Ruins of War (12 page)

T
he chief administrator, Dr. Sauber, tried to keep up with Mason as the two moved down the main hallway of the hospital’s administrative offices. “Herr Collins, I have a hospital to run.”

“No one is stopping you,” Mason said.

“Your insistence to interview everyone in my hospital interrupts the smooth operations of—”

Mason ducked into an office where one of the surgical nurses was working with an MP sketch artist on a portrait of Dr. Scholz. “Are you about done with that? We’ve got to get that sketch out there.”

The sketch artist looked up from his work. “Yes, sir. Putting the final touches on it now.”

Mason looked at the sketch. “Yeah, that’s him. Go ahead and get it down to the printing offices. Then see a Corporal Hitchins on the CID floor. He’ll see it gets distributed.”

Mason continued his walk down the hallway with Dr. Sauber in tow.

“Sir, your policemen guarding every entrance and checking everyone coming and going is creating confusion and anxiety, even frightening some patients from seeking care.”

“I’m sure those MPs are treating everyone with patience and respect.”

“But, Herr Collins—”

“Dr. Sauber, a surgeon at your hospital is a cold-blooded murderer. I would expect that you would want to do anything in your power to help us track him down.”

“Not at the expense of my patients—”

He was interrupted again when Wolski fell in step with Mason and said, “The address Scholz gave us turned out to be bogus—just a pile of rubble. The 508th has beefed up patrols and everyone has a verbal description of Scholz. They’ve got MPs at the train stations and tripled their checkpoints. We’ve also got the description out to the outlying MP stations.”

“You are turning my hospital into a three-ring circus,” Sauber said. “There are patients’ lives at stake. I can’t have you taking my staff out willy-nilly and interrogating them to serve what I see as a futile process.”

“Dr. Sauber, I’m willing to bet that your staff is more concerned about having worked alongside a murderer, and that this hospital allowed patients to go under the knife by a surgeon who dismembered people in his spare time. That is why I want you to wait in your office until I find a moment to ask you some questions.”

Sauber’s eyes popped open in alarm. He stopped and watched Mason for a moment before retreating in the opposite direction.

Mason and Wolski entered the main lobby and hovered near the area for waiting patients until Inspector Becker concluded his interview with a hospital orderly. Two of Becker’s men circulated among a small group of staff who worked on the surgical wing getting their statements. Becker dismissed the orderly and walked up to them.

“Dr. Scholz maintained his anonymity quite well,” Becker said. “No one, so far, can offer anything beyond his professional life here at the hospital.”

“Nothing about his past? Where he lives? Where he goes?” Mason asked.

Becker shook his head. “Other than complaints of him being arrogant and aloof, he seems to have been widely respected as a surgeon
and considerate of his patients. What about the search of his office? Did you find anything that could help?”

“We both got the impression that he’d arranged everything for a quick getaway. No agenda, no pictures, notes, letters, not even a matchbook. Nothing personal at all. A lower drawer in his desk was open and things disturbed like he’d kept something there in case he had to make a quick exit.”

“He did leave a Bible, a rosary, and his crucifix,” Wolski said. “I guess even a religious-fanatic psycho-killer can dispense with the religious stuff if he’s on the run from the law.”

“How are your guys doing with the door-to-door searches and canvassing?” Mason asked Becker.

“We have as many men doing this as we can spare. As you know, we are still woefully understaffed. The process is slow, but it will be done. We did send out the bulletins to suburban and rural police stations.”

“We still have most of the surgeons to interview about Scholz,” Mason said. “I plan to go at the administrator now.”

“We have a list of all surgeons and surgical staff,” Becker said. “My second is organizing an interview schedule. Some will have to wait until tomorrow when they come on shift.”

Mason nodded. “Why don’t you get started with those who are here now, and we’ll join you as soon as we can.”

Mason and Wolski left Becker and headed for the administrative offices. Mason said, “I want you to go talk to the chief of surgeons”—he checked his notes—“a Dr. Tritten. He’s waiting for you in his office on the fifth floor.”

