1503954692

by Steve Robinson

  ‘I’d love the opportunity to talk to Trudi Strobel,’ Kaufmann said, ‘and I wish you luck, but as I’ve said, she’s never given any interviews about Volker Strobel before.’

  ‘I figure it’s got to be worth a shot,’ Tayte said. ‘And I’ll be coming at it from a new angle—Johann Langner.’

  ‘Anything’s worth trying at this stage,’ Kaufmann agreed. He began to pull thoughtfully at his beard. ‘If this discovery does get you an interview, be sure to come back and tell me all about it, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Tayte said. ‘That’s if I can get in touch with her before I head back to London with Jean.’

  ‘You’re going home? When?’

  ‘As soon as Jean can leave the hospital and it’s safe for her to fly. She was in a car accident this morning. She says it was deliberate.’

  ‘Is she okay?’

  Tayte nodded. ‘She seems to be, but it’s made me think again about whether we should stick around any longer than we need to. Munich’s becoming too dangerous a place for us.’

  Tobias Kaufmann shook his head with an air of despair. ‘I’ve been attacked myself. We even had a fire here about fifteen years ago. I’m sure that was deliberate, too. Thankfully, it was put out before too much damage was done. I think by now the people protecting Strobel know us Kaufmanns won’t be scared off, so they leave us alone. Either that or after all these years of trying they know we’ll never find him. These people will scare anyone off the Strobel scent if they believe them to be a threat. Which is what excited me about you when you first came to see us.’

  Tayte thought Kaufmann had made a good point, as Jean had earlier. He and Jean had to be a threat to Strobel, or why go to such lengths to scare them off? Tayte didn’t like to think of anyone scaring him off an assignment, especially his own assignment, but he knew it was selfish just to consider himself in this. Jean had been right though. All the while he had to remain in Munich, he was determined to dig as deeply as he could for the answers he hoped to find, and if that meant bringing Volker Strobel to justice, whether the man was his grandfather or not, then that was fine by him.

  ‘When I called to say I was coming to see you,’ Tayte said, ‘you told me you had some good news for me?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Possibly some very good news. We’ve had clearance for you to go and see a woman called Jan Statham at the Standesamt München—the civil registration office where the births, marriages, and deaths for Munich are recorded. She’s been briefed to let you have access to the records you need to see, although you’re not permitted to remove or photocopy anything.’

  ‘Can I take notes?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m told Jan Statham is British, so you won’t have any language issues, and she’ll be able to help you with document translations. She’s lived and worked in Germany for a good many years.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Tayte said, smiling broadly. ‘When can she see me?’

  ‘Whenever you’re ready. She has your name. I’ll give you her telephone number at the Standesamt so you can call ahead.’

  The Munich Standesamt was on Ruppertstrasse in the Ludwigsvorstadt-Isarvorstadt district, a short distance southwest of Munich’s city centre. It was just after midday and Tayte was in a taxi on his way there, having called the number Tobias Kaufmann had given him for Jan Statham, who had been able to see him right away. Before Tayte left the offices of Kaufmann und Kaufmann, Tobias had also given him the contact details he had for Trudi Strobel. Tayte already knew where she lived, having written to her twice before leaving England. He’d planned to go and knock on Trudi’s door that very afternoon while he waited for Jean to get the all clear from the hospital, but as Tobias had been able to furnish him with a telephone number, he now punched it into his phone.

  Tayte’s palms began to feel clammy as he waited for his call to be answered. From what Tobias had told him about Trudi’s financial situation, he didn’t expect her to answer the phone herself, and he wasn’t wrong. The voice that greeted him belonged to a female, but she sounded far too young to be Trudi. He thought she must be a housekeeper or perhaps a carer of some kind.

  ‘Familie Strobel, Guten Tag.’

  ‘Sprechen Sie Englisch?’ Tayte said, hopefully.

  ‘A little. Who is this, please?’

  ‘My name is Jefferson Tayte. I’d like to speak to Trudi Strobel.’

