17
Franz Kabarett
Munich
BAUER ENTERED THE CABARET just after his shift ended at five o’clock.
It hadn’t opened to the public yet; preparations were being made for the evening’s entertainment.
Round high-top tables covered in white cloth filled most of the floor space; otherwise the place was nearly all gold, from its wallpaper to the lanterns to the ceiling, painted in gold and green, depicting dragons and other fictitious creatures that, to Bauer’s eye, were more reminiscent of the Orient than anything else.
On the stage that occupied the west wall, six women in top hats and heels wearing faux-tuxedo tops and the shortest of black shorts kicked out their silk-stockinged legs as they rehearsed a dance number while a piano played in the corner.
“More energy, girls, more energy!” shouted a woman in an aqua-blue sequin dress, looking as much like the evening’s entertainment as the dancers onstage. She caught sight of Bauer in her peripheral vision and frowned at him.
“Excuse the interruption.” Bauer pulled out his card. “Kriminalpolizei. I’m looking for Herr Kubizek.”
She gave Bauer a good long once-over, enough to indicate her opinion of the Munich police force. “Can I tell him what this is about?”
“A murder investigation,” he said.
She excused herself. Bauer stuffed his hands in his pockets. The dancers up on the stage seemed intrigued but wary of him. He wondered if they had any useful information, which had been hard to come by. His only sources thus far were the prostitutes, who routinely provided information for a price.
Before he could strike up a conversation, the woman in the sequin dress returned. “I’m afraid Herr Kubizek is not available, Inspector. But he will gladly telephone the police station later tonight—”
“Can’t wait until tonight.” Bauer edged past her and headed down the same hallway from where she had reappeared, pushing through a red velvet curtain and up a flight of stairs.
“Excuse me, Inspector!” she called after him, probably to warn her boss as much as object. Bauer didn’t care. At the top of the flight of stairs was a door with the word MANAGER.
He pushed through it and found a man, meticulously attired in a black double-breasted suit and red tie, seated behind a desk with a woman on his lap who was half his age and a lot less attired. “I need a minute with you, Herr Kubizek.”
“Now, just a minute, Inspector! This is highly improper.”
The woman on his lap fastened her green dress, grabbed her heels, and left them alone. Herr Kubizek had slicked hair and a tight mustache. His face colored with anger, if not embarrassment.
“I agree, this is improper,” said Bauer, noting the wedding band on Kubizek’s finger. “But I won’t mention it to your wife.”
With a harrumph, Kubizek raised his chin and looked Bauer in the eye. “Very well, then. How can I be of assistance to the kriminalpolizei?”
“Geli Raubal,” said Bauer. “She was here on Friday night with her uncle, Adolf Hitler. She was found dead the next morning in his apartments.”
Kubizek double-blinked. His expression intensified. “Geli Raubal… Geli Raubal…” He massaged his temple, as if straining the depths of his memory. “I do not recall this woman.”
“The woman who sang three songs that night? The woman you introduced to the crowd?” Bauer moved closer to his desk.
There were a number of folders settled neatly on the leather surface, along with an ornate pen set and several photographs in silver frames.
“The woman who came in with Hitler, the self-proclaimed King of Munich? Or did you forget the tables full of Nazi fascists at your place on Friday?”
“The Führer? I don’t believe I recall him being here.” Kubizek shrugged. “It’s certainly possible that he was, but I’m so busy—”
Bauer slammed his fist down on the desk. “Try that again, Kubizek. Next time I don’t like the answer, I’m hitting something besides this desk.”
Kubizek seemed to wilt in his chair. “You’re a police inspector. You can’t go around hitting—”
“I’m a police inspector who’s getting the runaround.
And I’m sick of it.” Bauer got his hands under the desk and leaned it forward, the contents of the desk spilling onto Kubizek’s lap.
“What’s the matter, Walter? Did they get to you?
Warn you off talking to me? Believe me, you have more to fear from me than them. ”
“I highly doubt that.” Kubizek was on his feet now, back against the wall.
“So they did get to you.” Bauer got in the cabaret owner’s face.
“I pick up that phone and make one call, the entire evening shift of the kriminalpolizei will be down here searching every corner of your place. Think we’ll find some sort of contraband?
I’ll bring in some health inspectors, too.
We’ll shut this place down for a week, easy. ”
“Please, Inspector.” Sweat had broken out on Kubizek’s considerable forehead. “You know what these men are capable of.”
“So help me stop them. Tell me what happened that night. Confidentially.”
The owner considered that. But he clearly didn’t know whom to trust. The Nazis must have put a pretty good fright in him.
“Herr Hitler and his niece left earlier than everyone else,” said Bauer. “Yes?”
Kubizek nodded, blinking his eyes furiously. “Long before the show ended.”
“How soon after Geli finished singing?” Bauer had heard from his prostitute sources that it was almost immediately after, but he wanted to hear it from Kubizek.
“Right away,” he whispered. “Within a few minutes.”
“Why?”
“How can I know such a—”
“Because you escorted Geli back to her table,” said Bauer. “You were right by them.”
“I heard nothing!” he cried.
Bauer gripped the man by his wool suit, pinning him against the wall. “Kubizek, I swear to God, I’ll put your head through this wall—”
“You’ve upstaged me enough!” Kubizek shouted.
“Upstaged?” Bauer didn’t understand. “You’re going to be a lot more than upstaged when I’m through with you—”
“No, no, I’m telling you what he said to her.” Kubizek began to falter. Bauer was now propping him up.
“Tell me word for word.”
Kubizek looked away, his body trembling, beads of sweat dripping down his face. “He said to her, ‘You’ve upstaged me enough for one evening.’”