The Stranger From Berlin

by Melissa Amateis

  ‘Yes, she is,’ Max said. ‘But why leave him out in the first place? He was her son and an integral part of her life.’

  ‘And an integral part of her decision to start writing,’ Gertrude pointed out. ‘Tallulah began writing mystery novels after the fire. She couldn’t understand what had happened.’

  Max frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  Gertrude grew very quiet. She looked around the room, her gaze falling on the door and the windows, before she turned to him. ‘Dietrich was found in his study,’ she said. ‘Terribly burned, of course. But the firefighters believed the fire started in that room. The police convicted the mob ringleader of doing it. He confessed to terrorizing the people at the church, but he swore he was innocent of arson. It didn’t matter. The judge found him guilty.’

  ‘And did Mrs Stanwick believe he wasn’t?’

  ‘She had her suspicions. She once told me she began writing her novels to try and unravel the mystery of her son’s death.’

  Had Mrs Stanwick’s suspicions held merit? Had someone else started the fire? And had she recorded all those possibilities in her diary, named names? Is that why someone had stolen it?

  But what troubled Max more than anything was the concerted effort to keep Dietrich out of the museum. Something had to be in the diary, otherwise Lowe wouldn’t be so damn interested in getting it back.

  ‘I still don’t understand why the museum board didn’t want any mention of Dietrich made in the museum.’

  Alois folded his arms and snorted. ‘Because, Herr Koenig, Dietrich is a reminder of that night. He died because of prejudice and hatred directed against his German congregation. Mayor Lowe wanted to eradicate any trace of that night from this town’s memory, and that meant not remembering the one man who died.’

  Eradication. Yes, he knew all about eradication. The Nazis were very good at eradicating things – and people – they did not like. The Night of the Long Knives, when Hitler assassinated those members of his party who didn’t agree with him; the complete decimation of the universities as the Nazis disposed of those not fit to teach the pure Aryan race and its noble history; but the worst of all, the night they tried to wipe out the synagogues and Jewish businesses of Germany, the same night Max had fled for his life.

  The sudden, shrill ring of the phone startled them all, and Max tried to slow his breathing as Gertrude hurried to answer it.

  Max’s heart was still pounding hard against his ribs when Mrs Janssen turned to him in bemusement. ‘It’s for you,’ she said. ‘Mrs Fields.’

  Jenni? Why would she be calling him? The baby?

  He hurried to take the receiver. ‘Jenni? Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, Max, I’m fine. But something’s happened.’

  His momentary relief gave way to panic. What now?

  ‘It’s Katya.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s here at my house. She’ll be all right, though she’s a little banged up.’

  His chest tightened. ‘Banged up?’

  ‘She’s got some scratches on her chest and her collar is missing.’

  ‘But how did she get out of the house? I put her in my bedroom before I left tonight.’

  A pause. ‘Someone must have broken into the cottage and let her out. I don’t know if they planned to take her or she escaped.’

  He leaned against the wall as a shudder passed through him. Mein Gott. Now they were going after his dog. Was it those bastards from earlier? Had they decided to ignore Williams’s warning and returned? He wouldn’t put it past them to hurt Katya. But what about Goldberg or Lowe?

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as possible,’ he said, then hung up.

  He turned and saw the Janssens studying him with concern. Gone was the suspicion in their eyes, and he knew he’d made an ally in this couple. That was something, at least. And later he would ponder all that he’d learned tonight. But now…

  The anger burned a trail through his veins, sending heat throughout his entire body.

  Someone had just made a fatal error in attacking his dog. He would make damn sure they paid for it.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Alois asked.

  ‘Nein. Someone broke into the cottage and tried to hurt my dog. Thankfully, she got away and she’s all right.’

  Gertrude gasped. ‘But who would do such a thing?’

  He shoved his arms into his coat. ‘On my way home, I saw a few local men at the cottage so I hid in the bushes. They were drunk and yelling threats. They’re one possibility, but there are others.’

