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So where was she?

Volker had said he would look into Ava’s whereabouts further, but that was now months ago, and Johann had received no further news. As his eyelids became too heavy to keep open, his thoughts drifted to his parents and the news that his home city of Dresden had been all but flattened by ceaseless bombing raids that February. He had been denied leave to return home, and he had later heard that the area where his parents lived had been among the worst hit. Soon after that he received news that their bodies had been recovered from the debris. Johann shed no tears for his father, but for his mother, whom he had seen so little of in recent years, and who had endured more hardship than any wife deserved from her husband, he wept in phases for several days.

Thinking about the bombing of Dresden again made Johann wonder where Ava had been when the bombs fell on Munich the previous year, and whether she and her parents had been buried somewhere beneath the rubble and the devastation that typically followed such random destruction. His last waking thought was that Munich was only two hundred miles west of his current position. And how he wished he was there, where he knew the answers to these questions that tormented him must lie.

‘
Nachthexen
!’

Johann had no idea how long he’d been asleep, but it felt as if only a matter of seconds had passed before his eyes shot open again. At hearing the cry, his first instinct was to roll closer to the bush beside him. His Luger was drawn in seconds. Then he heard the familiar sound of the wind whistling through the bracing-wires of one or more Soviet Polikarpov U-2 biplanes and he holstered his sidearm again, knowing it would prove useless against the attack.

The biplanes had been nicknamed
Nähmaschinen
—sewing machines—because of the rattling sound their engines made. But their engines were now switched off to facilitate a stealthy approach to their target. Flown by the all-women pilots of the Soviet 588th Night-Bomber Regiment, who were referred to as
Nachthexen
or night witches, their chief objective was to disrupt and to deny the enemy sleep.

The first fragmentation bombs took out one of the machine-gun placements, and Johann could only hope that the men operating it had managed to leap clear in time. The hitherto still night air suddenly erupted with the sound of the explosions and the quick return of machine-gun fire, and cries went out in all directions as members of the
Leibstandarte
ran for cover.

The Polikarpovs glided in low to deliver their payloads, some skimming the treetops, over which they began to drop phosphorous pellets, which ignited everything they touched. The trees and shrubbery were soon ablaze, and Johann knew that those soldiers unlucky enough to receive phosphorous burns would die a slow and painful death.

‘Take cover!’ Johann called to his remaining machine-gun units. Experience told him that his men were unlikely to bring one of these
Nachthexen
down. The biplanes, which were essentially modified crop dusters, were strongly built, and his men, gathered in clusters around their gun emplacements, were easy targets. Their best defence was to scatter and wait out the attack.

The snick-snick of the biplanes’ engines started up again as soon as they passed by, and Johann peered up from his cover to watch their shadows pass overhead in the darkness like the winged, fire-breathing beasts they were. It seemed the enemy would not allow them a moment’s rest in their retreat from Vienna. The
Nachthexen
had done their job well, but their raid on Johann’s position was only the beginning. Within half an hour the shelling began, and now that their position was lit up by the burning trees and foliage, Johann and his unit were easy targets.

The first barrage landed short and Johann gave the order to push on along the road towards Linz. The only vehicles he and his makeshift unit had managed to pull out of Vienna with were an open top VW
Kübelwagen
and two
Zündapp
sidecar motorcycles—one of which had run out of fuel several miles back. Thankfully they had not yet been hit, but even so, while the vehicles had proven useful for carrying supplies and a few wounded
Kameraden
, the unit as a whole could only move as fast as those who were on foot.

Johann made for the
Kübelwagen,
which was parked a hundred yards or so along the road, beneath a canopy of branches at the roadside. Further in, the burning trees continued to crackle and flame, illuminating the way. He called over to one of his men.

‘Bring the wounded.
Schnell
!’

As Johann turned back to the car, he saw someone jump in. It was
Rottenführer
Protz. The car’s engine started and the vehicle pulled away, wheels slipping in the loose dirt beside the road.

‘Protz!’ Johann yelled.

He pulled out his Luger and took aim, knowing that this man’s cowardly attempt to save his own life would mean the wounded would have to be left behind. He fired a shot and saw the bullet clip the car with a spark, but Protz did not stop. Johann took aim again, but this time as he pulled the trigger he did not hear the gun’s report over the shells that suddenly burst around him. The ground shook at his feet, unsteadying him. He saw the car take a hit and flip into the air. Then he heard screaming behind him and he turned around to see a man staggering towards him, flames consuming him as others ran into the trees in wild panic.

Johann was reminded of the woods near Romanovka, where he had earlier received his wounds, and he wanted to warn his men to stay out of the trees, but at that very moment he felt a searing pain at the back of his head as another hail of Soviet shells erupted. Something struck him out of nowhere, and for the briefest moment he was aware that he was falling.

Then darkness fell with him.

Chapter Thirty

Present day.

It was apparent to Tayte as soon as the taxi pulled up at the gates to Trudi Strobel’s significant home that Tobias Kaufmann had not understated her wealth. She had clearly done very well for herself since the war, despite having been left with next to nothing because of her association with her war-criminal husband. Given that Tobias had said she had never remarried, worked, or owned a business herself, the main question turning through Tayte’s mind as he approached the intercom and pressed the call button was where her wealth had come from. He had a few ideas, which he expected Trudi would soon confirm, and he hoped he could also persuade her to talk about Volker Strobel.

Jean was beside him. By the time Tayte had collected her from the hospital with his wilting bunch of flowers and had taken her back to the hotel, there had been little time left before his appointment with Trudi—just long enough to book them both onto a return flight to London the following evening while Jean fetched her jacket and changed into her jeans and a pale yellow, V-neck sweater.

