The Grave of Truth (32 page)

‘I see,' Holler said. ‘You wanted her very badly, didn't you, Andrews? What a coup for you and your service, eh? Adolf Hitler's daughter, carried off to the safety of the United States, where none of us wicked Europeans could try to make use of her. And she would have been useful, wouldn't she—the world is getting used to women in high places since the war. Golda Meir, Indira Gandhi, Mrs Bandaranaike. A son would have been the best, but that was quite an unusual woman, didn't you think so? She had a certain magnetism about her—I wonder how powerful she could have become in the future, with the right kind of backing—' He tossed aside his calm, and his eyes blazed hot with anger. His contempt was savage. ‘You wouldn't give a damn what happened to us, to the German people, would you? If it brought some rotten political advantage to your service, you'd promote her and if we got ripped to pieces because of it that would be just too bad, wouldn't it? Well, I'll admit something to you, so you can put it in with the rest of your report. I wouldn't have let her go. If Minna Walther hadn't shot her, my people would have killed her, and you too, if they had to.'

‘That's great,' Andrews said. ‘I've got that on tape, Holler. Just go on talking.'

Holler shrugged. ‘You can put it on the table as far as I'm concerned. Then you can edit out the bits you don't like, when you get home.'

‘I won't be editing anything,' Andrews said grimly. ‘I'm going to blow the whole stinking conspiracy up in your face. You tried to hide the existence of a daughter from me, but you didn't reckon on Mühlhauser—he told me the
whole
story. When you realized I couldn't be kept out, you primed Minna Walther to act as assassin. I guess when the pressure is on her she'll nail you, Holler, to save herself. You've got enemies in Bonn; they'll know what to do with this report when it comes back as an official United States note to the Bonn government. They'll dig you over like dogs in a boneyard—and you Krauts have a great way of cutting each other up. And it won't help to send Minna Walther on a nice convalescence where she can have an accident before anyone gets to question her. I'm putting that possibility in too; you won't be able to get rid of the chief witness without proving you were guilty with her.'

‘It may surprise you,' Holler said, ‘but murder isn't my favourite solution. If it wasn't necessary to bury this story forever, I would have Minna Walther tried for what she did. But I can't, because nobody must know that Hitler's daughter ever left the convent. As you said, if we discovered her existence then eventually so will the Russians; secrets as big as this always leave a trail behind them. Only it won't lead them anywhere. My friends in the Vatican will see to that. As for the accusations you've made against me, make them official by all means. I'm sure you think it will lead you a little nearer to your Director's chair.… But I doubt if this will.'

He reached into the drawer of the desk, and threw a blue folder on top of it.

‘The originals are in safe keeping,' he said. ‘You can take that away with you. You may want to use it as part of the famous report that you're compiling.' He walked to the door, opened it and went out, closing it quietly.

Curt Andrews was alone in the office. He picked up the blue file, and flipped open the first page. He lowered himself slowly on to the edge of the desk as he began to read.

‘I want to make a deal,' Stanislaus Kesler said. He blew his nose; he had cried during the night, and his nasal passages were blocked. He was sitting opposite Paul in a cheap café on the outskirts of Geneva. They had a bottle of wine between them. Paul watched him carefully; Kesler looked haggard and heavy-eyed; he seemed to have aged suddenly.

‘What are you talking about?' Paul said. ‘You're lucky to be here in one piece. The best thing you can do is take what's owing to you, and disappear.'

‘I'm not walking out on Maurice,' Kesler said.

Paul made a grimace of impatience. ‘Don't be such a fool. If he keeps his mouth shut, they'll put him away for a few years. If he talks, or they connect him with the other murders, he'll be in jail till he drops dead. Forget him, there's nothing you can do.' He saw the expression on Kesler's face, and wished he'd been more tactful. ‘I know how you feel,' he amended, ‘but it's no use thinking you can help him. What happens if he trades you in to help himself?'

‘Maurice won't shop me,' Kesler said. ‘You don't understand us. We really care about each other.'

‘All right.' Paul sighed. ‘But what can you do?'

