‘He was the one who requested I stage that farce of a burial, despite knowing how it would hurt the children. He insisted: Benjamin Engel was to be laid to rest.’
‘Why?’
‘He said it was better if Engel Furniture could no longer be linked back to him. It was also his wish that I revert to my maiden name; that the store itself be renamed. I think,’ Eva Heinen gestured towards the swastika flag outside, ‘it was because of that.’
‘In ’24? No one could have guessed…’
‘Nazis aren’t a pre-requisite for anti-Semitism, believe me. Neither, for that matter, are Jews. Benjamin was Catholic, but in the army he was always regarded as a Jew. I think his experiences in the war opened his eyes to the fact that someone like him would never be allowed to belong. Not even if he was baptised; not even if he risked his life for the Fatherland.’
‘So that explains the name: Rheinisches Möbelhaus.’
‘The name paved the way for our expansion across Bonn. Today you’ll find us in an additional four cities.’
‘He just gave you the money?’
‘It was a complicated business, I don’t want to go into detail, but essentially, yes.’
‘What made it so complicated? The fact that it wasn’t money but gold?’
A startled look passed across her eyes. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘I’ve spoken to the demolition expert from back then. The soldiers who hid the gold, most of whom are now dead, were planning to retrieve the spoils in summer ’24. By the time they got there it was gone.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Suddenly she seemed very tense.
‘Listen, I’m not interested in who pinched the gold; the only thing I’m interested in is why a veteran should kill three of his former comrades so many years after the war.’
‘Benjamin didn’t kill anyone. He was looking out for his family.’
‘Are you certain it was him? Did you recognise his voice?’
‘We never spoke on the telephone. We wrote to each other, and it was his handwriting. No doubt about it. Besides, he knew things only Benjamin could know.’ She blushed slightly.
‘Letters, but he didn’t use the Reichspost?’
‘Of course not. He didn’t want to reveal anything about himself, not even his address.’
‘Do you still have these letters?’ She looked so horrified that Rath knew it was pointless to request them. ‘Then you used a middleman. Who?’
‘I can’t say.’
‘Was it the same man you sent to France?’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Was it Franz Thelen?’
‘Who?’ She was even more startled than moments before.
‘Your husband’s driver during the war. After that he worked as a driver for your store.’
‘Our proxy, Herr Theobald, looks after that side of things.’
‘Don’t play games with me. You know Thelen. It was he who established contact with your husband, wasn’t it, and collected the gold from France?’
‘I think I’ve said enough.’ All of a sudden Eva Heinen was as tight-lipped as during their first encounter three weeks before.
‘One last question. Does the name Gerhard Krumbiegel mean anything to you?’
By the way she looked at him, he knew she had no idea. With that, whatever hope he had of making sense of last Sunday vanished.
‘Is he your main suspect?’ Eva Heinen asked. ‘Do you think I hired someone to kill all these men?’
‘I don’t know, Frau Heinen. What I do know is you’re still not giving me the full story.’
‘That’s something you’ll just have to make peace with, Inspector.’
There was a knock, and the bald-headed assistant who had shown Rath upstairs peered inside. ‘Excuse the interruption, Frau Direktor.’
‘It’s all right, Schröter. Herr Rath was just leaving.’
‘It’s… perhaps you should come down.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s best if you come and see for yourself.’
Rath followed her and the assistant downstairs. On the floor, customers and staff stood tightly packed, whispering to one another. Two brownshirts hovered in front of the display window. One unrolled a poster and set about pasting it to the door.
Eva Heinen turned to Rath. ‘Now you understand the reason for everything I’ve just told you,’ she said.
She went outside, moving energetically, unafraid of the brown uniforms. Opening the glass door she almost knocked the SA man off balance. The brush slipped from his hand.
‘What’s all this?’ she asked. He swore under his breath and took out a handkerchief. It was the second SA man who answered her question. He held a cardboard sign in front of him, with three exclamation marks.
Germans! Fight back! Don’t buy from Jews!
‘Don’t you read the papers,’ he said provocatively. ‘The boycott.’
‘This isn’t a Jewish store.’
‘Knock it off. Engel Furniture’s been here since I was in short trousers. It’s always been a Jew store.’
‘The Rheinisches Möbelhaus has absolutely nothing to do with Engel Furniture.’
‘No, it just sells the same furniture with the same assistants in the same stores?’
Rath went outside. He was reluctant to cause a stir with the Opel parked opposite, but this Nazi with his cardboard sign was starting to grate. ‘What you’re doing here is property damage,’ he said. ‘Illegal fly posting at least.’
The poster on the door bore the same slogan. Germans! Fight back! Don’t buy from Jews! Imagination was not a Nazi strong point.
The SA man was uncertain. No doubt it was the first time anyone had stood up to him. Soon enough, though, he was grinning. If things turned nasty, he could count on his mate. ‘Get a load of this, Willi,’ he said to his friend, who was stowing his handkerchief. ‘A shyster who needs taking down a peg.’
‘I’m not a lawyer.’ Rath showed his badge and the man’s grin froze.
The badge said only KRIMINALPOLIZEI, with no indication as to what city he was from. He went on the attack. ‘I am a customer here, and can assure you the owner of this store is no Jew.’
‘But before…’
‘In the new Germany, we’re not interested in “before”! Haven’t you read the provisions? Central Committee has expressly decreed that businesses are only to be boycotted if it can be proven beyond doubt that they are under Jewish ownership.’
He had read something like that yesterday in the newspaper. Mentioning the word ‘decree’ proved an inspired move, for suddenly the SA man stood to attention, comically with a cardboard sign in front of his chest.
‘Yes, Sir. Apologies. I was unaware tha…’
‘Stop talking. Focus on cleaning up this mess, and apologise to the lady.’
The pair set to work. Rath took his leave with a tip of the hat and made his way back to the car before the men in the green Opel got it into their heads to intervene. A look through the display window confirmed that all was quiet again. His colleagues from Bonn continued to observe Eva Heinen, who looked on sternly as the SA men began removing their poster.
Returning to Friedensplatz, it became clear that not everyone shared the former Engel Furniture store’s good fortune. Outside each store Rath passed, two or three SA officers were glueing the now familiar poster to display windows, some of which had also been painted with a Star of David. As yet no windows had been smashed. The Central Committee had explicitly spoken against property damage, but had been unforthcoming when it came to the topic of bodily harm.
The boycott was meant to be revenge for the so-called Jewish atrocity propaganda in the foreign press. Seeing these SA men with their chin-straps and stern faces, defacing display windows with ink and posters, Rath understood why things were being written about Germany’s new government. It was all so tasteless, so repulsive, so unworthy of the Fatherland. He was starting to realise what Charly meant when she said the Nazis had stolen the country she called home.