Fifty-eight

 

In the station building at Rosenheim, train superintendent Meuller was beginning to reflect ruefully on the efficiency of the security services. The SS Orpo officer had told him that SS colleagues would be here to check on the Lindow family within fifteen minutes. After twenty minutes he had telephoned Munich SS Orpo Headquarters and asked why they were taking so long. He had found himself in a complex conversation which he only began to understand when he realised they did not know what he was talking about. Eventually he had been asked if the Papal train had passed through Rosenheim. When he had replied in the affirmative things had begun to happen. But that was over twenty-five minutes ago. He thought he had waited long enough but he was too afraid to lock up and go home. It had already been a long day for him. He had put in two shifts because his co-superintendent, Gunther, had cried off sick. Meuller knew that Gunther had tuberculosis and should be fired. So, if he took the money he should do the work. Why damage Meuller’s health with over-work?

 

He was locking up his office when Kremer arrived with his detachment of men. Superintendent Meuller found himself confronting a wild-eyed, unshaven Untersturmfuhrer.

 

            “Where is this family?”

 

Superintendent Meuller was immediately intimidated and glad to throw the attention of this man away from himself and onto the Lindows. Kremer looked across the station hall at the family sitting there. Already fear and uncertainty had turned their appearance into a family of refugees. The children’s clothes were creased and hanging awkwardly from them. The father was white-faced with concussion and had vomit stains on his coat front. The mother was trying to hold the unit together.

 

Kremer, still angry at the way he had been spoken to by Schirach, leaned towards SS Orpo Heines and said, “What do you think of her?”

 

            “Very nice,” replied Heines.

 

Having worked with Kremer many times before, Heines guessed where this was going and he hoped he was right.

 

            “You remember our training, Heines. We do not exist to investigate crimes against the state after they have occurred. We exist to act to prevent crimes against the state happening in the first place.”

 

Heines nodded, the embryo of a smirk emerging on his face.

 

            “This family could indeed be innocent. But for us to establish that fact could take up valuable time. In the end, if they prove to be guilty, all of that time will have been wasted. Therefore it is in the interests of the state that we assume their guilt.”

 

            “Agreed!”

 

            “Very well! Tell Schmidt and Essen to question the father and the children. You bring the mother to this office.”

 

Turning to Superintendent Meuller he barked, “Open up your office and then get out of here.”

 

Frau Lindow was escorted into the office by Heines and courteously guided to a chair in front of the desk. Kremer sat on the front edge of the desk and Frau Lindow had to brush against his legs as she sat down. The only light in the office came from the hall through the windows. Kremer’s face was a patchwork of shadows.

 

            “Please take off your coat Frau Lindow,” ordered Kremer.

 

Frau Lindow was surprised and was about to ask why when she thought better of it. She removed her fitted coat and hung it on the back of her chair. She was wearing a shaped, red, woollen cardigan with large red buttons, which was buttoned to the neck. Her calf-length skirt was tight and black.

 

The moment she was seated Kremer fell upon her, pinning her to the chair, his hands like clamps upon her shoulders.

 

            “What do you know about the assassination of the Pope?” he hissed into her face.

 

His breath evidenced something foul in his stomach and a lifetime of stale ash from his throat.

 

            “The Pope!” she exclaimed in utter disbelief. “Are you mad? I know nothing of any assassination. We are the victims of a theft. Our papers have been stolen.”

 

            “I am afraid I have to assume you are lying.”

 

He took her by the arm and lifted her roughly out of the chair.

 

            “Heines. Help me,” he ordered and together they ripped her cardigan and skirt from her.

 

Standing in her underwear and stockings, she crouched in fear. Between them they picked her up and threw her on her onto the table. The back of her head cracked against the telephone and it fell noisily to the floor. Kremer unbuttoned his trousers whilst Heines ripped her knickers from her, burning her thigh with the friction. When Kremer had finished Heines began. When Heines had finished he ordered her to get dressed and went out to join Kremer in the station hall.

 

As Heines emerged from the office, Schirach and Dortmuller arrived. Schirach glanced past Kremer to where Heines was tucking a shirt tail into his trousers and smiling over conspiratorially at some of the men. Schirach immediately pushed past Kremer and Heines and burst into the office. He switched on the light and saw Frau Lindow crouched down beside the table. She was using her torn knickers to wipe blood away from between her legs. There was also blood in her hair on the back of her head.   

 

Schirach burst out of the office and took hold of Heines. He threw Heines to the floor of the hall and kicked him, between his legs, with all the force he could muster. Heines screamed in agony and fell onto his back. Methodically and with complete control, Schirach took hold of the man’s feet and proceeded to stamp repeatedly on his testicles. He did not stop until Heines had lost consciousness. Kremer watched with accelerating alarm but found himself incapable of speech.

 

Schirach went back to Kremer. He controlled his breathing and then calmly said, “Your men say the boy saw an SS Orpo on the tracks between the trains in the Hauptbahnhof. Have you checked this out?”

 

Kremer swallowed carefully. Yes, he remembered the little bastard saying something about an Orpo back in Munich.

 

“Yes, Hauptsturmfuhrer. We checked this at the time but found nothing. However, I followed this up back at Headquarters. I could find no record of an escort being assigned to the scheduled Rome train.”

 

“Damn you Kremer!” screamed Schirach. “You’ve missed something here. You’ve possibly let the Pope’s assassin slip through your fingers.”

 

Schirach took a breath and composed himself.

 

“You’d better come good from now on,” he added.

 

Schirach turned and stormed out of the station hall.

 

“Come on Dortmuller. We have to catch that train.”

 

The men ran out after him. In the relative emptiness of the hall Kremer felt his breathing gradually returning to normal. A voice startled him. It was the Superintendent.

 

“What is to happen to the family?”

 

Kremer looked at the man. He wore the armband of the volunteer SS member.

 

“Get two colleague volunteers, commandeer transport and deliver them to Dachau.”

 

Before the Superintendent could speak he added sharply, “Tonight!”

 

The superintendent hid his resentment and turned to go. As he did so he caught sight of Heines lying unconscious on the floor, a dark red stain seeping through the crotch of his trousers.

 

“And what am I to do with him?”

 

Kremer walked over to where his colleague of three years lay. He looked down upon him for several moments. Then he turned to stare fixedly into the face of the Superintendent and said, “Him too!”