6
THE CHIEF’S OFFICE WAS on the floor above the detectives. Bauer followed Ilse upstairs and walked through the door without knocking.
The chief inspector, Heinrich Müller, looked up from the work on his desk.
At thirty-one years old, he had risen quickly through the ranks of the Munich Police Department after his service in the war.
Stiff and aloof, with thick eyebrows and penetrating coal-black eyes, he was the picture of discipline and command.
But Bauer was no fan. Though he respected his war service, Bauer saw Müller as too ambitious.
Aggressively so. He always managed to be front and center when credit was being doled out but vanished into thin air when it came time to assign blame.
He had reached the level of chief well ahead of his years and, in the eyes of many, well ahead of his merits.
“Chief,” said Bauer, “I’m in the middle of a witness interview.”
“Bauer. Sit. This won’t take long.” The chief leaned back in his chair, twirling a pen in his fingers. “Tell me about the case. I want a full report.”
“I’ll have a lot more to tell you after my interview. I’ll give you a full report when I’m done. I’m finally getting somewhere with this witness—”
Müller pursed his lips. “Oh, she can wait.”
So the chief knew exactly who the witness was.
Müller said, “The incident you’re investigating—the suicide, from what I hear?”
“It doesn’t look like a suicide to me.”
“No?” Müller sounded disinterested. “Already you can be so sure?”
“Sure? No, not sure,” said Bauer, struggling to contain himself. “But I know a staged scene when I see one. I know a coached witness when I interview one.”
“Ah, well, it sure sounds like a suicide to me.” The chief gave him a hard look, as if Bauer were supposed to take direction from the cue.
“Based on what?” Bauer asked. “What evidence have you seen? Which witnesses did you talk to? In fact, who told you it looked like a suicide?”
The chief worked his jaw.
“Let me do my job, Chief,” Bauer said.
A heavy silence hung between them as they stared at each other.
Then the chief waved a hand. “Obviously you must do your job. But the department needn’t be blind to the sensitivity of the matter. You know how volatile politics are in Munich right now.”
Bauer shrugged. “I’ll follow the evidence where it leads me. I promise I’ll be very sensitive when I do so.”
“You already arrested one of Herr Hitler’s bodyguards, I hear.”
“Because he blocked my access to the crime scene. And he put his hands on me. The last I checked, we don’t tolerate that kind of obstruction.”
“Of course not, of course not.” The chief raised a hand. “We’re on the same side.”
“Are we? Because it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like you are trying to prevent me from talking to my witness.”
Müller let out a low chuckle. “Thomas Bauer, always thinking he knows everything. Like he’s the only cop in all of Munich.”
“Seems like I’m the only cop in this room,” said Bauer.
The chief took a moment to recover, stunned by the insubordination. He directed a finger at Bauer but took a moment to find his words. “Inspector,” he finally said, his voice low and trembling, “you are done for the day.”
“No,” said Bauer, chin up. “I’m not even close to done.”
“You are done, Inspector! I don’t want to see your face around here again until Monday morning. You’ll report to me then, and we’ll talk about your future in this department.”
Bauer, fists balled, chest burning, poised to come over the table at the chief, silently counted to ten, his wife’s advice. “Tell Hitler I say hi,” he hissed before storming out of the office.
Helldorff was standing at the bottom of the staircase when Bauer returned to the detectives’ floor. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Nothing,” said Bauer. “The chief complimented me on my findings so far and asked me to continue investigating with all deliberate speed.”
“Where are you going?” asked Helldorff, trying to keep up with him.
“To continue my interview with Anni Winter.”
“They’re gone, Bauer.”
He stopped in his tracks, turned to Helldorff. “Say again?”
“Inspector Brecht sent them home. On orders of the chief, he said. They walked out of the station five minutes ago.”
“Brecht, that little guttersnipe.” Bauer walked over to the conference room to see for himself. Sure enough, it was empty. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled. He marched into the detectives’ room, but Brecht’s desk was empty. “Where is he?” he called out. “Where’s Brecht?”
Nobody seemed to know.
“Bauer—what’s going on?” Helldorff asked again.
Bauer drew a breath and looked over at his kriminalassistent. Helldorff was fresh, just a rookie. He hadn’t developed a layer of tough skin yet. And for this case, he’d need a full suit of body armor.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said. He put a hand on Helldorff’s shoulder. “But you need to stay as far away from this case as you can.”