46
Bauer residence
Oberfohring
BAUER DIDN’T SLEEP. HE spent the remaining hours of the night lying next to Amalie, listening to her gentle breathing, watching the contented expression on her face as she remained blissfully asleep.
He checked on his sleeping children, Ridley and Maxine, still so innocent, so exuberant in their discovery of the world.
As the sun crept over the horizon, Bauer rose and dressed. He kissed his wife good-bye, her familiar words—“Come home to us, Tom”—taking on a deeper poignancy that morning.
He treated this day like any other. Dressed the same, took the same morning tram, huddled among teachers and shopkeepers, dishwashers and janitors, cooks and street cleaners.
When he arrived at Directorate 22 headquarters, he ignored the feeling of dread like acid in the pit of his stomach, sitting down to start work on his cases—an assault near Herzogpark, a residential burglary in Priel.
Helldorff was already there, though they only curtly acknowledged each other, bringing nothing of their off-duty mission to the office.
Helldorff’s eyes were heavy after their long night, but his wild, strawlike blond hair gave away his youth.
He’s not yet nineteen, Bauer thought, and I’ve drawn him into something dangerous.
“Bauer.”
He looked up. The chief’s assistant, Ilse, nodded at him. “The chief would like a word.”
“Sure.” Bauer nodded, as if nothing at all were unusual, casting a quick glance at Helldorff, who caught his eye.
He followed Ilse upstairs. The door to the chief’s office was closed. She knocked and opened it.
Bauer entered, first setting his eyes on the Weimar flag in the corner before noting the number of officers standing in the room. Chief Heinrich Müller sat behind the desk, flanked by two deputies and two other men, dressed in uniforms that identified them as officials from the Ministry of Justice.
“Come in, Bauer.” Müller wiggled his fingers.
Bauer took three steps forward. He considered a sarcastic quip, but the lump in his throat held him back. His heartbeat ratcheting up, he clasped his hands behind his back and stood at attention.
“Bauer, you have one chance to tell me what you did last night and why.” Müller leaned back in his chair. “One chance to avoid arrest and dismissal from the department. One chance to salvage your life.”
Bauer cast his eyes to the carpet. He didn’t know what, how, or how much the chief knew.
“My memory fails me, sir,” he said.
“Your memory of last night? You don’t remember what you did last night?”
“Oh, it’s coming back to me.” Bauer looked at the chief. “I was at a ballet lesson.”
“Well, we know you didn’t act alone,” said the chief, having none of Bauer’s bullshit, obviously holding the upper hand. “Do you want to protect your friends? Because I’m giving you that chance. Admit what you did, and we’ll show lenience to the others.”
Müller was no dummy. Bauer had always known that much.
“I acted alone,” he said.
“Acted alone in doing what?”
“Whatever it is you think I did, sir.”
“Where is it, Bauer?” Müller rose from his chair and leaned forward, bracing his knuckles on his desk. “And don’t be coy.”
The only card Bauer held, he figured, was that the Nazis surely wanted back what he took, wanted it returned safely to Hitler’s possession and out of the public eye. They didn’t know where he’d stashed it. That was his leverage.
Bauer could think of nothing to be gained from saying a word. So he didn’t.
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. It’s right here.
” The chief leaned down behind his desk and, with much bravado, held up Bauer’s bag—the same beaten leather bag Bauer used last night when he stole the contents of Hitler’s safe.
The same one he’d left inside the oven at the flat on Ludwigstra?e only hours ago.
For all his ability to keep a straight face, Bauer was sure that his expression gave him away. How had the Nazis tracked him? What had they done wrong?
“You’re under arrest, Inspector Bauer.” The chief nodded at his deputies, who placed Bauer in handcuffs and marched him out, each taking an arm.
They walked him down the stairs, intentionally taking him past the detectives’ room, a way to humiliate him before his colleagues.
They brought him down to the last of six cells, concrete cages meant to hold up to a dozen detainees.
But only one other person sat inside, hunched over on the bench bolted to the wall, wearing spectacles and a crooked bow tie.
“Hello, Fritz,” said Bauer, as they uncuffed him and pushed him inside the cell.