  ‘Frau Strobel nimmt keine Anrufe entgegen.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘No calls.’

  Tayte wasn’t going to be put off this time. ‘Please tell her I know about Ingrid Keller. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes. Wait please.’

  Tayte waited, absently watching the city streets pass by outside the taxi window. He didn’t have to wait long.

  ‘This is Trudi Strobel. What do you want?’

  Tayte wasn’t sure why he felt so nervous, but he did. ‘My name’s Jefferson Tayte,’ he said, thankful that Trudi appeared to speak very good English. ‘I wrote to you about—’

  ‘Yes, I know who you are,’ Trudi cut in. ‘I told you I didn’t want to speak to you.’

  But you are speaking to me, Tayte thought, considering it a good sign. He thought she could just as well have told her young helper to hang up the phone, but she hadn’t. ‘I know about Ingrid Keller,’ Tayte repeated. ‘I know she’s your daughter.’

  ‘Yes, and what of it?’

  It was time to deliver the bluff. ‘Well, I also know that her father is Johann Langner, who used to be your husband’s best friend, and I have the feeling you’d rather I kept that to myself.’

  ‘Are you threatening me, Mr Tayte?’

  Tayte didn’t like to think of it that way; he knew it was an idle threat he wouldn’t follow through with, but his time in Munich was fast running out and he really wanted this interview. ‘Look, as I said in my letters, I’m just trying to trace my family, and I believe you might be able to help. I’d like to come over and talk to you, that’s all.’

  The call went silent for so long that Tayte thought he’d lost the connection. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Yes, I’m still here,’ Trudi said. ‘Very well. You can call at five this afternoon.’

  Tayte was only partway through thanking her when the call ended. He put his phone away, considering that his hunch seemed to have been right. Trudi had certainly not denied that Johann Langner was Ingrid Keller’s father, but he wondered again whether it meant anything in the context of his investigation. If it did, then right now Tayte couldn’t see what. The discovery had given him an interview with Trudi Strobel, though, whom thus far he couldn’t rule out as being his paternal grandmother.

  As the taxi turned into Ruppertstrasse and pulled up outside the offices of the Munich Standesamt, Tayte thought ahead to the records Jan Statham was about to show him, hoping they might shed some light on the matter. Perhaps they would give him some insight into what had happened between the two friends and the girl during the Second World War. He felt sure that Johann’s and Ava’s relationship had not continued beyond it. Langner’s son, Rudi, knew very little about Ava, and he had certainly never met her, or heard his father mention her outside of that brief period during the war when they were married.

  So what had become of Ava Bauer?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  France. The Western Front. 5 August, 1944.

  Neither the onset of evening, nor the warm breeze at the window offered Johann any perceptible respite from what had been yet another hot and sticky day in Normandy. He drew contemplatively on his cigarette as he sat in his room and blew the smoke along with the breeze where it began to spiral into the room. He had been billeted in a house with three other officers of similar rank near Flers while the Leibstandarte, now a full Panzer Division, assembled prior to their next action, which Johann knew would be soon. The familiar pre-battle nerves he always felt as he awaited orders, which had been stretched to breaking point several times over since the war began, were suppressed for now because of an
alarming message he had recently received from Volker. He took the slip of paper from his pocket again, still ruminating on its contents, when a tap-tap at the door denied him the chance to read it again.

  ‘Monsieur?’

  Johann turned to the door as it opened, and he saw Marie’s delicate young face appear through the gap.

  ‘Supper is ready, Monsieur.’

  Johann put his slip of paper away again as he stood up. ‘Thank you, Marie. Did your mother manage to make good use of the provisions we brought you?’

  ‘She has made a cassoulet, Monsieur.’

  ‘Ah, very good.’ Johann extinguished his cigarette with his fingers, pinched off the tip and put the remainder back into its packet for later. ‘At least when I go back into battle, I shall do so with a full stomach.’

  He reached the door and opened it further, smiling at Marie, whom he thought could not have been more than twelve years old. He followed her along the passageway outside his room, which was lit only by the moon at the bare windows.

