Mathias swallowed hard. The fearful glint in his eyes was now a full-blown blaze.
I said, “I know that the Lageralteste threatened his boys that if they committed suicide, their loved ones would be killed. Franz wanted to die, but he needed to do it in a way that wouldn't look like a suicide. So you and he devised a plan in which it would look as though Franz had been murdered. It would have worked, too, if a certain prisoner hadn't told you that I’d been a police detective in Hungary. You wouldn’t have told the Lageralteste about it if you’d thought he might put me on the case. You assumed he would just kill me."
"Why would I risk my neck for Franz?" Mathias asked, his tone so soft that I knew this was his final gasp of denial.
“Because you were molested as a boy yourself."
He looked as though he’d seen a ghost; perhaps the ghost of the boy he’d once been. “How do you know that?"
"That's why I asked you if you came from a rich family. In my experience, a person only kills his parents for one of two reasons. The first is money. The second is because they abused him during his childhood. I’m guessing that your stepfather forced himself on you, and that your mother did nothing to stop him. You stressed to me that you only killed people who deserved it. A mother who turns a blind eye when her son is raped certainly deserves to be punished."
Tears appeared in Mathias's eyes, as clear and as fragile-looking as crystals. The tears of the boy in the man’s eyes.
"Otto told me you had a weak spot for the Lageralteste's boys,” I said. "You see yourself in them, don’t you?"
Mathias stuck his hand between his teeth and let out a stifled cry. Then he was sobbing and nodding. It took a couple of minutes for him to regain control of himself.
"What do you want, Adam? Medicine? I wish I could get you some, but I can't."
"I don’t want anything from you, Mathias. And I’m not going to tell anyone what you did. I just wanted to know the truth.”
"Well, you know it. It happened exactly like you said. Franz asked for my help. It was the only way he could escape the Lageralteste without others getting hurt."
"Did you know it was Ludwig who had told the Lageralteste about Franz?”
"Not at the time, no. I only learned about it when you came to tell the Lageralteste that Ludwig was the killer."
"Why do you let him do it to boy after boy after boy? Why don’t you kill him?"
"For the same reason you don’t,” Mathias said, his eyes wild and pleading for understanding. “I want to live, Adam. And without the Lageralteste, I’m a dead man. Other prisoner functionaries don’t like me, and they’re not scared of me either. But they know I’m protected by the Lageralteste, and they are scared of him. The second he’s gone, they’ll come for me. I wouldn't last a day."
"So what’s going to happen to the next boy?" I asked. "And the one after that? Or are you planning on staging more murders?"
"The war is going very badly for Germany. With luck, the next boy would survive to see this place liberated.”
"And until then, he’ll suffer as no boy should ever suffer.”
"Most prisoners in Auschwitz suffer as no one should ever suffer," Mathias said. "Only the dead don’t.”
36
Before Mathias parted, I considered asking him another question—whether on the first day of the investigation, he’d deliberately sent me to the train platform instead of the Kanada warehouses, where Franz had worked. It had cost me a precious day.
In the end, I didn’t suppose that it mattered one way or the other. The only way Mathias could have saved my life would have been to commit suicide by confessing to the Lageralteste, and I could not expect him to do that. Besides, he’d helped Franz stage his murder and he’d given me my clogs, so he wasn’t all bad.
Mathias might have proved to be a valuable source of food and other items, but after the past few days, I decided it was safer to steer clear of the Lageralteste and his men as much as possible.
Alone once again, my thoughts drifted to Franz, the dead boy I had never seen but had grown to know. I now knew why he had seemed scared when Ludwig had last spoken with him. He had been frightened for Ludwig’s and Aliz’s safety. Perhaps he had already begun contemplating suicide and knew that unless he had a foolproof plan to make it look like murder, their lives would be in jeopardy.
I had solved the case, but I felt very little satisfaction. For I had not provided Franz with the justice he deserved. Ludwig had been punished, yes, but the real culprit was the Lageralteste, and he was invulnerable. Because Mathias had been right: I wanted to live.
It was a few minutes before lunchtime, and I started heading back. Partway to my block, I heard a man calling my name. It was Hendrik, and he had a smug smile on his face.
I stopped, not smiling back. "What do you want, Hendrik?"
“To show you something.” He tilted his head to indicate the space behind him, a long and narrow passageway between two blocks, like an alley.
"I’m in no mood for your games,” I said. “I’m in no mood for you, period. I thought I’d made that clear.”
Hendrik touched his throat, the skin bruised red and blue by my fingers. “You shouldn't have done that. Especially not in front of everyone. Now you're gonna pay.”
"I don’t want to fight you, Hendrik. If you force me to, you’ll regret it.”
Hendrik dropped his smile, and a malevolent light entered his eyes. “You're the one who’s going to regret things. Come on, take a look and see what I have for you."
He moved backward into the passageway. He was a few meters away from me; too far to be a threat. I didn't come closer, just edged sideways to get a better view. When I did, and saw what Hendrik had arranged for me, my heart dropped.
Vilmos was on his knees halfway down the passageway. Behind him stood Jan, Hendrik’s pal, and he was holding something metallic to Vilmos’s throat. Marco, Hendrik’s other buddy, stood to the side, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looking kind of pale. He didn't appear to be armed.
"Three against two,” Hendrik said. “Like that night, remember? Only I don’t think your friend is in any position to help you now."
I turned my gaze to Hendrik, fury radiating off me like heat from a fire. I began moving toward him. “You son of—’’
Hendrik raised a hand. "One more step, and Jan will rip your friend’s throat wide open.”
I stopped, trembling with rage.
"Follow me,” Hendrik said. "Slowly and quietly."
He walked backward a few dozen paces, not taking his eyes off me. I followed, matching him step for step. Since most of the prisoners had already gone to queue up for lunch, there weren’t a lot of people to witness this. Still, behind me I could sense the movement of a few stragglers. Some must have glanced over and seen that something bad was happening, but no one came to my help. No one would risk his life for me. No one but Vilmos, and he was in no position to offer any assistance.
"That's far enough," Hendrik said, and he drew a shiv from under his shirt. A pointed piece of metal, black and wickedly sharp, similar to what Jan was now pressing to Vilmos’s throat. Not as good as a knife, but more than enough to pierce skin and muscle, to tear an artery to shreds. I could only imagine how much bread it had cost Hendrik to procure these weapons. That was why it had taken him this long to initiate his revenge.
"Are you all right, Vilmos?” I asked.
"Yes," he said. “I’m okay.”
His mouth was bloody, his cheek was swollen and red, and there were scratch marks on his neck. I was not yet sure how, but I was going to kill Hendrik for this. But first I had to make sure Vilmos was safe.