The major picked up his glass again.
“Gentlemen.” He paused, waiting for Rossett and Neumann to raise theirs. “The king!”
He shouted it in English, and the words seemed to bounce off the far wall and then back to them. The officer drank angrily this time. He slammed the empty glass onto the table like a full stop. Rossett noticed the NCO hadn’t even bothered to pick up his drink, but instead had sat staring straight ahead.
“I’m talking about the king in England, not the coward who ran away,” the officer stage-whispered, one hand held to the side of his mouth as he smiled at Rossett, who didn’t reply. The officer feigned surprise, then looked at Neumann. “Maybe we should toast absent friends? Would that cover Churchill as well?”
Nobody answered, so the officer shrugged and looked at the staff sergeant and gave him a drunken wink.
Neumann broke the silence.
“I am Generalmajor Erhard Neumann of the Kripo, and this is Detective Inspector John Rossett of the Metropolitan Police.”
“I know who you are.” The major’s smile slipped and his head seemed to wobble. “This is Staff Sergeant Becker, and I am Sturmbannführer Theo Dannecker.” Dannecker looked at Rossett. “That means Major,” he said, as if he were speaking to a child.
“I know what it means.”
“Of course you do, forgive me.” Dannecker took a drink, then set the glass back down. “You worked with Ernst Koehler, didn’t you?”
Rossett nodded.
“He was SS, wasn’t he?” The “SS” slurred on the way out.
Rossett nodded.
“Do you know Major Koehler?” Neumann dipped into the conversation again, trying to pull it away from Rossett and back to himself.
“No.” Dannecker was speaking to Neumann but looking at Rossett. “But I’m a soldier, and Koehler . . . he just killed Jews, didn’t he?”
Rossett stared back across the table at Dannecker.
Neumann shifted on his chair and gave a little cough before speaking again.
“My colleague and I would like to apologize for the misunderstanding involving your men, Major.”
Dannecker looked at him. “What?”
Neumann coughed again.
Rossett thought about banging him on the back.
Neumann spoke. “The, erm . . . the incident, just before you arrived?”
“There was a fight, sir.” Staff Sergeant Becker rumbled into life. “Involving the inspector and three of our men.”
“The three on the floor?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re sorry.” Neumann coughed again.
“I’m not,” Rossett chipped in, eyes still on Dannecker.
“I don’t care.” Dannecker pulled the curtain down on the conversation by holding up his hand. “Conscripts, idiot boys, barely worth the uniforms they are wearing. I really don’t care.”
Rossett watched Becker blink as his boss dismissed the men under him. The staff sergeant cared; Rossett saw it for just a second.
The big man cared.
Rossett smiled.
Dannecker took another drink, so Neumann tried to fill the silence once again.
“May I ask, Major, how did you know who we were?”
“I came here to speak to you.” Dannecker looked at Neumann, then pulled the cork on the bottle again. “Off the record, if you don’t mind?” Dannecker held a finger to his lips. It almost missed, and he had to adjust it slightly.
Neumann nodded and gestured that Dannecker should continue.
“Would you prefer I continue in German?” Dannecker asked with a nod of the head toward Rossett.
Rossett resisted the urge to rip the nodding head from its shoulders.
“My colleague speaks excellent German, but I think English would be best,” Neumann replied in English.
Dannecker smiled as if he were enjoying the tension, glanced at his men sitting patiently on the other side of the bar, then pointed at Rossett’s cigarettes.
“May I?”
Rossett slid the pack across the table.
Dannecker lit up, closing his eyes as he took his first drag, then opening them again as he exhaled.
“These things will kill you.” He smiled at Rossett.
“So I’ve heard.”
Dannecker smiled again and drew on the cigarette, deeper this time. The smoke from his lungs was darker than the smoke from the cigarette as it snaked up toward the cobwebs. It looked like shadows under clouds, and Dannecker watched it a moment, before returning the conversation.
“I know why you are here.” Dannecker used the cigarette to point at Neumann.
Neumann made to speak, but Dannecker held up his hand.
“Please,” Dannecker said, his voice husky from the cigarette and the alcohol. “Allow me to finish.” He tapped the cigarette on the ashtray. “Evans, the policeman you spoke to today? He called me not long after you had left his office. He told me what you want to do.”
“That was nice of him,” said Rossett.
Dannecker smiled. “The games Evans has to play are a lot like these cigarettes. They can kill him. They can kill all of us.” Dannecker put the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, then reached for the brandy and poured a measure. “He may not be a very good policeman, but the chief superintendent is a great high-wire walker.” Dannecker replaced the cork without topping up anyone else’s glass.
“He telephoned me because he knew that he had to. He knew that if he didn’t, things would go badly for him.”
“Same as when he released my prisoner?” Neumann asked.
“Yes.” Dannecker paused as he took a sip of the brandy. “Exactly the same as that. This part of the country is a long way from London, and it is even further from Berlin. Here, the muzzle of my gun is a frontier of the Reich. It may not look like it, but it’s a battlefield out there, and we are in a trench.” He paused, then pointed at Rossett with the cigarette. “The inspector will tell you, when you are on a battlefield, there are no rules. You do what you have to do to stay alive.”