‘I can put the West Germans on to you,' Kesler said. He poured himself a glass of wine. Paul had his glass in mid-air; the wine slopped out of it on to the table.

‘Me! You'd set them on me—'

‘Why not?' Kesler said. ‘You know who pays the bills. And you'd soon tell them. You're not the courageous type. You would be a very useful bargaining point.' He finished his wine. ‘I think that's what I'll do. If you run, you won't get very far.' He watched the other man lose colour, and the sweat begin to break out on his forehead and turn into little beads. Paul's mouth was slack with fright.

‘I'll kill you,' he blustered feebly.

Kesler smiled. ‘You couldn't swat a fly,' he said.

‘You bastard,' Paul mumbled. ‘You dirty pederast.'

Kesler kicked him under the table, catching him on the edge of the shin-bone. ‘Be careful when you call names,' he said.

Paul couldn't speak; his face was twisted in pain. Kesler waited. He was very calm, as always in moments of crisis. He had spent his emotions in the last day and night, imagining Franconi being interrogated. He was going to save him if it was possible, and the frightened go-between was just the bait he needed. But if Paul was a coward, he wasn't a fool. He had a quick brain and a rat-like sense of survival. Kesler let him work out the problem for himself. It took him a few minutes. If Kesler betrayed him, he wouldn't have a chance. Raymond would have him silenced before he had time to identify him as the paymaster. Raymond wouldn't be pleased about Franconi's arrest either. And he was sick of living with danger, of dealing with killers like the one sitting opposite him. He felt sick with fear and his leg was on fire from the kick. The thought of Raymond terrified him no less than Kesler. Only Kesler was here and Raymond was safe in his office in the luxury hotel. He decided that Fate had made the choice for him; the time had come to escape it all and enjoy himself in the distant paradise of the Seychelles.

‘I'll tell you who pays,' he said to Kesler. ‘I'll tell you enough to get Franconi out with a suspended sentence.'

Kesler nodded. ‘I thought you'd see a way out for yourself,' he said. ‘And it's all the same to me as long as it helps Maurice. I'll order some more wine. Or maybe you'd rather have a cognac. You look a bit pasty-faced.'

‘How are you going to do it?' Paul asked. He had begun to calm down; he even felt relieved. Kesler could do the negotiating; if he was quick he could make his travel arrangements and be on a plane out of Switzerland by the evening. He could get the details settled later, when Raymond was out of the way.… The Seychelles, and the villa, waiting for so long to be occupied, and the big-breasted girl he'd picked out to take with him. He took a deep breath. ‘Who are you going to contact?'

‘You're going to advise me,' Kesler said. ‘You know all the crooks in the police here; you'll get hold of one of them for me. I'll talk terms with him.'

‘Me?' Paul's spirits fell as suddenly as they had risen a moment before.

‘Yes, you,' Kesler said. ‘You're going to ring one of your contacts and get him down here. I'll talk about money. And you'll tell me all I need to know before he gets here.'

‘All right,' Paul said. He wouldn't get away before the morning.

‘You'd better write everything down.'

They drove Max Steiner back to his hotel the next morning; the man who had taken him from the convent at gunpoint was very friendly. He suggested that he and Max have a drink at the bar, and he insisted on paying.

‘How is Frau Walther?'

The detective had been expecting the question. ‘She's well,' he said. ‘They set her arm and she's under observation for a few days. Nothing to worry about.' He smiled encouragingly at Max. ‘Herr Holler wants you to stay here for a bit; at our expense, of course. And enjoy yourself—Munich has a lot to offer. He'd rather you didn't telephone your magazine, or talk to anyone outside, just till everything's settled.' There was a glint in the brown eyes that was at odds with his smile.

‘When can I see her?' Max said. ‘I won't promise anything until I've seen her.'

‘I'll ask Herr Holler, and let you know,' the detective said pleasantly. ‘In the meantime, just do as he asks, won't you?' He paid the bill for their drinks, and stood up, waiting for an answer.

‘I'll stay here till he contacts me,' Max said. ‘I won't be talking to anyone.'