  Alois slowly got to his feet. ‘So you are in danger then.’

  ‘I suppose. But of course, no one believes I am in danger.’ He wrapped his scarf around his neck, his movements quick and furious. ‘I can’t even ask the police for protection. They think I am responsible for everything.’

  ‘Wait here a moment.’

  Alois left the kitchen and Max pulled on his gloves, thinking of sweet Katya cowering in fear from the twisted individuals who’d decided to use her as leverage. Such blatant cruelty made him nauseous.

  ‘Here,’ Alois said, returning. ‘You will need this.’

  Max stared at the Colt pistol in the man’s outstretched hands. It looked like the one Rick used to shoot the German officer at the end of Casablanca. How ironic.

  ‘Do you think this necessary?’ he asked.

  ‘Take it.’ Alois shoved it into Max’s hands along with a box of ammunition. ‘You must protect yourself. Do you know how to use it?’

  Max nodded. ‘I used to go hunting with my father and grandfather. I’m no stranger to guns.’

  Max checked that the gun was unloaded, then put it into his coat pocket, hating how it jabbed against his thigh. He turned to the couple, realizing that with this gesture, they had taken a side.

  ‘Thank you, for your hospitality, and for your understanding.’

  In a move Max would long remember, Alois Janssen put his hand on Max’s shoulder, much like Max’s father had done many years ago when he sent his son away to Berlin. The words were the same.

  ‘Please, be careful.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It took Max only five minutes to return to Rose Cottage. His leg muscles burned with exertion, and sweat mottled his brow, but he ignored both, thinking only of the Schweinehunde who’d committed this crime. The list of suspects wasn’t short. The heavy weight of the gun in his pocket, previously unwelcome, felt reassuring.

  As he hurried up the front steps, he stepped on broken glass and wasn’t surprised to see Williams’s familiar black sedan on the other side of the street.

  Once inside, he stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room and switched on the overhead light. In the kitchen, the tomato sauce-stained plate lay in the sink along with the skillet, and odds and ends cluttered the table: a full ashtray, an empty carton of cigarettes, the salt and pepper shakers on the turntable. Yesterday’s newspaper lay folded on the ottoman just as he’d left it when he went to the Janssens’. The half-drunk glass of whisky still sat, untouched, on the end table. The bookcase, however, was another matter.

  A cold finger of dread sliced across his neck. The letter.

  Books were strewn around the room, some of them laying half open, others with pages torn out.

  He began to frantically search for Goethe’s Faust among the mess, and finally found it. He turned to the page where he’d put the envelope.

  It was gone.

  He slammed the book shut. It appeared someone had broken into the cottage specifically to look for the letter. Katya had been shut up in his room and they’d either deliberately let her out and tried to take her or, God forbid, something worse.

  This game had gone too far. Going after him was one thing. But his dog?

  An ugly hatred bloomed in his heart and he stormed outside, marching over to the FBI agent’s car, his hand gripping the pistol inside his coat pocket. By God, he was in the mood to shoot someone, and damn the consequences to hell.
>
  As Max approached, Williams rolled down his window, but before he could say anything, Max slammed his fist against the car roof.

  ‘What the hell is going on, Williams?’ he snarled. ‘You threaten to turn in those drunken Schweinehunde and then let them or someone else break into my house and take my dog?’

  The agent didn’t even flinch at the noise or the questions, and that just enraged Max further.

  ‘You look upset.’ Williams blew smoke through his nostrils. ‘Having problems?’

  It took every ounce of Max’s self-control to keep from dragging the man out of the car and beating him senseless.

  ‘I want to know who broke into my house tonight and took my dog.’

  Williams frowned. ‘I have no idea. I followed those local yokels and saw them drive downtown to a bar.’

  ‘And then I’m sure you came right back here and didn’t see anything the entire night, is that right?’

  ‘Who says I’ve been here the entire night? You certainly haven’t.’

  Max forced himself to take a deep breath. He had to keep it together, damn it. He had to.

  ‘Do you know who took my dog or not?’

