The Boy from Berlin Page 6

‘You should get off your fat fannies and clean up this city,’ she was saying forcibly to him. ‘There’s enough of these damn needles about.’

  Amos stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked across at the altercation. He had a smile on his face because he could understand how patient Sergeant Bibby would have to be while being accused of being responsible for half the crime in New Jersey.

  ‘Yes, I understand your worries, ma’am,’ Bibby said carefully, ‘and I do realize that there is more we can do—’

  ‘Damn right there is!’ She cut him off by slapping her hand on the counter. ‘Too many of you hiding away here when you should be getting down to the lake and cleaning the damn place up. Never know when you’re gonna step on a needle. I pay my taxes, you know….’

  Amos walked over to the front desk and leaned forward so that he was caught in the woman’s peripheral vision. She stopped haranguing Sergeant Bibby and turned towards Amos.

  ‘And who the hell are you?’

  Amos smiled at her. ‘Lieutenant Amos, ma’am.’

  She looked surprised. ‘You ain’t got no uniform.’

  He shook his head. ‘That’s because I’m a detective, we don’t need a uniform.’

  She nodded her head once. ‘Then you should be out there detecting.’

  Amos looked at the small roll of cloth she was holding. ‘Is that it?’ he asked her.

  The woman looked at the cloth as though she hadn’t seen it before. ‘Sure is.’ She put it down on the counter. ‘See for yourself.’

  Amos unrolled the cloth gently. The syringe that the woman had wrapped was stained from spending a long time in the open.

  ‘Where did you say you found this?’

  ‘Down by the lake.’

  ‘You go there often?’

  ‘Some.’

  Amos knew he was taking a chance. There were probably dozens of syringes lying about all over the place, but he was relying on his detective’s gut instincts now, plus a little desperation. ‘If I take you there now, could you show me exactly where you found it?’

  ‘Sure, but I need to be back quick; got my man’s lunch to cook.’

  ‘I’ll make sure you’re back in plenty of time.’ He took her carefully by the elbow and guided her away from the desk. ‘We’ll get a car. Be there and back no time at all.’ He looked back at Sergeant Bibby and winked.

  Bibby arched his eyebrows and looked down at his paperwork. The syringe was gone and it was no longer his problem.

  Jack Demski looked out over the waters of the Hudson River and towards Long Island Sound in the distance. He thought about the events of the previous week, and the subsequent discussions that had gone on, some until the small hours of the morning. His father had said he wanted justice; for his mother’s murderer to go to the chair, but Haman had told him that the killer was almost certainly beyond the law now. Jack Demski was more interested in why Eva Braun was allowed to escape, and where she had escaped to. He argued that someone would have that knowledge, and that person or persons might still be alive. He also argued that to have proof of her escape, if that was possible, would make major headlines all over the world, and that the Demski family should have ownership of that story. He told his father they could make a fortune.

  Isaac Demski was more pragmatic. Being something of a realist he knew there was little chance of learning anything, but had gone along with his son’s desire to at least follow up Haman’s dramatic revelation. The question was: Where to start? Gunter Haman had suggested the Simon Wiesenthal organization, but Isaac thought that might be too public. The decision was made to use Jewish contacts of their own, and Jack was given the task of learning whatever he could. And all he had was one name; the one given him by Haman. It was the German officer who had shot Rosmaleen Demski.

  Hauptmann Lörenz.

  FIVE

  BABS WAS GETTING tired and it showed. The young writer watched as her fingers fretted more at the threads in her skirt. She had sensed Babs’s irritability when pertinent questions were put to her, but she knew it was essential to get everything down on paper while she was still willing to talk about it. The whole truth had been lost in rhetoric and lies, claim and counter claim while the world clamoured for the right to know the truth of what happened that day in the Chancellery in Berlin and the single reason for it.

  ‘At this point you were still unaware of Demski’s interest in your husband’s future?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course. Had we known he would have been stopped.’

