He sighed. He hated such thoughts. Detested them. Committing suicide was a cardinal sin, a waste of a life, and would leave his family desperate and destitute. He had extended family that would take them in, assuming whatever agency had come after him would leave them alone, yet in today’s Germany, even family sometimes wasn’t willing to take risks for one another if that other was targeted by the Reich.
His eyes burned at the thought of his wife and kids, on the streets, begging for food, freezing in a Berlin winter.
He shook his head, ridding himself of the thoughts.
Get it together.
He growled.
And keep that damned temper in check.
He picked up the phone again and dialed Vogel’s office. The man had to know that he had just confirmed there had been a third shot. The left shoulder of the uniform on the “second” Griese was damaged exactly where he had hoped it would be. And it confirmed more than one thing. It confirmed that there had been a third shot, but it also confirmed that the uniform had been taken and put on the second body. Any search for it could now be called off.
Though all of this did little to identify who the multiple shooters were.
Yet that wasn’t his job.
Thankfully.
40 |
Konrad Residence Berlin, Nazi Germany
“Soup and a sandwich, and draw a warm bath.”
The first servant visible bowed at Konrad’s orders then rushed off to see to them as they entered the house, Joachim only slightly calmer than when they had found him at the police station. Renata guided him toward the drawing room, but Konrad intercepted them. “Our bedchambers.” He lowered his voice. “No one can overhear our discussion.”
Renata paled slightly, but nodded. They climbed the stairs and took refuge behind the double doors of their bedroom, Renata sitting the boy on the bed, then taking up position beside him, her arm around his shaking shoulders.
Konrad pulled a chair from the corner and sat in front of them, forcing a calm smile and hopefully a calmer voice. “Are you all right, son?”
Joachim nodded.
“Just hungry?”
Another nod.
“And a little stinky,” smiled Renata, pinching the boy’s cheek.
He squirmed.
“Now, that police officer will be here later, and we’re going to get this all straightened out. But I think you need to know some things before he gets here.”
“We-we’re not pure!” he cried. “My life is over! I was supposed to join the SS! I was supposed to be a general!”
Konrad’s heart ached at the hate mixed with the self-centered concerns of youth. “Do you remember your sister?”
Joachim sniffed, rubbing his nose. “A little. I didn’t until I saw the photo.”
“Her name was Frida,” said Renata, her eyes red, tears already rolling down her cheeks. “And she loved you very much. She loved your brother very much.”
“What was wrong with her?”
Renata’s shoulders shook and she buried her face in her hands. Konrad leaned forward, placing a hand on her leg, taking over.
“She was special. She had something called Down Syndrome. It’s a defect that caused her to develop slower than normal children, and to appear different. But she was every bit our daughter, and every bit your sister.”
Joachim stared at him. “Wh-what happened to her?”
“She died. With the eugenics movement, we knew she would never be accepted, so we kept her hidden. One day she ran outside and was hit by a car. I was at work, but your mother was there. There was no saving her. We buried her in secret, then mourned in private. We told you and your brother that we had sent her away so you wouldn’t be traumatized by her death. You were about ten at the time. Frankly, I’m surprised your brother’s the one who remembered her and not you.”
“I-I forgot about her. When I saw the photo, I remembered. I remembered everything. What are we going to do? If they find out, we’re finished!”
“Nobody knows except for the three of us. As far as the world is concerned, Frida was born and died. There’s no record indicating she was mentally handicapped in any way. That photo has been destroyed”—he gave Renata a look and she nodded—“and as long as we keep the secret, no one will know.”
“But the police officer. He knows. I told him!”
Konrad shook his head. “He knows nothing beyond a name. And lots of people have lost a child. We’ll answer his questions, leave out that one tiny detail, then he’ll leave. Everything will be forgotten, and life will go on as it did before.”
“What if Griese told someone?”
“If he had, I’m sure we would have heard something by now. Besides, there was no time. He died shortly after he ran away, if what the police tell me is true.”
Joachim’s shoulders sagged. “But it still means we’re not pure. We had a freak for a sister.”
Renata slapped his hands. “You will never refer to your sister like that. She was the sweetest of souls, and would be heartbroken if she ever knew you thought of her like that.”
Joachim shriveled. “Sorry, Mother.”
Konrad leaned closer. “Now, you and your brother are perfectly good German boys, perfectly Aryan like the Reich desires. Your sister in no way diminished this family, nor you or your brother. All your future plans can still happen as long as no one ever knows about Frida and why she was special. Understood?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Good. Now, I suggest we never mention her again, as it will raise questions. Let’s just remember her in our thoughts. It’s especially important for your brother to not know any of this. He’s too young.”
“But he’s talking to her all the time.”
“He’s talking to an imaginary friend. All he likely remembers is the name. If anyone were to ask, he’d tell them she’s real, and they’d know immediately it was all in his head, just the overactive imagination of a boy. He’ll grow out of it eventually.”