  Williams flung his cigarette out the car window and levelled his gaze at Max. ‘No, I don’t, Koenig. You can choose whether or not you want to believe me.’

  Without another word, he rolled up his window, started the car, and drove off, leaving Max standing in the middle of the street.

  * * *

  They sat side by side on Jenni’s couch, Jenni wrapped in a quilt, Max hunched forward, resting his elbows on his knees. From his vantage point, he could see into Marty’s bedroom. Katya slept on the floor beside the bed, a fuzzy blue blanket tenderly wrapped around her. Every few minutes, he could see her shudder, and every time he saw it, he wanted to put his fist through the wall.

  He’d never felt this kind of unhinged anger before. It unnerved him.

  ‘She’ll be all right, Max,’ Jenni said. ‘Marty told me that blanket has secret powers.’

  Max knew she was trying to make him feel better, but it wasn’t working. When he’d entered the house earlier, Katya had run up to him and pressed her body against his legs, whining and shaking. He’d cradled her, the fear in her eyes shredding his heart. That a human being would reduce themselves to using an innocent animal to get to him hit harder than he thought possible.

  ‘Do you think we should call the police?’ Jenni asked.

  Max leaned back and stared at a crack in the ceiling. ‘It wouldn’t do any good. This man and his friends… it could have been them. But I doubt it.’ His laugh was hollow. ‘Besides, Chief Thompson would say I faked the whole thing to get attention.’

  Except he couldn’t fake someone stealing the letter. Besides Jenni, Kooky also knew of its existence. Yet there was no earthly reason for Kooky to steal it.

  Nein. Kooky couldn’t have done it. It was impossible. The old man wasn’t capable of that, was he?

  I may be invisible to everyone in this town, but that does not mean I do not know their secrets.

  But what about Mrs Macintosh? Had she been lying to him about her reasons for reacting so strongly to seeing Dietrich’s books?

  ‘You said one of the men called the other Roy?’ Jenni asked.

  He nodded. ‘Yes. It was the same man who insulted me at the store the other day. He was wearing overalls and has the most astonishing eyebrows.’

  Despite the situation, Jenni laughed. ‘I know exactly who you’re talking about. Roy Carlton. He’s a bully and has always been a troublemaker. I can’t see him being smart enough to even know about the letter.’ She paused. ‘You’re sure it’s missing? You didn’t accidentally put it in another book?’

  Max finished off his whisky, hoping it would stave off his irritation. Jenni meant well, but she’d already asked him this question and the answer hadn’t changed. ‘No. It is gone.’

  ‘They, whoever “they” is, knew right where to look.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘You don’t think…’

  ‘Kooky?’ Max shook his head. ‘Maybe. But why?’

  Jenni shuddered. ‘I don’t know. The more I hear about this town, the more I wonder. It’s so heartbreaking that people actually changed their last names.’

  ‘Ja. A name is one’s identity. To change it is often to change who you are.’

  ‘That, and where you came from. Danny told me his grandfather changed the family’s last name to Fields so they wouldn’t sound Italian. It used to be “Fiore”. He thought Fields was easier to pronounce and spell.’

  ‘A name is easy to change; who you are is not.’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ Jenni said, pulling the quilt closer. ‘I never knew all the ways Lowe and others tried to force people to stop being German.’

  ‘And because of it, I can imagine a great river of resentment runs through this town.’ And resentment, Max thought, could indeed cause people to act irrationally.

  ‘You know,’ Jenni mused, ‘whoever stole the letter might be someone who wants to take revenge on him. If this town found out about his son? Wowsers. Fireworks, for sure. He’d lose his job as mayor.’

  ‘He’d lose more than that, Jenni. He’d lose his power over these people.’

  ‘High time he did.’

  Max glanced at his coat hanging on the rack beside the door. The pistol still rested in the pocket and he hadn’t told Jenni about it, nor would he. This entire situation had escalated to a point he never thought possible.

