1
Munich Police Department
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR THOMAS BAUER dropped his bag on his desk and nodded to the others—Brecht and Frank, a couple of kriminaloberassistents, and a young kid, a new kriminalassistent named Helldorff.
“Bauer?” said Brecht, with his walrus mustache. “Since when does a kommissar work the early shift?”
Bauer dropped into his chair. “Since his wife enjoys too much shopping at the Oberpollinger and he needs the extra pay.”
They all bellowed out a laugh, Helldorff the kid more than anyone, eager to please.
“Gentlemen! Death under suspicious circumstances.” The chief inspector’s assistant, a woman named Ilse, walked into the detectives’ room. Spotting Bauer, the highest rank in the room, she handed him the slip of paper. “Early shift, Bauer?”
“Just can’t stay away from this place, Ilse.”
Brecht and Frank seemed to sink in their chairs, as if the thought of doing actual work, especially a suspicious death, came as an unwelcome surprise.
Bauer smirked and looked at the slip of paper.
“Prinzregentenplatz 16,” he read. He glanced at the kid, the junior detective’s assistant with rosy cheeks and a mess of blond hair. “Hellman?”
“Helldorff, sir.”
“What’s your first name?”
“Peter, sir.”
“You feel like doing some police work, Hoffman?”
The kid didn’t correct him. Maybe he knew it was a test. “Yes, sir.”
“Okay. Two rules. One, don’t call me sir. This isn’t the infantry. And two, I drive.”
Bauer curbed the police vehicle, an olive Horch 400 Polizei-Mannschaftswagen, by the granite building numbered Prinzregentenplatz 16, alongside two patrol cars that had responded. It was gray and cold and felt like rain might be coming. A patrol officer was waiting outside on the street for Bauer.
“Inspector,” said the officer, greeting Bauer. “Dead female, age twenty-three.” He directed them to the flat.
Bauer craned his neck, looking up at the building, a stone gargoyle staring down at him. “Name?”
“Angela Raubal. The niece of Adolf Hitler. This is Herr Hitler’s flat.”
“Oh, sweet Mary, mother of God,” Bauer mumbled.
Head still turned upward, he closed his eyes a moment, wondering which deity he had managed to piss off.
“Fine,” he quickly said. He shepherded young Peter Helldorff over to the side of their car.
“Listen, kid, I wouldn’t normally care about your politics. But you know who this guy is, right?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Are you one of these Nazis? A member of the National Socialist whatever they call themselves now?”
Like any other institution, the members of the Munich Police Department had varying political views.
There were those who had already jumped firmly on the bandwagon of the Nazi Party, especially some of the war veterans who were drawn to Hitler’s constant attacks on the Communists.
And there were a few open antisemites in the department, too.
However, as both the Bolsheviks and the Nazis engaged in antigovernment insurrections like vandalism or guerrilla attacks on government institutions, most cops didn’t like either one.
“No, sir, I am not,” said Helldorff.
“Okay.” Bauer looked around, assessed their surroundings.
A small crowd had formed—just a few curious onlookers, which happened whenever the police congregated—but it was no spectacle.
Meaning that nobody had yet figured out that a suspicious death had occurred inside the flat of Germany’s fastest-rising political star.
“One chance, Hartmann. I’ll give you one chance to walk away if you don’t want to be a part of this, no questions asked, no hard feelings.
Maybe you’re feeling a touch of the flu all of a sudden. ”
The kid blinked. Bauer couldn’t tell if he was surprised by the question or contemplating his answer. “Are you walking away, sir?”
“Me? Hell, no. But if I had half a brain, I would. Do you have half a brain, Heinrich?”
“Apparently not, sir.”
“Good man. Let’s go.”
When they walked through the imposing front doors, they were greeted by four men dressed in brown uniforms. “Heil Hitler!” they cried with the forty-five-degree stiff-arm salute.
“Why, is he sick?” Bauer said, a common joke that was only funny in German.
The brownshirts, with their red swastika armbands, black belts, and holsters, were not among those who found it humorous. They closed ranks, blocking passage to the staircase.
“Your name?” asked one of the brownshirts, tall and blond with bright blue eyes, as Aryan as Aryan came.
Bauer, in plain clothes like his assistant, showed his police card. “Detective Inspector Thomas Bauer. This is Assistant Inspector Peter Helldorff.”
“Bauer,” he said. “That… was not the name we were expecting.”
“No?” Bauer lifted his chin. “What name were you expecting?”
The brownshirt didn’t answer that question. He nodded to one of his underlings, who started up the stairs.
Bauer made to follow.
The lead brownshirt blocked his way. “This is not possible. We were not made aware that you would be coming.”
“You were ‘not made aware’? We’re not reserving a table at the Künstlerhaus. We’re kriminalpolizei, conducting a police investigation. Either you let us pass or you’ll be under arrest for interfering with it.”
“You are aware, Inspector, who lives here?”
“Are you aware that it makes no difference to me who lives here?”
“The Führer was very upset to learn of his niece’s suicide. He is on his way back to Munich now.”
Bauer looked the men over. “Out of the way, gentlemen. I’m not asking for permission. And I’m not going to repeat myself.”
The inspector started to move past the two remaining brownshirts.
One of them put a hand on Bauer’s chest, a good hard stiff-arm.
Bauer flipped his own arm under the man’s, spun him around, and forced him down to the marble floor of the lobby in one swift movement.
The guard was face down and submissive within the beat of two seconds.
“You’re under arrest,” Bauer said. “Obstructing an investigation and assaulting a law enforcement officer.” He cuffed the man and left him on the floor as he rose to his feet.
“What about you two? Feel like spending the next six hours in a kripo holding cell? It’ll give you plenty of time to salute each other. ”
The lead brownshirt did not soften his posture, but allowed a slow smile to cross his face. “Inspector, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“You know, one day, you brownshirts may be running this country,” Bauer said. “But for now, you’ll submit to the authority of the kriminalpolizei like everyone else. So? This is your last chance to let us through.”
The men parted, giving room for the inspectors to pass.
Bauer nodded to Helldorff, and they headed up the stairs.