Neumann took the opportunity to speak. “I’m afraid, Major, I think you are wrong. The rules do apply. The law applies. It is very simple; I have a mandate from the High Command to deal with matters such as this. I understand that you want to protect your man. I would probably want to do the same if I was in your position. But I have to investigate this incident, the same as I would investigate any other. If the evidence points toward your officer being responsible for the death in question, he’ll have to be charged.”
Dannecker held up a finger.
“You are wrong.” Dannecker shifted slightly on his seat, then leaned forward over the table. “What you don’t understand is that Liverpool is a rat’s nest. And I am king rat. I am the highest-ranking officer for over one hundred miles in any direction you care to point. I’m the king of all I survey.” He seemed to sway a little on his stool before putting the cigarette back into his mouth and taking another pull. He took the cigarette out, studied it, and then looked back at Neumann. “Don’t make me an enemy. I mean it. This city is a dangerous place, people disappear, lives end, worlds end . . . you need me, you need my protection. So don’t fuck up, really . . . just don’t do it. It isn’t worth it, because you’ll need me, and when you do, you’ll want me to come running.”
“This man killed an American and must be dealt with accordingly.”
“This man?” Dannecker jabbed a finger into the tabletop, then lifted his eyes to stare into Neumann’s. “Do you know who ‘this man’ is?”
“No,” Neumann said quietly.
“He is the Bear.” Dannecker said it in such a way that Rossett and Neumann looked at each other, each thinking the other should understand the significance.
“The Bear is a hero of the Reich. Do you understand?”
Neumann nodded.
“He has an Iron Cross with Oak Leaves and he earned it the hard way. He has fought nonstop for eight years for you.” Dannecker leaned in over the
ashtray. “So don’t you fucking forget that.”
Becker coughed behind his boss, who straightened slightly in his seat.
“I have a job to do . . .” Neumann trailed off as Dannecker wiped his mouth and then gestured a halfhearted apology.
“I understand you have a job to do. All I am asking is that we try to find a way to deal with this quietly, and that we take our time. Captain Bauer . . .”
“Bauer?” Rossett this time.
“Captain Bauer, the Bear. He . . . he has been under a lot of pressure. He is worn out by this war, by what he has to do. I suggest we give him a few days to recover?”
“We don’t have a few days, Major. We have to expedite this matter quickly.” Neumann softened a little as he tried to explain. “Due to the nature of what is alleged, plus the American involvement, it means I am under considerable pressure. I am sympathetic, and I will be fair, but I have orders and a mandate. There is no other way.”
Dannecker stared at them both, then nodded. He stood, collected the brandy, and tossed his still-lit cigarette onto the table without bothering to aim for the ashtray. He turned on his heel and left the bar so quickly, the enlisted men struggled to catch up with him as he charged through the exit doors.
Staff Sergeant Becker remained seated opposite Rossett and Neumann for a moment, then finally pushed himself up to his feet.
“Nothing more will be said about the assault here tonight.” Becker pulled a field cap out of his pocket and put it on. “Captain Bauer will be available at the city garrison tomorrow.”
“It’ll be an official interview. I don’t know how long it will take.”
Becker nodded, then picked up his MP40 machine pistol off the floor next to his chair and turned to leave.
He stopped, paused, then looked back at Neumann and Rossett.
“Things are complicated here. I want you to understand that Major Dannecker is under a lot of pressure at the moment.”
“We understand,” replied Neumann.
“No, you don’t,” Becker replied before walking away.
Chapter 6
There was a girl with a wooden cart blocking their way down the narrow side street. Rossett’s hand hovered over the horn, and he glanced at Neumann, who had a map open on his lap.
Neumann looked up through the sweeping windscreen wipers. “We’re lost.”
Rossett sighed, yanked on the hand brake, and got out of the car.
“Hey!” Rossett shouted, but she didn’t seem to hear him.
She kept on walking ever so slowly, hands on the cart handles, eyes on the ground. Rossett could see that one wheel of the cart was loose. It was barely clinging on to the cart, much like the girl pushing it.
Rossett called again. “Hey!”
She stopped, paused with her back to him, and set the handles down. She turned, only slightly faster than the rickety wheel had been doing, and looked at him. Rossett saw she was in her early thirties. The rain that had been falling all morning had plastered her fine blond hair to her scalp and was dripping off her forehead into her eyes.
“The SS barracks, do you know them?” Rossett pulled up his coat collar in an attempt to keep the rain out.
Her hands hung down at her sides. She was holding them so that Rossett could see her palms. Doing her best to be as unthreatening as possible.
Rossett looked past her to the barrow. It was half full of bits and bobs of collected litter, metal, and the odd scrap of broken timber.
Her mouth moved, and her eyes seemed to roll a little in her head. She was soaked, and where the rain had run down her face it had cleared lines in the dirt, almost like tears in mascara.
“Do you understand me?” Rossett tried again, more gently this time.
The rain was thundering down now, slapping noisily onto the pavement. Rossett had to blink a drop out of his eyelashes as he waited for her to answer.
