Rosa (56 page)

Fichte’s cold stare gazed up into the light as Hoffner pulled back the sheet: Braun hadn’t even bothered to shut the boy’s eyes. Hoffner did so, and saw the slight discoloring on the lips and tongue. He bent over and smelled the faint metallic scent that lingered in the mouth. Hoffner guessed prussic, maybe oxalic acid: in Fichte’s lungs, either would have been instantly fatal.

There was nothing serene in the face, no peace at the end. The boy looked as muddled by his own death as by those he had investigated and had never fully understood. Hoffner tried not to think of those last moments, Fichte clinging to the hope that things could be made right, only to be brought face-to-face with his own futility. Perhaps Fichte had made it only to confusion. That was Hoffner’s hope for the boy.

He reached down and repositioned the hand on the chest, then stood there a moment longer before pulling the sheet over the face. Hoffner turned back to the counter, took the next jar, and began to empty it.

J
ogiches’s jaw was already swollen, and his lip badly cut, by the time Braun stepped into the cell.

It was a damp, soulless place, set off from the rest of the cells with just these sorts of interviews in mind. Jogiches sat cuffed to a chair, his arms pulled tight behind his back. Tamshik had been going at him for a good twenty minutes; Hermannsohn had been battering away with an endless array of questions: neither had produced any results.

Tamshik stepped back as Braun pulled over a second chair and placed it in front of Jogiches. Braun sat. “It looks like it’s all falling apart up there,
mein Herr,
” said Braun with a goading sympathy. “The barracks guards in the square. A tank from the Schloss armory. We might even see a flamethrower or two.” Braun curled a smile even as Jogiches stared beyond him. “A bit of a waste, wasn’t it?” Braun reached out his arm and Hermannsohn handed him a file: Braun began to flip through the pages as he spoke. “Not really like you to put in an appearance at one of these things, is it,
mein Herr
? And to be taken in the first wave of arrests. Now, that was sloppy.” Braun paused on a page. “Next time you’ll have to be a bit more careful, won’t you?” Braun looked up. “At least with your friends, we were forced to track them down.” Jogiches continued to stare ahead as Braun’s gaze hardened. “And now you’re going to tell me exactly what Herr Hoffner knows about Munich, what he knows about the Hotel Eden, and anything else you think I might want to hear.”

The room fell silent. Jogiches let his eyes drop to Braun’s. He waited before speaking: “Remarkable,” said Jogiches, “how one little Jewess has caused you such problems, Herr
Oberkommissar.
Letting her fall into the canal . . . now, that was the mistake, wasn’t it?” Jogiches saw the momentary tensing in Braun’s jaw. Jogiches spat a string of blood onto the floor and asked, “Do you have the time, Herr
Oberkommissar
?” He spoke as if he were at a café, sharing a coffee with a friend.

Braun hesitated. “The time?”

Jogiches enjoyed watching the wheels spin behind the callous expression. “Around nine, nine-thirty, is it?” Jogiches nodded to himself. “I’d just like to know how long Rosa’s been out of the building, that’s all.” He saw the momentary flash in Braun’s eyes and continued: “I suppose I
will
have to be a bit more careful next time, Herr
Oberkommissar,
try not to be so sloppy.” Jogiches paused and then added, “As, I imagine, will you.”

Braun stifled his reaction. “You think you’ve done something clever, do you?” When Jogiches said nothing, Braun stood, adding with a too-practiced calm, “It won’t make any difference.”

Jogiches again locked his eyes on the far wall. “Oh, I think we both know that’s not true.” She was safe, he thought; he could let her go. He closed his eyes.

Now, thought Jogiches, I am absolutely alone.

Braun stared at the unnervingly serene face. He looked across at Tamshik and said, “Make sure the prisoner doesn’t try to escape.” Braun then turned and headed out of the cell.

Jogiches waited for the touch of the steel on his skin. He listened for the squeeze of the trigger. Both came more quickly than he expected.

T
he car was waiting outside, its exhaust puffing like a cigar in the cold and damp. The door opened and Hoffner stepped up to the front seat as the men laid Rosa across the back floorboards. With a quick release, Pimm put the car into gear and jolted them down the nearest side street.

“No problems?” said Pimm as he glanced into his mirror.

“Nothing on our end,” said Hoffner.

“Good. Then our friend must have been successful.” Pimm took a quick turn; the buildings peeled past in a gray wash of stone and glass. “You know my associate?”

Little Franz was seated between them. The boy had found himself a scarf and was smoking a cigarette. A nice bit of wool, thought Hoffner. “Stepping up in the world, eh, Franz?”

Franz continued to gaze out the windshield, his tiny fingers wrapped around his cigarette as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke. In Pimm’s presence, Franz was a much tougher prospect. “I was told to come along,” said the boy, the “Herr
Oberkommissar
” conspicuously absent.

Pimm said, “He needs to learn sometime. You won’t hold it against him, will you?”

Hoffner nodded at the cigarette. “You have another?” Franz fished one from his pocket and handed it to Hoffner. “We’ll call it even, then.” Hoffner lit up.

Pimm took them west, making sure to keep clear of any residual scuff-ups along the way. The government had reacted quickly: armored cars and light artillery—vast metal rhinos standing sentry—had already cordoned off the streets leading into the square. It was difficult to tell just how many troops Ebert had sent in; at every turn there seemed to be another unit marching in formation: it was more than enough to conjure memories of early January.

“They’re going to make quick work of this,” said Pimm. “Wouldn’t want to be back in that square.”