  ‘I must be going home,’ he said, though he didn’t move. The thought of returning to that empty cottage tonight, knowing what had happened there earlier, filled him with dread.

  Jenni laid a hand on his arm. ‘I think you should stay here.’

  ‘Are you mad?’

  When he realized he’d blurted it out in German, he took a steadying breath. ‘I could not possibly stay here. Just think of what your neighbours would say.’

  ‘I don’t care. You’ve had a terrible fright and I can tell you’re tired.’

  He swivelled his head to look at her, wondering if he showed his fatigue as much as he felt it. The adrenaline rush had faded, and in its wake, he felt like he’d been run over by one of Hitler’s Panzers.

  Regardless, he couldn’t stay here, no matter his exhaustion. Sooner or later, whoever was after him would set their sights on Jenni and her son. He refused to let that happen.

  ‘You should care,’ he said. ‘I can’t put you in danger like this. You have to think of Marty and the baby. You need to get back to bed at once and rest.’

  ‘It’s been a week and I feel fine.’

  But she didn’t sound fine. Ever since her accident, the spark in her eyes had dimmed, and an air of defeat hung around her like a black veil.

  ‘I cannot put you through any more stress,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I would never forgive myself if I caused you pain.’

  He almost wished she’d yank her hand from his and tell him to go soak his head because she was just fine, thank you very much. But she didn’t. Her fingers felt as thin as butterfly wings, and just as fragile.

  ‘You don’t understand, Max.’ Those incredible eyes of hers shone bright with tears. ‘I don’t want to worry about you in that cottage, alone. And I…’ Her voice hitched on a sob. ‘I don’t want Marty and me to be in the house alone. I – I have a guest bedroom you can use. Please stay?’

  Mein Gott. He’d never seen her so vulnerable. How in the hell could he say no?

  ‘Of course I’ll stay,’ he whispered.

  Jenni’s shoulders sagged in relief, and acting purely on instinct, he pulled her against his chest. She didn’t resist, but clung to him instead. His nerves lit up much like the London sky during the Blitz, which he’d once watched on a newsreel, and his anger and rage melted to nothingness.

  For the first time since he left the cottage tonight, he allowed himself to breathe, to close his eyes and let his muscles go slack, to let time be still,
to just feel.

  He felt the warmth of her body sink through his shirt and onto his skin. He felt the sharp curve of her shoulder under his hand. He felt her arm around his waist, her fingers splayed on his back. And when he held his breath, he could feel her heart beating against his chest.

  Peace enfolded him, warm as the summer sun, and he relished it. Too many years he’d gone without peace, yet this woman made him feel it again. How he loved her for it.

  He could have gone on holding her all night, but he could feel her body shuddering in exhaustion, and he gently helped her to her feet.

  ‘Go to sleep now,’ he murmured. ‘Everything will be fine.’

  ‘Thank you, Max.’

  She gave him a tired smile. Then she shuffled out of the room and he heard her bedroom door close. The air turned chilly with her gone. Max knew that, after tonight, he couldn’t risk being by her side. He must release her from her promise in order to protect her, her unborn child, and Marty.

  He must bear this burden alone.

  For tonight, though, he’d stay here, in a house that had become like a home to him, and he would remember the sounds of Marty and Katya scampering around the house, whooping and hollering as they chased down Nazis, of Jenni calling from her bedroom while Max prepared her food in the kitchen, and the way it smelled whenever he stepped foot inside, like Jenni’s rose perfume and those berry-scented candles she insisted on burning. And then tomorrow, he would go and not bother her again.

  Pain lanced his chest. He couldn’t bear the thought of being away from her. But he had no choice.

  Moving as though in a dream, he got his coat and then went into the tiny spare bedroom with its single bed, lamp and nightstand. He sat on the bed, slipped off his shoes and shirt, slid under the sheets, then took the gun and stuffed it under the pillow.

  When sleep came, it caught him quickly, pulling him under and into a world where even the shadows had eyes.

  * * *

  For a brief moment last night, she’d allowed herself to be held.