Her jaw flexed, and she nodded in several rapid jerks that shook some water off her hair. Her mouth seemed to clamp tight. Her left hand slowly twisted, as if some unseen force were bearing against it.
“’S-’s-’sup there . . .” She finally lifted her left hand and just about managed to point to the end of the side street. “L-l-l-left.” Her arm jerked as she stuttered.
Rossett saw her wrist was as thin as an old dog’s bone. Every sinew was visible in her neck as the words squeezed out through her mouth.
“Where?”
“Th-th-there.” She pointed again.
Rossett looked back at the Jaguar purring behind him, then at the specimen standing in front of him.
“G-g-got any change, m-m-mister?” She ducked her head on the last word, relieved at finally getting it out.
The car made him feel guilty, so Rossett dug in his pocket. “What are you doing here?” He nodded at the barrow.
“L-loo-l . . .” She paused and sighed, then took a run at it again. “Looking for stuff to t-trade.”
“Scrap metal?”
She nodded in short staccato snaps of the head. Her left hand folded into her side once more, then flexed, then grabbed the seam of her tattered trousers and held on tight.
“What’s your name?”
“I-I-I . . .”
She broke off for so long, Rossett thought she might have forgotten the answer to the question. She gulped a breath, ducked her head, then came back up and tried again.
“Iris.”
“Iris?”
She nodded, causing a few flecks of rainwater to flick off her head before she sucked in another breath.
“W-what’s . . . what’s y-yours?”
“Rossett,” he answered, then felt bad about replying with a surname so tried again. “John.”
“J-John.”
“Do you make much money?” Rossett took a few steps toward the barrow and saw it was basically just garbage off the street.
Slung shit, worthless.
“F-f-foooooood.”
“You get money for food?”
“No.” Sharp shakes of the head this time as she gripped the seam of her trousers and sank the other reluctant hand into her pocket. “Foo-food.”
She pulled out a potato.
It was small, covered in dirt, and there was a chunk chewed out of one end. Behind the bite marks it was gray and rotten. She smudged the dirt with her thumb as she rubbed the chewed end and held it higher for Rossett to see.
Rossett had once eaten that kind of potato.
He looked back at the Jaguar again and saw Neumann raise his hands: What’s taking so long?
Rossett took some change out of his pocket. She took a tiny step closer, drawn by the sound of the clinking money. She stopped in front of him, so close that she cast a shadow across his palm.
The rain seemed to take a breath and lighten for a second or two before another drift wafted by on the breeze that was blowing in from the River Mersey, a quarter mile to the west.
Rossett looked up at the girl and realized she had looked younger than she really was. He adjusted her age to late thirties, then dropped all the change he was holding into her hand.
“Top of the street on the left?”
She nodded.
“Thank you, Iris.” Rossett turned away and started to walk back to the car.
“Mm-mmm-mi . . . ”
Rossett looked back at her over his shoulder.
Her head flexed on her neck again, and Rossett saw both fists were clenched tight as they rolled on her bony wrists.
“J-John, are you s-sure you w-want to go there?”
“What?”
She looked frustrated at being interrupted while she was on a roll, but she battled on anyway.
“It-it’s dangerous.”
“I have to go.”
She squirmed, then managed to lift her right hand to wave good-bye.
The effort it took made Rossett feel tired from watching it.
The car was suddenly too hot when he got back inside. Rossett cracked the window to let some air in and
some condensation out.
“What took you so long?” Neumann asked as they were waiting for Iris to manhandle the barrow up onto the narrow curb and out of their way.
“She had something wrong with her.”
“What?”
“A stammer, maybe something else, I don’t know.” Rossett slipped the car into gear and they started to crawl forward. “She seems a bit . . . wrong. You know?”
“She’s a mental?” Neumann smudged the side window with the back of his hand to take a closer look as they squeezed past.
“I don’t know.”
Iris was standing with one hand on the barrow, the other up at the side of her head in flaky salute.
Rossett didn’t look at her.
“We got rid of them years ago,” Neumann said quietly as he watched her. “There’s no point to them.”
Rossett glanced at his boss, who had begun to fold the map in his lap. Neumann looked back at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Do we have far to go?”
“Yes,” replied Rossett, even though the garrison was only around the corner.
“They are coming to speak to you.” Dannecker rolled his head a little on his shoulders, in an attempt to ease the pressure of the hangover that made it feel top-heavy. “We don’t have much time, so please tell me what I need to know.”
“Are you scared?” the Bear replied.
“You’ve had your fun, Bauer, and made your point, so please . . . tell me.”
“You’re scared.” Bauer smiled. “You should have tortured me last night when you had the chance.”
“It wouldn’t have worked.”
“It might have made you feel better.” Bauer sounded like he was almost feeling sorry for Dannecker.
“I should just put a bullet in your head.”
“But you need me. Ever since I found your gold and then moved it, you need me.”
Dannecker made to speak, but instead paused to watch as the Bear lifted a hand off the table and moved it slowly through the air. It cut like an oar through an unseen sea, then stopped and hovered. Dannecker stared at it for so long, he felt like he was slipping under, hypnotized, almost drifting through waves.
An Army of One: A John Rossett Novel Page 8