“Will you ever tell him the truth?”
“Perhaps, one day, when the Reich permits people like her to live. But with Aktion T4 official policy right now, I don’t know when that might be.”
His stomach churned at the thought of the brutal policy signed by the Führer two years ago. Tens of thousands had been “humanely” euthanized, the excuse given that death was more compassionate than forcing them to live handicapped, whether mentally or physically. Every time he drove past #4 Tiergarten Street, where the name Aktion T4 came from, he was forced to relive the death of his precious Frida, and dwell on the thoughts of how today, with his rank and stature, if she were alive, there would have been no way to hide her.
They would have taken her away, killed her, and stripped him of his rank and status.
Though he’d have died in the process, for there would have been no way she’d be taken without a fight.
It was always the ultimate solution to their problem. He had the cyanide capsules locked in his desk at home. If they came for them, Renata knew where they were. Whoever got there first would distribute them to the boys then each other.
They couldn’t be taken. Though his wife and the boys were innocent, they would be used against him, tortured in front of him until he told them whatever they wanted to hear.
And he could never let that happen.
A knock on the outer door snapped him from his train of thought.
“Yes?”
“I have Master Joachim’s lunch. Where would you like it served?”
Konrad walked over to the door and opened it, taking the tray. “He’ll have it here. And the bath?”
“Drawn down the hall.”
“Very well. I’m expecting a guest in about an hour. When he arrives, have him shown to the drawing room then let me know.”
“Yes, sir.”
He closed the door and brought the tray in, placing it on the vanity that had been the holder of so many secrets. Joachim leaped to his feet and grabbed the sandwich and
glass of milk, devouring it in short order, the travails of the past day forgotten at least momentarily. Konrad sat beside his wife and squeezed her hand as they watched him. He felt confident that Joachim would keep their secret, especially if he could keep him away from the detective.
And keep Graf off their backs.
He sighed, putting an arm around Renata’s shoulders.
We might yet get through this.
41 |
En route to Konrad Residence Berlin, Nazi Germany
Vogel drove in silence toward Colonel Konrad’s residence. Quite often when alone, he talked to himself, much to his own annoyance, especially when caught by someone in the next car, or on the crosswalk.
But today his thoughts were his own.
He was about to get questions answered, yet he had a suspicion they wouldn’t be the ones he needed.
The uniform had been accounted for. Naumann had called to let him know it had been received and confirmed to be Corporal Griese’s. He had called off the search, and the canvassing of the area was finished. They had learned all they would from the neighbors, which had proved fruitful.
There were definitely two shots, and still possibly three, by at least two different types of weapon.
Naumann had reported small entry and exit holes in the uniform he felt could be caused by the .22 caliber weapon, but not the 9mm they had confirmed delivered the fatal shot. And with Joachim having tossed his mother’s gun, it was likely that somebody had picked it up then shot at Griese a second time.
Though they only had Joachim’s word on that. He could have been lying about dropping it.
“No, he was telling the truth.”
His voice startled him and he chuckled.
He was tense. He was treading on dangerous ground. This case involved the SS, and even though he was technically SS, the true SS didn’t think so.
They were fanatics.
He was a cop.
He would hopefully soon know who Frida was, and why she was so dangerous to the Konrad family. He would know why Joachim had done what he had. Yet unless there was some miracle confession, some slip-up on the colonel’s part, he wouldn’t be leaving the Konrads’ house with any more idea of who the murderer was.
Though he might be leaving with the motive.
And motive could allow him to narrow the suspect pool considerably, for those with no concern for the motive were unlikely to murder.
Yet he kept coming back to the fact there were two shooters at the murder scene. One likely standing in front of Griese, one behind him. Who were they? Why two of them? Why did they shoot from opposite directions? Why at almost the same time? Did Griese shoot back? Did he hit the shooter in front of him? Did they both strip him? Did they both dress another body in his uniform and plant his ID?
There were so many unanswered questions, it was frustrating.
Though it hadn’t even been 24 hours.
He’d wrapped up cases in less time, though it was rare. It usually depended on whether it was well planned or hastily executed. The latter meant mistakes, meant clues left behind, meant a big red flag indicating those responsible.
And he had a feeling that whatever happened last night, wasn’t planned at all. If it had been, Griese would never have been given the chance to run away. They wouldn’t have had to strip him and have another body identified as him.
That was another thing that had him puzzled. Why had they done this? Why not just let the body be discovered in its own time? The only theory he had come up with was a time constraint. The murderer couldn’t direct anybody to the corpse, otherwise he would become a suspect. That was understandable. But to dress a corpse and plant the ID, knowing that the body would eventually be found regardless, and that this discovery would pose questions, had to mean a hastily executed impulse borne of necessity.
“They needed the record to show he was dead.”
He smiled.
“The official record.”
