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‘
Monsieur
?’

Johann turned to the door as it opened, and he saw Marie’s delicate young face appear through the gap.

‘Supper is ready,
Monsieur
.’

Johann put his slip of paper away again as he stood up. ‘Thank you, Marie. Did your mother manage to make good use of the provisions we brought you?’

‘She has made a cassoulet,
Monsieur
.’

‘Ah, very good.’ Johann extinguished his cigarette with his fingers, pinched off the tip and put the remainder back into its packet for later. ‘At least when I go back into battle, I shall do so with a full stomach.’

He reached the door and opened it further, smiling at Marie, whom he thought could not have been more than twelve years old. He followed her along the passageway outside his room, which was lit only by the moon at the bare windows.

‘Have you and your mother eaten?’ Johann asked as they began to descend the stairs. They creaked at his every step.

‘
Oui
,
Monsieur
. A little.’

‘Good. You must keep up your strength.’

They arrived at the door to the dining room and Johann could hear the voices of his
Kameraden
beyond.

‘The table is already set,
Monsieur
,’ Marie said as she opened the door for him.

‘
Merci
, Marie. Please thank your mother for me.’

Johann entered to the faint but stirring music of Wagner, which was coming from a small Bakelite radio set at the far end of the room, where the shutters were closed against the night. The room was dimly lit by several candles set at intervals along the table, which cast wavering shadows against the walls.

‘Ah, here he is,’ someone said. It was Horst, an
Obersturmführer
, like Johann, whose voice sounded strained and coarse following his recovery from a Soviet bayonet wound to his throat. ‘Here, have some wine, Johann. It’s very good.’

Johann sat down and took the proffered glass of wine. ‘The cassoulet smells good, too,’ he said, helping himself to a hunk of bread from the board.

‘A good German sausage has to be among the world’s most versatile foods,’ the man sitting opposite Johann said. His name was Friedrich, and as
Hauptsturmführer
he was the senior ranking officer at the table.

‘That’s very true,’ Johann said, reaching across the table to fill his plate with a ladle of sausage and bean stew from the pot.

‘We were just telling Karl here about the
Ostfront
,’ Friedrich said.

Karl was the most junior officer. He was a young
Untersturmführer
who reminded Johann of himself as he had been when the war began—only Karl had left the training school at Bad Tölz at an even younger age. Johann had seen many young faces on the battlefield in recent months, and he had fought alongside many
Kameraden
who were inexperienced, such as those among the ranks of the 1st SS Panzer Division
Hitlerjugend
, a
Waffen
-
SS
armoured division drawn from the Hitler Youth, which had only been combat ready since March that year. Johann took it as a sign that Germany’s losses were far greater than could be sustained if they did not win the war soon.

‘Were you there when Kharkov was recaptured?’ Karl asked Johann, his eyes suddenly bright in the candlelight. His tone was full of the eagerness Johann found often accompanied a young
Leibstandarte
soldier’s unfamiliarity with the harsh realities of war.

Horst answered for him. ‘Johann has been just about everywhere the
Leibstandarte
have been. He’s one of the oldest hares around. Isn’t that right, Johann?’

‘I could say the same about you, Horst,’ Johann said with a smile. ‘And yes, I’m beginning to feel very old.’

They laughed. ‘Nonsense,’ Horst said. ‘There’s plenty of fight left in both of us.’

The
Hauptsturmführer
interjected. ‘With Operation
Lüttich
imminent, we shall find out soon enough,’ he said, and everyone around the table, except young Karl, gave a sombre nod in agreement.

A moment later, as if wishing to turn the subject away from the war, the
Hauptsturmführer
asked, ‘Have you heard from your wife yet, Johann?’

Johann had made no secret of the fact that the last letter he had received from Ava was dated close to three months ago, soon after his last brief period of home leave that May, when the
Leibstandarte
had been withdrawn for a period of rest and refit. He might have thought little of it, given the intense fighting in Normandy since early June, but Ava had been in the habit of writing to him regularly and he knew other soldiers of the
Leibstandarte
who had received letters from home as recently as two weeks ago.