  ‘Have you and your mother eaten?’ Johann asked as they began to descend the stairs. They creaked at his every step.

  ‘Oui, Monsieur. A little.’

  ‘Good. You must keep up your strength.’

  They arrived at the door to the dining room and Johann could hear the voices of his Kameraden beyond.

  ‘The table is already set, Monsieur,’ Marie said as she opened the door for him.

  ‘Merci, Marie. Please thank your mother for me.’

  Johann entered to the faint but stirring music of Wagner, which was coming from a small Bakelite radio set at the far end of the room, where the shutters were closed against the night. The room was dimly lit by several candles set at intervals along the table, which cast wavering shadows against the walls.

  ‘Ah, here he is,’ someone said. It was Horst, an Obersturmführer, like Johann, whose voice sounded strained and coarse following his recovery from a Soviet bayonet wound to his throat. ‘Here, have some wine, Johann. It’s very good.’

  Johann sat down and took the proffered glass of wine. ‘The cassoulet smells good, too,’ he said, helping himself to a hunk of bread from the board.

  ‘A good German sausage has to be among the world’s most versatile foods,’ the man sitting opposite Johann said. His name was Friedrich, and as Hauptsturmführer he was the senior ranking officer at the table.

  ‘That’s very true,’ Johann said, reaching across the table to fill his plate with a ladle of sausage and bean stew from the pot.

  ‘We were just telling Karl here about the Ostfront,’ Friedrich said.

  Karl was the most junior officer. He was a young Untersturmführer who reminded Johann of himself as he had been when the war began—only Karl had left the training school at Bad Tölz at an even younger age. Johann had seen many young faces on the battlefield in recent months, and he had fought alongside many Kameraden who were inexperienced, such as those among the ranks of the 1st SS Panzer Division Hitlerjugend, a Waffen-SS armoured division drawn from the Hitler Youth, which had only been combat ready since March that year. Johann took it as a sign that Germany’s losses were far greater than could be sustained if they did not win the war soon.

  ‘Were you there when Kharkov was recaptured?’ Karl asked Johann, his eyes suddenly bright in the candlelight. His tone was full of the eagerness Johann found often accompanied a young Leibstandarte soldier’s unfamiliarity with the harsh realities of war.

  Horst answered for him. ‘Johann has been just about everywhere the Leibstandarte have been. He’s one of the oldest hares around. Isn’t that right, Johann?’

  ‘I could say the same about you, Horst,’ Johann said with a smile. ‘And yes, I’m beginning to feel very old.’

  They laughed. ‘Nonsense,’ Horst said. ‘There’s plenty of fight left in both of us.’

  The Hauptsturmführer interjected. ‘With Operation Lüttich imminent, we shall find out soon enough,’ he said, and everyone around the table, except young Karl, gave a sombre nod in agreement.

  A moment later, as if wishing to turn the subject away from the war, the Hauptsturmführer asked, ‘Have you heard from your wife yet, Johann?’

  Johann had made no secret of the fact that the last letter he had received from Ava was dated close to three months ago, soon after his last brief period of home leave that May, when the Leibstandarte had been withdrawn for a period of rest and refit. He might have thought little of it, given the intense fighting in Normandy since early June, but Ava had been in the habit of writing to him regularly and he knew other soldiers of the Leibstandarte who had received letters from home as recently as two weeks ago.

  He sat back from his food, thinking about Ava again, recalling the music she had played for him on his last visit and how it had mesmerised him as he watched her slender fingers drift over the piano keys, caressing them as he longed to be caressed. How impatient he had been for night to fall so they could be alone together.

  He reached into his pocket and withdrew the message he had received from Volker, whom he had contacted recently to ask if he would call on Ava. Not knowing she was safe and well kept Johann awake at night more than usual, and he envied Volker that much. Having married Trudi Scheffler in the spring of 1942, his friend’s position afforded him a closeness to his wife that Johann could only dream of. Having seen so little of Ava during the two and a half years since they were married, coupled with the almost daily uncertainty of whether or not he would live to see her again, was difficult enough. To worry for her as he did, and to be so helpless to do anything about it, was almost too much to bear.