Having brought Jean up to date with everything that had happened since he’d left her that morning, and despite Tayte’s suggestion that she might like to rest at the hotel, she had insisted on seeing Trudi with him and he could do little to dissuade her. Her neck brace was off. Her hospital test results were good. Apart from a few bumps and bruises here and there she was her usual self again. Only now she seemed to have a renewed sense of determination to make the most of their now limited time in Munich. As the main gates powered open and Tayte and Jean walked the drive towards the house, they had time to take the estate in.

‘It must be worth millions,’ Tayte said.

‘Not when Trudi bought it,’ Jean countered.

‘No, but it would still have cost a fortune, relatively speaking, and the upkeep must be a huge drain. There’s a few acres of land to tend and—’ He paused and whistled. ‘Well just look at the place. How many bedrooms do you think there are?’

‘At least a dozen.’

‘At least,’ Tayte agreed.

The house, arranged on three floors, was painted white, which made it stand out all the more amidst the lush greenery of the landscaped gardens it was set in. A balcony ran around half of the top floor, where Tayte imagined the master bedroom was. He couldn’t think why someone Trudi’s age would choose to run such a sizeable estate all by herself. By all accounts she had no other family to share it with than Ingrid Keller, but he imagined she lived with her husband when she wasn’t caring for Johann Langner. It was another indicator to Tayte that Trudi didn’t need the money. She could have made a fortune from the sale, but clearly she didn’t need to sell.

They were greeted at the front door by a smart young woman in a black dress, whom Tayte supposed was the person he’d spoken to when he called the house earlier. When the young woman greeted them, the familiarity in her voice, and her awkwardness with the English language, confirmed it. She led them through a marble-pillared hallway to a bright sitting room at the back of the house, which looked down over a wooded area and what appeared to be a recreational parkland. In the distance, Tayte could see Munich’s Olympic park with its various domes sprawled over the landscape like vast Bedouin tents.

‘Very nice indeed,’ Tayte said as they sat down and waited for their host to join them.

Trudi Strobel didn’t keep them waiting long. She came into the room alone, dressed in a light-green gown and cardigan, aided by the fanciest looking walking stick Tayte had ever seen. It had a gold filigree handle over polished ebony, the gold tracery weaving between colourful enamelwork that extended partway down the cane. Tayte knew from seeing Trudi’s vital records that she was ninety-two years old. She was tall and slim, but without appearing frail. Her grey-white hair was impeccably styled and set, and her skin, though lined with the inevitability of old age, had a quality to it that belied her years. Tayte and Jean stood up as she approached them, and Tayte thought she appeared as elegant in her demeanour now as he supposed she had been in her youth.

‘Mr Tayte,’ she said, coldly and without the slightest hint of a smile. She made no suggestion that she wanted to shake Tayte’s hand. ‘I can’t say it’s a pleasure.’

If Trudi had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth then it showed in the plummy way she spoke. There was a haughtiness to her tone and very little trace of the German nuances evident in the accents of most of the people Tayte had spoken to since arriving in Munich. He imagined she’d received the finest education money could buy.

Trudi turned to Jean. She tilted her head back and raised her glasses slightly to peer beneath them, giving the impression that she was looking down her nose at her. Then as if Jean wasn’t worthy of being addressed herself, she turned back to Tayte and said, ‘And who is this?’

‘This is my partner, Professor Jean Summer,’ Tayte said. He could see from the glance Jean gave him that she was glad he’d got the ‘professor’ part in.

‘A professor?’ Trudi said, studying Jean more closely, as though she couldn’t quite believe it.

‘Royal history,’ Jean said. ‘Particularly the constitutional history of England, specialising in the Plantagenet dynasty.’

Trudi didn’t continue the conversation. She made a slight but disdainful sound in her throat as she turned away and sat in a chair that looked uncomfortably upright. ‘Well, sit down,’ she said. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

No refreshments were offered, so Tayte got straight to the point. ‘Firstly, I’d like to apologise to you for the manner in which this interview has come about.’

‘You mean how you threatened me?’

‘Yes,’ Tayte conceded. ‘And I’m sorry it had to come to that. It’s not my usual style at all.’

Trudi made a point of eyeing Tayte up and down, from his perennially ruffled black hair to the comfortable, if bordering on worn out, beige loafers on his feet, as if to suggest that style of any kind wasn’t really something Tayte gave much thought to. She made him feel so uncomfortable that he found himself trying to press the creases out of his jacket with the palms of his hands.

‘I won’t ask how you made your discovery about Johann Langner,’ Trudi said. ‘It doesn’t matter. Only the consequences are important. You said you knew that Johann was Ingrid’s father. Yes, he is. Now if I have to talk to you about other matters to ensure your discretion, I will. No one wants to be associated with the Strobel name, least of all a highly successful businessman such as Johann Langner.’

‘Look,’ Tayte said, offering Trudi a smile. ‘I’m sensing we’ve got off to a bad start here, and—’

‘A bad start?’ Trudi cut in. ‘Believe me, Mr Tayte, it won’t get any better until you leave. Now what is it you want to talk to me about?’

Tayte drew a deep breath, wondering how anyone could be so rude, yet at the same time he thought he deserved it for the way he’d forced Trudi’s hand. He thought about showing her the photograph he had of his mother, but he didn’t suppose he’d gain anything from it, and he didn’t feel that Trudi Strobel was someone he wanted to share such a personal image with.

‘I’m just trying to find my family,’ Tayte said. ‘That’s all. I believe Volker Strobel could be my grandfather.’