  ‘How?’

  Babs looked at the young woman. It was a brief, patronizing look. ‘Die Spinne?’

  The young woman looked puzzled. ‘Die Spinne?’ she repeated.

  Babs nodded. ‘Yes. The Spider; a group that came into existence to help smuggle senior Nazis out of Germany.’

  ‘Were you a member of that group?’

  Babs laughed softly and shook her head. ‘Of course not, but I suppose I was considered part of the family.’

  ‘They go back a long way, I presume?’

  Babs breathed in through her nose and then exhaled with a deep sigh. ‘Way back to the end of the war. They came into their own in 1945. That’s when they knew the war was lost and there were a lot of Nazis clamouring to get out of Germany. They set up an underground network smuggling the top brass into Switzerland and then into Italy. The SS used them to smuggle their own kind out.’ She glanced quickly at the young writer and then looked away again. ‘You might have heard of them as Odessa, but it was Die Spinne that supplied the false documents, the routes and the Catholic priests who were misguided enough to believe they were doing their Christian duty by shifting the Nazi thugs through their monasteries.’

  ‘Did The Spider network dissolve after the war?’

  Babs shook her head and a wry smile changed her expression. ‘No, they simply spread their web all over the world.’

  She looked around her cell.

  ‘Even here in America.’

  General Mort Tyler, four stars and a Vietnam veteran, stood in front of the State House in Trenton, Newark watching Gus Mason climb into a taxi. He lifted a hand to acknowledge Mason’s wave and turned to Judge Henry Lawrence who was standing beside him.

  ‘Seems like a good Republican, Henry,’ he drawled with his trademark Texan accent. ‘Could do with more of him on our side.’

  Lawrence said nothing for a moment; just watched the taxi pull away from the State House. He then took the general’s elbow and turned to lead him back inside the state legislature building.

  ‘But he’s the important one, Mort,’ Lawrence told him. ‘We’ve had to open many doors for him.’

  ‘Perhaps I should get him up to the Pentagon.’

  Lawrence laughed. ‘Heaven forbid. His path is mapped out. That’s why he’s working in the judiciary.’ This was the branch of state legislature that was the final authority on the constitutionality of the State laws. ‘He’s putting time in at the DA’s office as well. We’ll need good, solid lawmakers when the time comes.’

  Lawrence acknowledged the security guard as the two men walked through the metal detector and two minutes later were seated in an office that the judge used during his working visits to the State House.

  Mort Tyler settled into a leather chair and took the whiskey that Lawrence offered him. He was wearing civilian clothes because his uniform marked him out as one of the most decorated soldiers in the American army, and such was the public’s love and admiration of men in uniform, to be seen in his would attract attention immediately. It wasn’t that the general shunned publicity, but this visit was private and he felt less conspicuous in a suit.

  He glanced around the office as the memory of his conversation with Gus Mason drifted through his mind. The young man was a gift to the organization; an absolute diamond. With him in the White House, everything that the organization needed, both in political placement and influence, would be there for the taking.

  Tyler had travelled up from the Pentagon because he
wanted an update on their protégé and preferred to keep the press at arm’s length, hence the suit. At other times he had been happy to be seen with Gus Mason. Not that Mason could raise the general’s profile; it was the other way around. And Mason’s image had to be right when he began his push for the United States Senate and eventually the White House.

  ‘Has all the fuss died down over Senator Robbins’ accident?’ He laid a little emphasis on that last word.

  Lawrence sat down and lifted his glass in salutation. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ he assured the general confidently. ‘It was a tragedy caused by heart failure. The coroner was quite firm on that.’

  ‘The road seems clear, then.’

  Lawrence nodded. ‘It’s down to Mason now and the public. We’ve lifted his profile and he’s in demand. That’s the important thing. We’ve improved his technique. He’s more at ease now with whoever he meets, and they are at ease with him, whether Democrat or Republican, white, black. He appeals to everybody. The women love him. His wife is an absolute doll of a woman.’ He shrugged. ‘There’s no one else in their marriage. They’re loyal. They appear to love each other.’ He laughed gruffly. ‘Hey, I’d make him president tomorrow if I could. No question.’