  He unfolded the slip of paper and offered it up for all to see. ‘I received this message from a friend in Munich just yesterday,’ he said. ‘He informs me that my wife’s family home has been boarded up.’

  ‘Munich?’ Friedrich said.

  Johann nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well then, as long as the house is still standing, you’ve nothing to worry about. Didn’t you hear? Munich was bombed during several raids a few weeks ago.’

  ‘Does your wife have any family outside the city?’ Horst asked. ‘Perhaps she and her parents went to stay with them.’

  ‘Yes,’ Johann said, thinking back to his wedding day, when he had been introduced to Ava’s uncle, a man called Heinz Schröder. ‘She has an uncle living in the countryside on the outskirts of Gilching. It’s about fifteen miles west of the city.’

  ‘Well, there you go,’ Friedrich said. ‘I’m sure that’s all it is. Your wife and her parents have simply been upset by the bombings and the displacement from their home.’

  ‘But Ava could have written to me just as easily from Gilching.’

  ‘I think you’re worrying too much,’ Horst said. He topped Johann’s wine up. ‘Here, have another glass and try to relax. With all that’s going on, I’m sure there must be a hundred good reasons why your wife hasn’t written to you.’

  The young Untersturmführer spoke then. ‘Why don’t you send a message back to your friend and ask him to call at her uncle’s house? Perhaps he could see if she’s there for you.’

  Short of deserting his post to go and look for Ava himself, Johann knew it was all he could do.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Present day.

  Tayte was waiting in a small reception area when Jan Statham came in to meet him. She wore navy blue trousers and a cream blouse with a gold and blue scarf at the neck. He put her somewhere in her forties. She pushed her shoulder-length auburn hair back off her face with her glasses as she approached, greeting Tayte with a warm smile as he rose to meet her.

  ‘Those are lovely flowers,’ she said once she’d introduced herself, shaking Tayte’s hand with enthusiasm. ‘This is all a bit exciting, I must say.’

  ‘It sure is,’ Tayte said, reminding himself that it was proving to be more than a little dangerous, too. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise. It’s not every day I get to help
track down a war criminal.’

  ‘No,’ Tayte agreed.

  He knew that was how Jan must have been briefed. He also knew that it was exactly what the Kaufmanns hoped his research might lead to, but while he would have loved to help bring the Demon of Dachau to justice, he remained focused on trying to find out why his mother and Karl had gone to see the Kaufmanns in connection with Karl’s family—his family. He didn’t say anything to Jan about that, having decided it was best not to get into his own issues, which he thought would only complicate matters.

  ‘What’s that accent I’m picking up?’ he asked. ‘It’s subtle, but it’s familiar. Whereabouts in the UK are you from?’

  ‘I grew up in Wales,’ Jan said. ‘Although I was born in Cheshire.’

  They left the reception area, taking a flight of stairs.

  ‘I expect you’re keen to get stuck in,’ Jan said. ‘I was given the names of some of the people you’re interested in, so I’ve jumped the gun a bit and started without you. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Tayte said. ‘Anything that saves time is a bonus in my book.’

  ‘Super,’ Jan said, still smiling. ‘I’ve managed to pull a few records together for you. Are you familiar with German family history?’

  ‘A little,’ Tayte said. ‘But it’s not exactly my specialty.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be just fine. The records aren’t so different, apart from the language, of course. Do you speak German?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Tayte said. ‘I’m afraid my German is appalling. I’m glad to have someone like yourself to translate things for me.’

  They left the stairwell and went through into one of the office areas.

  ‘The main thing to keep in mind,’ Jan said, ‘is that there’s no central repository in Germany for civil records. Most of the information useful to genealogists here is stored at local level. That can make things a little tricky as you need to know in which town, city or municipality the event you’re looking for took place, but there are ways to help identify where German ancestors lived. Church records and gazetteers can be very useful there.’