Wolski started to peel off, but Mason told him to wait. He pointed in the direction of the main entrance. Colonel Walton, trailed by four CID investigators, had just entered the lobby. “The cavalry has arrived,” Mason said with a tone of sarcasm.

Mason and Wolski met Colonel Walton and his entourage near the reception area.

Colonel Walton stopped and put his hands on his hips. “Before I get to the fact that you let the suspect escape—”

“Colonel, we had nothing on him,” Mason said. “He had an alibi for the night of the factory victim’s murder, which we were going to verify—”

“You disobeyed my direct order to stay away from U.S. Medical Corps personnel files.”

“Sir, we concentrated on MP and CID arrest records involving medical personnel. If we had questions, we consulted with the personnel records office.” Mostly true, though “consulted” meaning Wolski and he had rummaged through the records office themselves.

“I warned you about disregarding my authority,” Colonel Walton said. “If this case didn’t have General West breathing down my neck, I’d throw your ass out of here. And now that your prime suspect turns out to be a German surgeon, you went over my head for nothing.”

Wolski butt in. “That we
have
a prime suspect should account for something.”

Colonel Walton turned his glare to Wolski. “When I want comments from the peanut gallery I’ll ask for them.” He pointed to the four men behind him and said to Mason, “I brought you four additional investigators. They’re yours for the duration of this investigation, as per your request to General West, which, I might add, you also saw fit to go over my head about. You’ll have two more by the end of the day. They’re coming over from Company C’s detachment.”

Mason knew Timmers and MacMillan. Colonel Walton introduced the other two as investigators Pike and Cole. “We’re setting up an operations room at headquarters as we speak,” Colonel Walton said. “Something you’ll definitely need now in order to track down the suspect you let escape. Now, tell me what you have so far.”

Mason told him about what had led them to Dr. Scholz, the interview, the subsequent escape, and where they stood in tracking Scholz down.

Colonel Walton nodded and let out a tired sigh. “I’ve got to get
back and explain this mess to his holiness, General West. You find this doctor and fast.”

When Colonel Walton left, Mason turned to the new investigators. “Any of you speak German?”

Timmers halfheartedly raised his hand. “I do, sorta.”

Mason said to Wolski, “See if you can scrounge up a couple of interpreters, and get them interviewing surgical staff. Maybe Becker can help you out. Then see the chief surgeon. I’m going to find out what Dr. Sauber has to say for himself.”

•   •   •

D
r. Sauber was talking excitedly on the phone when his secretary let Mason enter the administrator’s office. Sauber echoed the same complaints he’d voiced to Mason, but in a woeful tone. Mason caught
“Liebchen,”
or “darling,” before Sauber cupped the mouthpiece and lowered his voice. Apparently Sauber had called his wife to share in his distress—though she was not entirely sympathetic, because Sauber hissed something unintelligible into the phone before slamming down the receiver. He turned to Mason with a politician’s smile and gestured for Mason to sit.

Unlike the German stereotype of fanatic order, Sauber’s office exuded chaos. Stacks of file folders, books, and newspapers cluttered every space. Mason had to move a stack of folders from the high-back chair before he could take a seat.

“Just put that anywhere,” Sauber said. He swept his hands wide to include the entire room. “You see what I have to put up with? I am severely understaffed and bursting at the seams with patients.”

Mason searched for an open spot. “I hope you don’t smoke in here, Doctor.” He finally plopped them on the floor and sat. “I apologize for the disturbance. We won’t be here any longer than we have to. But you do understand the seriousness of the situation.”

“Of course, sir. Anything I can do to help.”

“Good. You can start by supplying me with any documents
relating to Dr. Scholz: his personnel file—address, family, place of birth, et cetera. Where he practiced before coming to this hospital, where he studied medicine . . .”

“You will be pleased to know that I have already ordered that those documents be compiled and sent to my office. They should be here anytime now. If it helps, Dr. Scholz speaks with a light Swabian dialect.”

Mason noted that on his notepad. “When did Dr. Scholz start working for this hospital?”

“This past June. Around the middle of the month.”

“Did you know him from before? Or did he just walk in and ask for a position?”

“He came to us.”

“What kind of evaluation process did you perform before hiring Dr. Scholz?”