“Yah,” Hoffner grunted. He continued to gaze out. “So . . . what do you think, Franz? Was it worth it to get her out?” The boy seemed surprised to be asked; he shrugged lazily. Hoffner nodded to himself and then spoke across to Pimm. “I’d love to see the look on Braun’s face when they find she’s gone missing. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Pimm shifted gears and said, “Just so long as you keep the Kripo out of my back pocket for the next few weeks, we’re settled.” He took another quick turn and Hoffner put a hand to the roof so as to keep from flattening the boy. “That was the agreement,” said Pimm as the car straightened. “You want to gum up the works with your friends in the Polpo, not my business. You don’t keep up your end with me, and I’ll bring her right back.”

Hoffner laughed quietly. “Fair enough.” He was glad to see little Franz following every word.

I
t was nearly ten when they pulled up to the construction fencing outside the Rosenthaler station, Pimm having doubled back when they had gotten far enough north to avoid any trouble. Even here, the sounds of Alexanderplatz crackled overhead through the rain: no one was venturing out, which made for a very private transport of the body up the ramp. At the ladder down into the site, the largest of the men hoisted Rosa onto his shoulder. He steadied his grip on the slick rungs and headed down. Three minutes later the small group, including Franz, stood in the main cavern. Pimm had set it up nicely with a few torches to brighten up the place.

“Perfect,” said Hoffner. “The last place Braun would look.”

Pimm nodded to his man to set her down; he then turned to Hoffner. “So we’re good here?” he said impatiently. Pimm had his hat in his hand and was fingering the water from the brim. “We’ve done our bit?”

Hoffner said, “I need to get her into one of the back caverns.”

Pimm motioned his men to the ladder. “Well, you enjoy that, then.” He placed his hat on his head as his men began to climb.

“Hold on,” Hoffner said with surprise. “I can’t do that on my own, not with my ribs.”

Pimm grabbed on to the ladder. “We’re on a schedule, Inspector. We got her here. You want her someplace else, that’s up to you.” He waved over to the boy. “You, too, Franz. Let’s go.”

Franz began to follow. Hoffner said, “At least leave me the boy. Forty minutes, an hour at the most. I’ll get someone. I need him to stay with the body.”

Pimm let out a frustrated breath. He turned to Hoffner. “All right. Fine. Forty minutes.” He took a step up the first rung and looked back at the boy. “You come by the office afterward. We’ll square it.” He waited for a nod from Franz and then headed up.

Five minutes later, Hoffner joined Pimm and his men in an alley across from the site. They all stood in the shadows, eyes fixed on the ramp.

“You could have had a career on the stage,” said Hoffner as he watched and waited.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Pimm. “You’re sure he’s—”

Franz appeared at the top of the ramp. He slipped on the wood and then bounded out into the square before heading south toward Alexanderplatz.

Hoffner stepped from the shadows and said, “I’m sure.”

A HERO OF THE REPUBLIC

Rosa lay quietly in the outline that had once been Mary Koop’s. They had done their best to scrub her clean of the grease. They had even clothed her. Even so, her hair was still slick, and her face had an odd shine to it, especially in the torchlight: she looked as if she had been swimming.

Hoffner was kneeling by her side, his coat heavy from the rain. He had been like this for several minutes, replaying the dream and the pebble and the sun in his eyes as he had tried to find her. Odd, he thought, to be alone with her now. She had been words to him, an image in his head, alive and defiant: here, she seemed so much less than that. This was death, a body—a tool—nothing more. She was being used again, and for that, Hoffner felt his only remorse.

He heard the sound of footsteps approaching from beyond the cavern’s opening, and he slowly tightened the grip around his pistol: he kept it low, hidden behind Rosa’s torso. From the sound of it, there were several men making their way back. Hoffner tried to pick out the exact number: it was the only way he knew to keep his mind focused.

A light began to grow, the beam bobbing to the rhythm of the steps as they drew closer. Hoffner heard a whispering of voices, indistinct words dulled by the wood and dirt. A single “There” broke through, and a moment later two young soldiers—
Freikorps
from their uniforms—stepped into the shadowed chamber. Immediately they raised their rifles, keeping Hoffner in their sights. Braun was directly behind them; he stepped past them as a second man appeared at the opening. The man had a strikingly handsome face and carried a small jar in his hands.

Braun spoke with his usual charm: “What a surprising sense of symmetry you have, Herr
Oberkommissar.
The Rosenthaler Platz. Wouters’s den. One might even say there’s a sentimental side to you.” Hoffner said nothing.

The second man now stepped forward. His focus was on Rosa. He seemed agitated. “They’ve removed the unguent.”

Braun put up a hand to stop him. “Step away from the body, Herr
Oberkommissar.
”

Hoffner remained where he was. “You can tell Herr
Doktor
Manstein that I’m quite harmless, Herr Braun. Especially when I’ve got two rifles aimed at my chest.”

Braun showed only a moment’s surprise. “And what else did you learn on your trip to Munich, Herr
Oberkommissar
?”

Hoffner spoke across to Manstein. “Your father-in-law did excellent work creating this little haven for Wouters, Herr
Doktor.
Naturally the idea was yours.”

Manstein studied Hoffner. He said nothing.

“I’m guessing the engineer Sazonov wasn’t much of an expense,” Hoffner continued. “Or his family. No reason to pay the dead.” Hoffner saw a glimmer of confirmation in the eyes. “Must have been difficult being away from Munich all that time. The only one who knew how to apply the Ascomycete 4 to Frulein Koop, the only one who could placate Wouters with the appropriate injections between escapades, though I’m sure Herr
Direktor
Schumpert was delighted to have his daughter and grandchildren in the city for such an extended period of time.”