20
Bauer residence
Oberfohring
“BUTTON ME, PLEASE.” THOMAS Bauer’s wife, Amalie, turned her back to him. He buttoned up her blue dress. “You’re wearing a tie?”
“I thought I would. Need to impress the in-laws, right?”
She turned to him and reached for the tie. “Well, at least tie a decent knot, then.” She pulled it apart and retied it. “You’re like a child.”
“You clean up pretty nice, Frau Bauer. And you tie a perfect tie.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “Is that sweet-talking supposed to make me forget that you were late tonight?”
He shrugged and checked his tie in the mirror. “I had to make a quick stop after work.”
“I don’t want to know, do I?”
He laughed. “Probably not.”
“Might this concern a certain investigation that you’re not supposed to be investigating?”
“Mom! I can’t find my shoes.”
They both rolled their eyes. It was Maxine, their six-year-old.
“They’re by the front door, sweetie!” she called back.
The Bauers left their small flat in Oberfohring and traveled to a quiet, leafy street in the Neuhausen neighborhood, one of Munich’s most exclusive.
Though it was night, the massive stucco five-bedroom villa still managed to intimidate Bauer, reminding him that he couldn’t afford his in-laws’ place even if he pooled every last reichsmark he’d ever earn in his entire career as a kripo.
“Ready?” Amalie asked her husband.
“Well, I faced down the Allied forces on the western front, so I can probably handle dinner with your parents.” He glanced over at his wife.
She gave him one of those wry half smiles that left him defenseless.
Eight years and two children later, Bauer still couldn’t believe that he’d convinced Amalie Geiger to marry him.
“They’re not that bad,” she said.
“No? What’s the bet tonight? I say two minutes.”
“Two minutes? No chance. I’ll take that bet.”
“Take what bet?” This from Maxine, who took after her mother, a mess of curls. Next to her, their five-year-old boy, Ridley, with his thick brush of dark hair, just like his father.
“Nothing, Mouse,” said Bauer.
“Oma! Opa!” the kids called out as his in-laws appeared at the front door.
Seligmann Geiger, Bauer’s father-in-law, put out his arms as the kids rushed into them.
Amalie’s mother, Marina, beckoned the children inside while Bauer and his wife headed up the stone front path, past the ornate fountain that belonged more in a public park than in someone’s parkway.
“Mein prinzesschen!”
“Hi, Papa.” Amalie gave her father a big hug.
He was tall and silver-haired, dressed in a beige cardigan and trousers.
Amalie was an only child and thus the apple of her father’s eye.
Dad had been none too pleased in her choice of husband, and not because Bauer wasn’t Jewish.
Selig was the owner of the Geiger Department Store, a popular houseware and haberdashery store—the third largest in Munich—and one of the only stores in Munich that featured escalators.
As a man who had amassed a fortune, Selig had envisioned his daughter marrying a man of means, not a basic cop.
“Tom.” Selig extended a hand, the warmth drained from his greeting.
“Selig. Good to see you.”
“Congratulations on your promotion. I hear you’re a kommisar now.”
“I guess they couldn’t find anyone else to promote.”
“Does that come with a pay raise?”
“Papa,” Amalie scolded him.
“I was just curious, mein prinzesschen. I’m not as familiar with compensation for municipal employees. Come, let’s go inside.”
Her father stepped into the house. Bauer leaned into Amalie. “That wasn’t even one minute,” he whispered.
Bauer and his father-in-law drank aperitifs in the study while Amalie joined her mother in the kitchen and the kids played with Helmut, the golden retriever.
I love my wife, Bauer reminded himself.
The study was approximately the size of the entire ground floor of Bauer’s flat.
The carpet was the color of a putting green; Selig had gone to the German Open in Baden-Baden a year earlier and come away with a new obsession.
One wall was all bookshelves, filled with volumes sure to impress: financial journals and biographies, Greek tragedies and poetry, essays and studies.
Another wall was adorned with stuffed heads—a wild boar, two deer, a moose.
The third was the vanity wall, photographs of Selig posing with men of high finance, celebrities, politicians, even one with Kaiser Wilhelm before his abdication.
They sank into gorgeous and exceedingly comfortable leather chairs. Bauer could easily take a nap right there; he was certainly tired enough.
“So how is… police work?” Selig asked, as if forcing those words from his mouth, as if nothing could interest him less. “Oh, say.” He snapped his fingers. “Were you involved with the investigation into the death of Hitler’s niece?”
“A bit,” said Bauer.
“Yes, that’s quite awkward for him, isn’t it? It was beginning to look like nothing was going to stand in his way of being our next president.”
“I don’t think this will, either.”
“Hm. Too soon to tell. He’s a force, no doubt. He has a bright future.”
Bauer took a hard look at his father-in-law. “You like him, Selig?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘like.’ In the world of commerce, we have to keep our friends close and our enemies closer. He’s spoken to the leading businessmen in the city. He and Goring. The war hero?”
“I know who Hermann Goring is.”
“Hitler, he’s full of rhetoric on the campaign trail, but he’s assured us that he understands that a robust nation requires a robust economy. He’ll be fine.”
“He’ll be fine?” Bauer sat forward in his chair. “Hitler is a rabid anti-Semite, Selig. Have you heard the things he says about the Jews? He calls you swine. He calls you vermin. He’s talking about you. He’s talking about Marina. He’s talking about Amalie.”
“Yes, of course. I don’t like it, obviously.”
“You don’t like it? Selig, a guy like Adolf Hitler should never be anywhere near the presidency.”
Selig let out a long sigh. “Tom, let me explain something to you.”
Bauer drained his glass and poured another.
I love my wife. I love my wife.
“Hitler is just a politician,” Selig said.
“Now, here in Germany, we’re not accustomed to politicians.
We’ve had kaisers and now this—this sorry Weimar government forced down our throats by a war treaty.
We’re not accustomed to people like Hitler.
But if you work in business, you need an international perspective.
Look at other democracies in Europe. Look at America.
These countries are accustomed to these politicians.
They say whatever they have to say to get elected.
They have to appeal to their constituents for support.
But they don’t actually do most of the things they promise.
Hitler’s a blowhard, Tom—a carnival barker.
His bark will be much worse than his bite, trust me. ”
“You’re wrong, Selig.”
“For people like us,” said his father-in-law, motioning around the room, all the trappings of wealth, “it doesn’t matter who’s in power.”
“I can’t listen to this anymore.” Bauer popped out of his chair.
“Selig, you’re deluding yourself. It’s people like you looking the other way that will allow this to happen.
What, Hitler and Goring whisper sweet nothings to you and you think you’re safe?
You’re not. And you know why? One reason and one reason only—you are Jewish.
When that man takes power, that will be the only thing that matters.
If you want to tell yourself otherwise, be my guest. But my wife is Jewish.
My children are Jewish. And I’m not going to sit around and just hope for the best. So while you’re counting your money and redecorating your mansion, I’m going to fight for my country. ”
“Really, you’re being naive.”
Bauer stopped at the door. “I’m being naive? Read your history books, Selig.” Bauer pointed at his father-in-law. “When a politician spews hate, believe him. Because by the time you realize he wasn’t kidding, it will be too late.”
Bauer slammed the door behind him.