“I don’t understand.”

“How deep did you check into his background? Did he have a criminal record? Was he wanted by U.S. authorities for war crimes?”

Sauber’s face turned red, and his hands moved in tempo with his words. “His . . . his papers were in order, I assure you. He had a denazification certificate. He had his Kriegsmarine discharge papers. . . .”

“Did you verify their authenticity?”

“You must understand. . . .” He took a moment to wipe his brow with a handkerchief. “At war’s end we were in desperate need of qualified surgeons.”

“Then, no.”

Sauber shook his head. “The system for such verifications was extremely difficult, what with the damage to the infrastructure, the chaos, people and records spread hither and yon. They still are. Such a thing would have taken too long, and we needed him immediately. I might add, he proved himself spectacularly in the operating room. I was delighted to have him. When such a gift is presented to you, you don’t ask questions.”

“Where was he during the war?”

“He was a surgeon in the Kriegsmarine. Though I must admit, there were some discrepancies concerning his service records.”

“Such as?”

“They had a Friedrich Scholz, but not a Heinrich Scholz.”

“And what did Dr. Scholz say about this?”

Sauber leaned into the desk. “Well, he was rather vague about it,” he said in a muted voice as if he’d suspected something odd all along. “When I first heard about Dr. Scholz’s . . . untimely departure this morning, I reflected upon my evaluation process for hiring him. As a matter of fact, I put in a call to the University of Heidelberg, but they have no record of a Heinrich Scholz obtaining a degree at their university.”

Mason had expected something like this. The man had expertly covered his tracks up to now, and probably used a false name. And it was not uncommon for those escaping justice in the postwar chaos to obtain the identity of someone recently deceased or killed.

The office door swung open after a quick knock. A gray-haired man with chiseled features swaggered into the room. He thrust out his hand toward Mason. “Ah, you must be Criminal Investigator Collins. Dr. Tritten, chief of surgeons.”

Mason stood and shook his hand while looking at Sauber, prompting another solicitous smile from Sauber. “I took the liberty of inviting Dr. Tritten to this interview. I hope you don’t mind.”

Tritten didn’t wait for a response. One moment he was heartily shaking Mason’s hand, and the next he was planting himself on Sauber’s desk. “Now, how can I help you in this matter?”

Mason shot Sauber another glance before retaking his seat. He figured Sauber had asked for reinforcements to deflect some of the pressure of the interview, and they looked like two coconspirators seated together, facing Mason. “Dr. Tritten,” Mason began, “I’m sure you’re aware that we suspect Dr. Scholz is responsible for a series of murders—”

“I was shocked, to say the least,” Tritten interjected. “I can’t imagine Heinrich would be capable of such a thing.” He exchanged a look with Sauber, who nodded in affirmation.

“As chief of surgeons, you’re probably the most familiar with Dr. Scholz at this hospital.”

“That is most likely true, but Dr. Scholz was not an easy man to get to know. I’m sure you want to ask me what I know about his personal life, but I haven’t much to give you.”

Another complicitous nod from Sauber.

“Did he ever mention family or friends?”

“No, not friends, but he occasionally talked about his wife and son.”

“He has a son?”

“I’ve never met them. Usually a proud parent likes to show pictures of his family, but he never showed them to me or anyone else that I know of. He did speak of them in reverential tones. Nothing specific, really. Simply in terms of how they had changed his life and helped him through the dark years of war. Gertie and Max are their names.”

“I assume they live with him?”

Tritten looked at Sauber, who shrugged and said, “We would assume so.”

Mason looked at his watch. “Are those files coming anytime soon?”

“Any minute, sir.”

“Did Dr. Scholz really suffer from a previous back injury?”

“To my knowledge, yes,” Tritten said.

“For a man who seemed to need the use of a cane, he made a pretty fast getaway. Not to mention committing those murders.”

Tritten and Sauber exchanged glances, then Tritten produced a roguish smile. “Now that you mention it, I observed him several times without it. In my opinion, he used it more as a psychological crutch than as an aid for walking.”

Mason was losing his patience. The two doctors were obviously telling him things they thought he wanted to hear to get him off their backs.