He sat back from his food, thinking about Ava again, recalling the music she had played for him on his last visit and how it had mesmerised him as he watched her slender fingers drift over the piano keys, caressing them as he longed to be caressed. How impatient he had been for night to fall so they could be alone together.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the message he had received from Volker, whom he had contacted recently to ask if he would call on Ava. Not knowing she was safe and well kept Johann awake at night more than usual, and he envied Volker that much. Having married Trudi Scheffler in the spring of 1942, his friend’s position afforded him a closeness to his wife that Johann could only dream of. Having seen so little of Ava during the two and a half years since they were married, coupled with the almost daily uncertainty of whether or not he would live to see her again, was difficult enough. To worry for her as he did, and to be so helpless to do anything about it, was almost too much to bear.

He unfolded the slip of paper and offered it up for all to see. ‘I received this message from a friend in Munich just yesterday,’ he said. ‘He informs me that my wife’s family home has been boarded up.’

‘Munich?’ Friedrich said.

Johann nodded. ‘That’s right.’

‘Well then, as long as the house is still standing, you’ve nothing to worry about. Didn’t you hear? Munich was bombed during several raids a few weeks ago.’

‘Does your wife have any family outside the city?’ Horst asked. ‘Perhaps she and her parents went to stay with them.’

‘Yes,’ Johann said, thinking back to his wedding day, when he had been introduced to Ava’s uncle, a man called Heinz Schröder. ‘She has an uncle living in the countryside on the outskirts of Gilching. It’s about fifteen miles west of the city.’

‘Well, there you go,’ Friedrich said. ‘I’m sure that’s all it is. Your wife and her parents have simply been upset by the bombings and the displacement from their home.’

‘But Ava could have written to me just as easily from Gilching.’

‘I think you’re worrying too much,’ Horst said. He topped Johann’s wine up. ‘Here, have another glass and try to relax. With all that’s going on, I’m sure there must be a hundred good reasons why your wife hasn’t written to you.’

The young
Untersturmführer
spoke then. ‘Why don’t you send a message back to your friend and ask him to call at her uncle’s house? Perhaps he could see if she’s there for you.’

Short of deserting his post to go and look for Ava himself, Johann knew it was all he could do.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Present day.

Tayte was waiting in a small reception area when Jan Statham came in to meet him. She wore navy blue trousers and a cream blouse with a gold and blue scarf at the neck. He put her somewhere in her forties. She pushed her shoulder-length auburn hair back off her face with her glasses as she approached, greeting Tayte with a warm smile as he rose to meet her.

‘Those are lovely flowers,’ she said once she’d introduced herself, shaking Tayte’s hand with enthusiasm. ‘This is all a bit exciting, I must say.’

‘It sure is,’ Tayte said, reminding himself that it was proving to be more than a little dangerous, too. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’

‘Likewise. It’s not every day I get to help track down a war criminal.’

‘No,’ Tayte agreed.

He knew that was how Jan must have been briefed. He also knew that it was exactly what the Kaufmanns hoped his research might lead to, but while he would have loved to help bring the Demon of Dachau to justice, he remained focused on trying to find out why his mother and Karl had gone to see the Kaufmanns in connection with Karl’s family—his family. He didn’t say anything to Jan about that, having decided it was best not to get into his own issues, which he thought would only complicate matters.

‘What’s that accent I’m picking up?’ he asked. ‘It’s subtle, but it’s familiar. Whereabouts in the UK are you from?’

‘I grew up in Wales,’ Jan said. ‘Although I was born in Cheshire.’

They left the reception area, taking a flight of stairs.

‘I expect you’re keen to get stuck in,’ Jan said. ‘I was given the names of some of the people you’re interested in, so I’ve jumped the gun a bit and started without you. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Not at all,’ Tayte said. ‘Anything that saves time is a bonus in my book.’

‘Super,’ Jan said, still smiling. ‘I’ve managed to pull a few records together for you. Are you familiar with German family history?’

