A string quartet opened proceedings with a rendition of Ich hatt’ einen Kameraden, a traditional lament, performed on this occasion without vocals. Roddeck understood how to make his book launch feel special, none of your brass music or nationalist chanting here. Instead, a touch of culture. When the music ended, Dr Hildebrandt, Roddeck’s bustling publisher, took up position behind the lectern. His tone was solemn, as if a fallen soldier were being laid to rest.
Roddeck remained backstage while an extract was read by an actor. Naturally, they had chosen the scene in which Captain Engel murdered two French children and a German recruit.
Only when the reading was at an end, and with the applause still resounding, did Baron Achim von Roddeck take to the stage, dressed, like so many others here, in his old service uniform. He bowed, and the applause reached a crescendo. When the final members of the audience had ceased clapping, he stepped behind the lectern and commenced his speech, flanked by police officers.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, Brothers-at-Arms! Let me outline the reasons that led a man like me, who has always favoured the sword over the pen, to conclude, after many years, that publishing my war memoirs was in the best interests of the public at large.’
What followed could have been straight out of a Nazi campaign speech. Rath had never heard anyone offer himself up so crudely to the ruling powers. According to Roddeck, Jews in the German army had brought nothing but misery to the Fatherland. Operation Alberich had been a tactical masterstroke, discredited by the treacherous actions of individuals such as Captain Benjamin Engel. With war methods that went against any notion of honour, the Jews had dragged the reputation of the glorious, unvanquished Germany army through the mire.
Roddeck didn’t stop at Operation Alberich either. ‘Who was instrumental in the adoption of poison-gas warfare?’ he asked. ‘Perhaps some of you here tonight are unaware, but that, too, was a Jew. Like Benjamin Engel, Fritz Haber, who still occupies his position at the helm of the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute, achieved the rank of captain during the war. A disgrace to German science, a disgrace to the German army.’
Roddeck paused to gaze among the rows of seats.
‘From my own experience, all I will say is this. Were it not for the presence of Jews, no German soldier would have been enticed into perpetrating such atrocities, for which we are still being made to pay.’
The audience was not used to German soldiers being accused of atrocities, and certainly hadn’t expected it here.
‘What they forget abroad,’ Roddeck declaimed with a conciliatory wave of the hand, ‘is that these acts were carried out by Jews and not Germans. It is precisely these distortions, Ladies and Gentlemen, that my work intends to set right.’
The volley of applause took Rath aback. Some rose to their feet, and more followed until the whole room stood in acclaim of Lieutenant von Roddeck. He made his way towards the exit. Leaving the room, he turned to look at the audience as it went berserk. Roddeck had his eyes closed, and Rath wondered if people here genuinely believed what he said, or were simply glad to point the finger elsewhere.
The Jews are our misfortune. The sentence was a solution to all their problems. In the present, in the future and even, as Rath realised today for the first time, in the past.
91
Having removed his uniform, Baron Achim von Roddeck stood with outstretched arms before the mirror as a male attendant detached his cufflinks.
Rath had waited in a dark corner of the hotel bar until Gräf, Steinke and the other CID men had left, before making his way to Roddeck’s suite, where the lieutenant had retired following his performance. He wondered if the man’s hotel arrangements were paid for by the public. Like the police manpower deployed by the commissioner to keep the supposedly endangered author safe, he suspected they were. It wasn’t that the public coffers were any more full than prior to the national uprising, rather that the people responsible were no longer obliged to justify every expense.
His police badge had ensured access to the third floor. Seeing Rath led in, Roddeck turned in astonishment. ‘Inspector, you’re the last person I expected to see!’
‘Just goes to show.’
‘What brings you here? Can I sign a book for you?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘You can’t be here in an official capacity. Unless I am mistaken you are no longer in charge of the investigation.’
‘I’ve never distinguished much between private and professional.’
‘I don’t have a lot of time, Inspector. I’m about to leave for a reception given by the new Minister for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda.’
‘Goebbels is aware of you already?’
‘The Herr Minister is one of my most loyal readers. He has privately expressed concern that my novel wasn’t serialised in Der Angriff or at the very least the Völkischer Beobachter.’
‘A shame he couldn’t be here for the show.’
‘The Herr Minister sent his apologies, but…’ Roddeck pointed towards a gift-wrapped package on his desk. ‘…tonight I will present him with a personal copy, complete with dedication.’
‘I’m sure the Herr Minister can hardly contain his delight.’
Roddeck looked at him as if he had stomach cramp. ‘What are you doing here, Inspector? Don’t waste my time.’
‘Aren’t you surprised that Wosniak hasn’t been in touch?’
Achim von Roddeck, whom the attendant was now helping into his dinner jacket, raised his eyebrows. ‘Spare me the tasteless jokes! I helped to identify his body in the morgue. Did you forget?’
‘I don’t forget things easily. It’s one of my strengths.’
‘It can be a weakness too.’
‘What would you say if I could prove that the dead man from Nollendorfplatz wasn’t Heinrich Wosniak but a man named Gerhard Krumbiegel? The other survivor of the fire that made such a mess of your orderly.’
‘That would mean my faithful Heinrich is still alive!’
‘And that you lied to me in the morgue.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Roddeck succeeded in looking horrified. ‘If what you are saying is true, then it’s possible I was mistaken, but I did not lie. If that corpse wasn’t Heinrich Wosniak then I’m sorry for falsely identifying him, but it wasn’t easy, you know… with all the scars.’
‘You seemed pretty certain at the time.’
‘As did you, Inspector. You’ll recall that the name Wosniak was already in all the papers. It was what led me to you in the first place.’
‘How do you propose to maintain your story about Todesengel?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’
‘The body at Nollendorfplatz no longer fits the pattern. Why would Benjamin Engel kill someone who had nothing to do with his old unit?’
‘What do I know, Inspector? Perhaps he got them mixed up, just like you and I did. Perhaps this Krum…?’
‘Krumbiegel.’
‘Perhaps this Krumbiegel was wearing Wosniak’s army coat. You found his service record too, as I recall. A man with burn scars in Wosniak’s coat. Easy enough to get mixed up, when you consider how many years had gone by.’
The man had an answer for everything. Rath grew angrier. ‘Are you claiming Krumbiegel stole Wosniak’s coat along with his service record?’
‘I’m speculating. Still, if that’s what you think…’
‘I’ll tell you what I think, shall I? Heinrich Wosniak pays his old beggar friend Krumbiegel a visit at Nollendorfplatz and donates his old soldier’s coat, in which he has already planted the service record. No sooner does Krumbiegel pull the thing on, but he feels Wosniak’s trench dagger being driven into his brain.’