  Tyler lifted his glass. ‘So here’s to you, Henry. King-maker.’

  Lawrence shook his head. ‘To us,’ he responded. ‘And to the America we will prepare for the true Americans.’

  Doctor Hal Robertson, chief medical examiner at the county coroner’s office did not normally feel out of place sitting in a police car alongside Lieutenant Amos, but this time it was different. Robertson’s Lexus was parked fifty yards away in Old Short Hills Road. They were just by South Mountain Reserve, about six miles from the city centre. It was Robertson who had made the call and suggested a discreet meeting with Amos, who was reluctant at first until the doctor mentioned Senator Ann Robbins. Amos had pulled one of the unmarked squad cars from the parking lot and driven over to where Robertson had asked him to meet. It was early evening but the light was already fading. It was why the doctor had chosen that particular time of day.

  The moment Amos had stopped his car, he saw Robertson leave his parked Lexus and hurry across the road towards him. His pace was quick and furtive, which both surprised and encouraged the detective. Years of experience told Amos that this was to be no ordinary meeting.

  Robertson clambered into the front seat beside Amos and said nothing for a few moments. His breathing was a little harsh but it sounded to Amos more like hypertension than lack of exercise.

  ‘So why did you ask for this meeting, Doc?’ Amos asked him after a while.

  Robertson didn’t answer immediately but nervously picked at his fingernails. Amos waited patiently.

  ‘It’s about Senator Ann Robbins,’ the doctor told him, his voice faint.

  Amos settled back in his chair. ‘You told me,’ he said a little impatiently. The senator had been dead about three months now and Amos had not been able to move the investigation forward because of Captain Holder’s insistence that the case was closed. He waited. ‘So what is it you want to tell me about her?’

  ‘She didn’t die of a heart attack.’

  The statement was simple and straightforward. At least, it would have been if this hadn’t been the man who had signed the death certificate.

  Amos felt his pulse rate go up a little. Immediately his mind was racing ahead and he didn’t like what he was thinking. He reined his detective’s brain in and waited.

  ‘She died of an overdose of succinylcholine.’

  Robertson mumbled so quietly that Amos had difficulty hearing him. He thought about the woman who had found the syringe.

  ‘So why did you lie? You knew the cause of her death was because of the drug, but you pulled the autopsy report. Why?’

  Robertson’s head dropped. His chin pressed against the collar of his shirt. ‘It was what I believed then and what I knew to be true, but I had to change my diagnosis because I was afraid.’

  ‘Afraid of what?’

  ‘What they would do to my daughter.’ His voice was barely audible.

  ‘Who are “they”?’

  The doctor glanced quickly at Amos and then directed his gaze out through the windscreen of the car. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  Amos knew he would have to be patient. He had dealt with people like Robertson before. They come to you wanting to get something off their chest or to confess to some awful crime, or involvement in a crime, but usually they clam up and forget it was them who contacted you first. You had to ease the confession out of them, treat them with kid gloves.

  ‘Why did you think something was going to happen to your daughter?’

  The doctor raised his head and took a deep breath. He looked at Amos and then turned away.

  Amos wondered if the doctor was feeling shame or guilt, but knew it was really fear that had put the man in this situation. The shame and guilt would always be there, whatever the outcome.

  The light was almost lost and the interior of the car was quite dark now. Amos felt it was helping the doctor in some way, but until he came clean on why he wanted this visit, the fading light was all the help he was likely to get.