‘A little,’ Tayte said. ‘But it’s not exactly my specialty.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be just fine. The records aren’t so different, apart from the language, of course. Do you speak German?’

‘No, I don’t,’ Tayte said. ‘I’m afraid my German is appalling. I’m glad to have someone like yourself to translate things for me.’

They left the stairwell and went through into one of the office areas.

‘The main thing to keep in mind,’ Jan said, ‘is that there’s no central repository in Germany for civil records. Most of the information useful to genealogists here is stored at local level. That can make things a little tricky as you need to know in which town, city or municipality the event you’re looking for took place, but there are ways to help identify where German ancestors lived. Church records and gazetteers can be very useful there.’

Tayte already knew some of the things Jan was telling him as they made their way through the office area, but there was plenty he didn’t know and he was keen to learn as much as he could. He noticed that many of the desks were vacant, which he supposed was because it was lunchtime.

‘It becomes more difficult if you need to go back prior to Germany’s unification in 1871,’ Jan continued, ‘when the country was made up of several independent kingdoms, each with their own way of doing things. I think you’re only interested in the last century, though. Is that right?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ Tayte said, ‘For now at least,’ he added, considering that if Karl was his father, then in time he would be very interested in going back as far as he could. But not today.

‘Mind you,’ Jan said. ‘It can get a little tricky again from 1945, when the country was split into East and West Germany. And because of the war parts of what was once Germany now belong to other countries altogether, so records for German ancestors may no longer be in Germany as we know it today at all.’

Jan showed Tayte into a room that could ordinarily have been a meeting room, but which for today’s purposes appeared more like a personal reading room. There was a single large table in the centre with several chairs arranged around it. There was a keyboard and screen, a couple of notepads and pencils, and what appeared to be a folder of documents.

‘Do make yourself comfortable. Would you like some tea or coffee before we get cracking? I don’t drink coffee myself, but I’m sure I can find you some.’

‘Coffee would be great,’ Tayte said, thinking that a sandwich would go well with it. With all that had happened that day, he’d had no time or inclination for breakfast and his stomach was beginning to protest.

Jan paused at the door and turned back to him. ‘Have you eaten? If not, I can ask someone to bring something back from the deli. Someone’s always popping out at this time of day.’

Tayte smiled. He liked Jan already. He thought back to something Johann Langner had said at the hospital, when describing Ingrid Keller as his lifesaver. ‘
Meine
Lebensretterin
,’ he said with his hand on his stomach and a cheesy smile on his face.

Jan laughed at him. ‘What would you like?’

‘Anything’s fine. You can surprise me.’

When Jan returned with their drinks a few minutes later, Tayte had already opened the file she’d prepared for him. He’d tried to wait, but he had no willpower when it came to seeing records, especially when they were right under his nose, even if he did feel like a child getting caught under the Christmas tree when Jan came back into the room. Not that any of the records meant much to him, other than a few names and places.

‘I couldn’t resist taking a look,’ he said as Jan sat beside him.

‘That’s quite all right. I’ll take you through what I found and we can go from there. Now, you’re interested in two people, the notorious war criminal, Volker Strobel, and someone called Johann Langner, who I’m told was Strobel’s friend during the Second World War.’

Tayte sipped his coffee and nodded. ‘I’d like to identify any other family members from either of these men. In particular, any children they might have had.’ He was still firmly of the opinion that one of them might have fathered Karl and could therefore be his paternal grandfather. ‘Let’s start with Strobel.’

Jan flicked through the copies of the records she’d prepared, and she set a few out. ‘These are all I could find for Volker Strobel,’ she said, sliding one in front of Tayte. It bore the title
Geburtsurkunde
. ‘I found this in the
Geburtsregister
—the birth registry. It’s a copy of Volker Strobel’s birth certificate. He was born here in Munich so it was easy enough to locate.’ She pointed at the other names on the certificate. ‘This is his father, Joseph Strobel, and his mother, Mathilde Strobel née Wolf.’