No Man Dies Twice by Michael Smith

Author:Michael Smith [Smith, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2018-01-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Saturday 23 January 1943

Ritter barely slept that night and left home early next morning before Sophie got up, unsure whether he wanted to avoid a row or provoke one. The way he felt right now, he’d probably kill her without any plan and damn the consequences. He didn’t have to go looking for trouble. A small group of women from the Frauenschaft were out in the old town noisily collecting for victims of the Munich air raids. For once the women’s anger wasn’t being orchestrated by Ritter’s neighbor Gertrud Heissig. He stopped Dagmar Kahn, a short, plump, middle-aged woman who saw herself as Heissig’s deputy, to ask where Gertrud was.

“You haven’t heard, then, Inspector?”

There was no cloud cover and the bitter January air froze the back of his throat. It was far too cold to stop and chat, and Ritter wasn’t even sure he wanted to know whatever it was about Gertrud that he hadn’t heard. But Kahn’s question forced him to ask. “Haven’t heard what?”

“Gertrud’s husband Oswald was killed in a British terror attack on Munich. The bombing there’s getting worse. She’s gone to have his body brought back for burial.”

Ritter remembered the banners Gertrud and the Frauenschaft had been waving during their previous protest over the bombing. “YOU’LL BE NEXT.” He didn’t like Gertrud or her husband. He certainly wouldn’t be shedding a tear for a man who’d profited from the war. But reluctantly or not, he’d shared a drink with Oswald Heissig. He didn’t want him dead and he didn’t wish the loss of her husband on Gertrud. She wasn’t alone, of course. There were plenty of wives and mothers losing husbands and sons. Nor were men the only victims. The bombing had extended the killing to women and children. Far too many people to grieve for them all.

As Ritter walked up the Max-Josefs-Platz toward the Mittertor, the chemical truck drove down the square in the opposite direction. No doubt mindful of Ritter’s previous intervention, Kahn and her cronies waved it through. The driver smiled and raised a hand to Ritter, who nodded, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight reflected off the snow-covered square. Something about the man’s expression triggered questions in Ritter’s mind. It seemed forced. More of a fixed grin than a genuine smile. As if it were born out of angst rather than gratitude. What did the man have to be nervous about?

Ritter watched the drab green truck clatter past. French POWs had cleared a channel through the snow, exposing the surface of the street. The truck’s tires were wrapped in snow chains and the drums of chemicals in the back bounced up and down as it rumbled across the cobbles. Those drums should have been tied down. They didn’t look safe. Surely there were rules about securing dangerous chemicals. Why did they have to come through Rosenheim, anyway? And why didn’t the truck have the name of the chemical company on its side? The name was on the drums. Ritter made

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