didn’t issue us with a how-to manual. Most curtailment was by legislation, which was unequivocal and withdrew rights to a point where anyone with the nous and money skedaddled, as intended. Even last year, it was broadly suggested those with the wherewithal should get out. It was easier when the Yanks were still neutral. Be that as it may, the Jews are traders. It’s in their nature to bargain. They’re still bargaining at the station. “Oh, I don’t like this carriage.” For a packet of cigarettes, which miraculously appears, “Can I have a better carriage?” It’s human nature. Sorry, I’ve lost my thread.’
‘Negotiation and blackmail.’
‘The Jews are always trying to negotiate. If an elephant steps on your foot you ask nicely if it could transfer some of its weight to the other foot. Do you see what I’m saying? Some days the elephant might take some of the weight off, and on others even lift the foot altogether, and on yet others stamp down harder. If the elephant lifts its foot you might consider making an offering in the hope that it won’t put it back down again.’
‘A fine parable but elephants aren’t in the business of blackmail.’
‘We offered a service in exchange for a fee,’ Gersten said bluntly.
‘What service?’
‘Our orders were to take them for everything they had. Actually, that’s an exaggeration. There were no specific orders. The general understanding was they should be left with nothing, and it was up to us. For those evacuated, a declaration of assets form had to be signed, donating all possessions to the state. But as a nomadic race, the Jew is adept at self-subsistence and hiding. It is impractical to conduct full body searches of everyone who passes through our hands, but if you offer a service, it is surprising what is forthcoming in the way of payment.’
‘What sort of service?’
‘In their position, there are places you would not wish to be sent and there are others which constitute the cushier option. Being in the business of travel agency, we were able for a fee to fix the softer arrangement for those that could afford. One camp is a holiday resort compared to the rest and, of course, those that could pay wished to go there . . .’
‘You speak of it in the past.’
‘It is a service I can no longer provide. Perhaps others can . . .’
The silence hung.
‘You’re right,’ Gersten went on. ‘In any business involving confiscation of assets, some will go missing. There were those among us that were lax when it came to helping themselves. It is why the Austrians were sent for, because it was said we were too venal. They said we became corrupted by the Jews and their deals. There are those that said we turned our headquarters into the equivalent of a souk.
‘I will be honest with you, hand on heart. I don’t have to tell you this, but I am rather proud of it. Like anyone, we are subject to budgets and funding and money is tight now with all priorities dedicated to the war effort. The problem we had was the increasing amount of those due for deportation that failed to report and went into hiding. It was our idea more than a year ago to create an agency of Jewish recruits, setting a fox to catch a fox. As a formal body it needed a budget, not much of one, but we decided to pay the agents, to make them feel better about themselves and therefore more efficient and useful to us. It’s not easy asking people to be traitors for the sake of saving their own skins, which is what it comes down to. You need to offer certain foundations and infrastructure, a business model so to speak, with targets to be met and so forth. Life has to appear normal.’
He flicked the table lighter off and on, distractedly holding his finger to the flame as he talked.
‘But could we get anyone to pay for it? Even the modest sums we were asking? We tried everywhere. Even the mayor’s office, which was the main instigator of ridding the city of these people. Deaf ears. And all the usual little pots in reserve gone. Who would fund our modest operation? Of course, the cynical answer is make the Jews pay, but they really were pleading poverty, saying there wasn’t even the money to perform their minimum duties. You have to keep asking yourself, is what they’re saying true or are they being foxy? But they really were strapped. Never negotiate with a Jew. It goes on and on and they have four hundred and ninety-three excuses. Given they know it’s the eleventh hour, they do everything within their power to procrastinate, these merchants who have nothing left to barter except their souls. One grows weary of their excuses. At first it was amusing seeing how tricky they could be and what they could come up with but that has long grown boring. So, we decided—’
‘Who’s we?’
‘OK, I decided – if we could liberate hidden Jewish assets by advertising a service, then we could use those funds to finance the other project.’
‘How did you advertise this service?’
‘Cards on the table again. I used the old man Metzler. I can tell you, no one was more surprised than I when I saw he was the Jew that had shot himself. I knew him quite well.’
‘Then he was your agent,’ said Morgen.
‘If you mean someone who skulked i
n doorways and reported what he saw then no. If you mean someone I spoke to who then spoke to other people and reported back, then yes, he was an agent.’
‘You used Metzler to inform them of this service you were offering.’
‘I thought of him as someone who could state our case to his people. He was smart enough not to be under any illusions but worldly enough to see a difference could be made.’
‘When was this?’
‘I suppose from about last April through September.’
‘For about six months until five or six months ago.’
‘That sounds about right.’
‘This was to offer people able to pay a choice of which camp they went to?’
‘I see what you’re thinking.’
‘Go on.’
‘Why bother to honour the obligation when they’re in no position to ask for their money back?’
‘You said it.’
Gersten scorched his finger, snapped the lighter shut, winced and laughed.
‘That’ll teach me. I think one has to deal straight at a certain point and not cheat.’
Morgen looked at Gersten blandly and closed his notebook. Thinking the interview over, Gersten started to get up, blowing on his finger.
‘I haven’t finished,’ said Morgen. ‘We are told the whole operation was much bigger than you acknowledge.’
Gersten gave an earnest look to say he didn’t know what Morgen was talking about.
‘Money was being paid to smuggle people out while you looked the other way.’
Gersten snorted. ‘That old chestnut! If I’d been given a mark for every time I have heard that story. I am sorry, it’s mischief on the part of your informers.’
‘They were forging the money to pay for that. In other words, Metzler was conning you.’
‘Who’s telling you this? It’s a trick to set us against each other. Of course the Jews want to believe that some get-out or a fairy-tale ending exists. It’s a nightmare trying to sort out transportation as it is. Now you are saying there are other trains!’
‘Goods trains move all over Europe. I am sure many carry contraband. Human traffic would be an extension of that.’
Gersten frowned. ‘On second thoughts, I think I may have been responsible for the forged money, without knowing it.’