Holler's agent held out his hand. ‘Good,' he said. ‘Herr Holler will be in touch with you.'

Max watched him go. There were a number of people in the bar, drinking before lunchtime. He remembered sitting there himself, getting drunk enough to ring up his wife and say their marriage was finished. And Minna trying to tell him that they didn't have a future, only he wouldn't listen. She had known from the beginning what she was going to do when they found the other half of Janus. When they lay in each other's arms and he told her how much he loved her she had kept a part of herself intact, because of what she was going to do. But in the end she said she loved him. In the hotel lounge, at a corner table, now occupied by another couple. Two businessmen, deep in conversation. That had given him the courage to leave Ellie and his children. That and the brandy he drank after Minna had gone upstairs.

She had so nearly been killed that night. He thought of the cyanide pen Holler showed them, and the young, good-looking man who had been betrayed at the identity parade by a little black and white terrier. He was the one who had watched Minna in the restaurant and in the lounge afterwards. Max had thought he was trying to make a pass at her. He had been jealous.… He thought of his anxiety for Minna after the experience, how he had tried to shield her, and how Holler had insisted that she was quite strong enough to look at the suspects. ‘She's not quite as fragile as you think,' Holler had said. And he hadn't known that a few hours later she would take a gun out of her bag and shoot another human being.

Max signalled the waiter, and ordered a beer. He didn't want to drink too much; he wanted a clear head to try and answer the questions that were poised like daggers, aimed at his heart. Had she used him, as Holler said? Had she ever loved him, or only seen him as a means of completing what her husband had begun? If he hadn't known about Janus, would she have responded when he first made love to her, or was that part of the campaign she was conducting? There were no answers to the questions, and he knew there wouldn't be until he came face to face with her again.

Reverend Mother Katherine was in the chapel, praying. There were half a dozen nuns kneeling in private adoration; they were scattered, and the Reverend Mother knelt at a distance from them. She had made the announcement in the refectory the previous evening. Her bloodstained grey skirt was in the furnace; the shattered devotional lamp before the picture of the Sacred Heart had been replaced, and there was no trace on the newly polished floor of the grim stains that had been scrubbed away. She had made the announcement after grace was said, and before the meal began. Sister Francis had left the convent. That was all; the buzz of comment went on until the supper was finished and the community prepared for evening prayers. The Mistress of the Novices had come to her. ‘May God forgive me,' she said. ‘But I'm glad she's gone from us. I shall pray for her.'

‘I'm glad too, Sister,' Reverend Mother Katherine said. ‘We both knew she didn't belong here.'

‘I never said it before, because I couldn't bring myself to pass such a judgement on any of our Sisters.' Sister Dominic hesitated. ‘Sometimes I thought she was an evil influence. Pretending to be good. No doubt it was my imagination because I couldn't understand her.'

‘No, Sister,' Mother Katherine answered. ‘You imagined nothing. She was a lost child. But we will pray for her just the same.'

And she had tried to ask mercy and forgiveness for the dead girl, but there was no sincerity in the prayer. Her own hatred made a mockery of the
De Profundis
and her thoughts swung obstinately backwards, to the father who had been strangled to death without a trial, to her mother and herself, fleeing the vengeance of the tyrant they hadn't been able to kill. She couldn't pray for the soul of his daughter without knowing it was hypocrisy. That afternoon, in the quiet period reserved for meditation in the chapel, Mother Katherine tried again.

She thanked God first, for the deliverance from evil which she believed had threatened her own small community, and then posed a danger to her country and its people.

She thanked God for Minna Walther's courage, and prayed earnestly for her. And then she set her mind upon her duty, and began the
De Profundis
for the child of Adolf Hitler who had murdered the person she loved most in the world. And at last she was able to finish it, and mean it as she said the last line under her breath. ‘Eternal Rest give unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her.'

‘I've brought you your file back,' Curt Andrews said. He dropped it deliberately on Holler's desk. His face was set and expressionless; only the muscles under the jaw were tense.

Holler drew the blue folder towards him. ‘Don't you want to use it? Sit down; I'll send for some coffee.'