A Thousand Devils by Frank Goldammer

Author:Frank Goldammer [Goldammer, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781503904323
Publisher: Amazon Crossing
Published: 2018-10-08T16:00:00+00:00

February 9, 1947: Early Afternoon

Heller left the police station on Katharinenstrasse feeling unusually gratified. He had gotten coffee, ersatz of course, with sweetener instead of sugar, and the beverage was now warming his stomach. Even more pleasant, though, was that his phone call with Speidel had gone far differently than he had expected. He’d been preparing for a tough battle, for threats and recrimination and cynical reactions.

But the public prosecutor had turned extraordinarily obliging and friendly. They were getting off on the wrong foot, he told Heller. He intended to have Gutmann brought into police headquarters for questioning that very day—and intended to order a house search as well. Medvedev certainly had a hand in this, Heller supposed, or maybe he hadn’t. He didn’t waste any more time thinking about it, not wanting to spoil this small victory.

He pushed up his sleeve and checked his watch. It would take some time for all the forms to be signed and the operation organized. So Heller decided to stake out the Schwarzer Peter. He was certain that Gutmann was holed up there. If he left anytime soon, Heller could follow him. That might also reveal if there was an informant within the police. Or the judiciary.

Heller stepped behind the wooden fence along the grounds of the metal shop, searching for a good spot among all the objects people had left behind. He looked at the opposite building, his hands deep in his pockets.

After a few minutes, a window opened above him.

“Clear out of there, you old bastard!” shouted an angry man.

“I’m with the police,” Heller shouted back.

“Ah, I see, I just meant, people are always doing their business there; it’s an outrage!”

“Shut that window,” Heller yelled. “You’re interfering with a police operation!”

It took nearly an hour. Heller stepped in place, trying to keep warm. The effect of the ersatz coffee had long faded, as had the nourishment from that barley soup. Finally, Heller heard an engine approaching. Policemen ran up from the nearby station. Heller stepped into the street to intercept the cops, showing them where to keep watch in the inner courtyard and the various possible side exits to both streets.

Six more policemen rode on one of the trucks that rolled up; one carried a battering ram. Oldenbusch jumped out the passenger side and pulled two reports from his briefcase.

“It’s blood on the tools, from two different people,” he told Heller in a rush. “Kassner’s trying to determine the blood groups so we can at least confirm Swoboda’s. The ring’s inscribed with ‘Rosmarie, 08/16/1931.’ I’ve already arranged for the city and church registrar’s offices to check who was getting married on that date. Kassner examined the girl as well. Clear case of asphyxiation. The lungs full of flue gas. Also syphilitic, secondary stage.”

“For God’s sake!” Heller blurted. “The fire hoses! That’s why her hair was frozen. She must have been in Gutmann’s house. Did Speidel know? Does he have Kassner’s report?”

Oldenbusch raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

Heller was disappointed. Did

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