If the official record showed Griese was dead, then the search would be called off, and any further investigation might be halted or at least stalled. The murderer must have felt that there was no way to tie any of it back to him, so he didn’t care if there were two bodies later identified as the corporal. He didn’t care if there was confusion at Central Records.
All they cared about was the deadline.
A smile crept up the side of his cheek.
Even though he didn’t necessarily have a motive yet for the murder, he might find out who had a motive for wanting Griese’s death to be discovered. Who would benefit from the search being called off? Who would benefit from having the spotlight taken off them?
Konrad?
It was the only thing that made sense. He would be the one under pressure to find the man thought to have taken a shot at his dinner guests. The colonel had said there were people there that outranked him. They were likely all SS, and that meant egomaniacs. They would demand Griese be brought to their form of justice immediately. And if he couldn’t be found, Konrad would be the next on the chopping block as not only his commanding officer, but the host of the gathering who had failed to provide sufficient security.
Yet it didn’t make sense. Why would he bother hiding the fact he had killed Griese? Everyone thought Griese had shot at the party guests then fled the scene. If Konrad had found him and shot him, then nobody would have said anything.
And again, he kept coming back to how narrow the timeframe. He had little doubt this death wasn’t premeditated, which meant whoever was responsible, was probably panicked and that meant mistakes.
He pulled into the driveway of the Konrad residence and a shiver ran up his spine as he saw the heavy SS presence.
He was walking into the wolf’s den, and if he wasn’t careful, he might end up just like Griese.
42 |
Konrad Residence Berlin, Nazi Germany
Konrad watched as the detective’s car came to a halt in front of the steps leading into the house. He turned to his wife, sitting on the edge of the bed, trembling.
“What if he wants to talk to me?”
“I’ll say no.”
“But he’s the police.”
“And I’m a colonel in the SS.”
She smiled weakly. “That might work today, but it won’t tomorrow. Eventually he’ll get his way.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re worrying about things that haven’t happened yet.” He paused. “Does anybody know you went out searching for Joachim?”
She stared at her hands, yanking at the handkerchief they gripped. “I-I don’t think so, but I can’t be certain.”
“Then it’s best we don’t lie. I’ll say that you went out briefly to search for him, then decided it was fruitless and returned home where you waited for me outside.”
“If you think that’s wise.”
“I do. We can’t lie to this man. He’s trained to pick up on these things. I’ll tell him the truth as best I can, then try and avoid anything that might be…uncomfortable.”
She stared up at him, her eyes red. “What are you going to tell him about Frida?”
His stomach churned at the mention of her name. “As little as possible.” He sighed. “If that is at all possible. If he thinks I’m being too evasive, he might think there’s a motive for us to have killed Griese, and he might keep digging.”
There was a knock at the outer door. “Kriminalinspektor Vogel is here to see you, sir,” called one of his staff members, his aide not home when they returned, presumably at Central Records to retrieve the documents they needed to keep General Graf off their backs.
“I’ll be there in a moment!” he called, then took his wife’s hand. “This is it. I don’t know how long it will be, but stay in here, and don’t answer the door for anyone but me.”
“What about Joachim?”
“Let him rest. When I checked on him, he was still sound asleep. I’ve left a note for him to come see you here should he wake up. It’s essential V
ogel doesn’t speak to him again. He might break.” He pulled in a deep breath. “It’s time.”
He headed downstairs and into the drawing room to find Vogel sitting in the same chair as earlier. He rose, extending a hand. “Colonel, good to see you again.”
“Likewise. Can I offer you anything?”
Vogel shook his head. “No thank you, I’m fine.” They both sat and Vogel positioned his notepad on his knee, his pencil ready. “First, let me apologize for upsetting your son earlier. I’m afraid in a murder investigation, these things can become necessary. I’m just happy that we found him alive and well, and that he had little to do with the events of last night. Things could have been much worse.”
Konrad conceded the point, though wasn’t convinced of it. Perhaps Vogel knew more than he did, and this might be more of a two-way street of information. “We’re just happy he’s safe.”
“Good, good. Now, let’s get the elephant out of the room, shall we? Who is Frida?”
Konrad’s mouth watered and he shifted in his chair, having rehearsed the answer to this question repeatedly over the past two hours. “She’s our daughter.”
Vogel’s eyes rose. “Your daughter? Is she here?”
Konrad sighed. “Our late daughter. She passed away almost six years ago. Car accident.”
“I’m so sorry. I have two children myself, and can’t imagine what it would be like to lose one of them.”
“It is difficult.”
“Your son said he saw a photograph in your wife’s vanity. I suppose Frida was in that picture. Why would it trigger such a reaction in him?”
“I suppose because he had forgotten about her. In order to help them with the grieving process, we chose, in retrospect unwisely, to tell them she had gone away, then never mentioned her again. In time, Joachim must have forgotten her, and Maximilian was too young to remember much beyond the name.”
The Colonel's Wife Page 13