  ‘My daughter is eleven years old,’ the doctor began. ‘She has lovely, blonde hair. It’s natural. Her mother brushes it every night before she goes to bed. One evening, a couple of months after the senator was found dead, my wife noticed a piece of our daughter’s hair had been cut off. Just a small piece,’ he added and drew an imaginary line in front of him. ‘Her hair curves neatly like this. But there was a chunk missing.’ He made a straight, incisive line with his finger. ‘Naturally my wife asked her what had happened, but my daughter didn’t know. We decided it must have happened at school. You know, kids playing around.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, we let it drop; thought no more about it.’

  Amos began to feel uncomfortable. It was not a physical discomfort, but a mental one. He had an absolute certainty in his mind of where this was going to end up. And he didn’t like it.

  ‘The following morning,’ Robertson went on, ‘I went to work in the normal way. Thought no more of it, naturally. But when I got to my office, there was an envelope on my desk. It was a white one,’ he said, and held his fingers about six inches apart. ‘About that big. It had my name on it. No address; just my name.’

  He sat there for a while gazing out through the windscreen into the late evening. Although Amos couldn’t see his expression, he guessed it would have looked wistful, probably philosophical. He’d committed a crime and was unburdening himself. Owning up.

  ‘I opened the envelope. It opened quite easily.’ It was an unnecessary statement but Amos knew the doctor was struggling and ignored it. ‘There was a lock of my daughter’s hair inside.’ He turned quickly, and for a moment Amos thought the doctor was going to break down. ‘I didn’t know what to do or what to think. For a while I thought it was some kind of silly joke.’ He settled back in the seat. ‘I thought of phoning my wife but decided not to. Then about five minutes after I had picked up the envelope, my phone rang.’

  ‘The person who cut off your daughter’s hair?’

  ‘Yes!’ The doctor looked quite surprised in the gloom. ‘You know?’

  Amos shook his head. ‘No, I’m a little ahead of you, Doc.’

  The doctor nodded as he realized that the lieutenant’s experience would be opening the story for him. ‘It was a warning. Change the autopsy report or my daughter would suffer.’ He opened the palms of his hands in an empty gesture. ‘That was it.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come to us?’ Amos asked. The question was obvious, but it had to be asked. And Amos knew exactly what the doctor would say.

  ‘How could I? As much as I respect the police, Lieutenant, my daughter was under threat. They had taken a lock of her hair without her even knowing. Just imagine what else they could do.’

  Amos thought of the lethal injection the senator had received while out jogging
. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘We could have taken your daughter into protective custody. It would have given us time to track down the person who attacked her.’

  ‘You have a daughter, Amos, right?’

  Amos nodded. ‘Holly. She’s eight years old.’

  ‘And what would you do if your daughter was threatened?’

  Amos’s expression changed. ‘I’d beat the shit out of the guy who threatened her.’

  Robertson laughed. It was more like an explosive cough. ‘You’d have to identify him first. Not easy when you are dealing with the kind of people who threatened me.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘A couple of days after that phone call, my wife was on her way to pick up our daughter from school. She was involved in a minor collision. Nothing serious. Once the paperwork had been dealt with, my wife was about to get back in her car when my daughter turned up. She’d been brought there from her school by a policeman in a patrol car. Naturally my wife was grateful, surprised even. But with the trauma of the collision it never occurred to her to ask our daughter how come the policeman knew about the accident and that my daughter was at school.’ He turned towards Amos then as though he was about to make a forceful point. ‘My wife did not phone the school. Neither did our daughter receive any calls. But the policeman turned up in a patrol car and told my wife that the head of the school had contacted the precinct and asked for someone to pick our daughter up and take her home. It all seemed above board of course, but we found out later that the school head knew nothing of it. Now you see why I couldn’t ask the police to take my daughter into protective custody. I can’t trust them.’

  ‘And if you had done, they could have threatened your wife.’

  The doctor nodded. ‘The cause of the senator’s death was of small consequence alongside the safety of my daughter, so I changed the death certificate.’

  The two men sat in silence for a while. Amos had all manner of things buzzing around in his brain, but most importantly he now knew, had irrefutable proof if you like, that Senator Ann Robbins had been murdered.