A Man Without Breath

‘No Polish. Just Russian. He and some field police are busy interrogating people in Gnezdovo to see what more the locals can tell us about what happened. I’ve an idea that Peshkov speaks French as well as German and Russian, so he might be of assistance. But the ministry are also sending us a reserve officer from Vienna who speaks good Polack. Lieutenant Gregor Sloventzik.’

‘Sounds about right,’ said Buhtz.

‘He used to be a journalist. Which is how the ministry knows him, I think. I believe he speaks several other languages, too.’

‘Including diplomacy, I hope,’ said Buhtz. ‘I’ve never been very fluent in that.’

‘You and me both, professor. And certainly not since Munich. Anyway, Sloventzik is going to handle all the translations for you.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it. I don’t need more confusion right now. I’m afraid it’s been that kind of a morning. This signaller that the field police found. Martin Quidde.’ He pointed at the corpse lying in a coffin on the floor near the back door. ‘I understand from Lieutenant Voss that you and he both thought his death was a suicide.’

‘Well, yes. We did.’ I shrugged. ‘There was an automatic with the hammer down still in his hand. Short of a poem clutched to his breast it looked pretty clear-cut, I thought.’

‘You would think so, wouldn’t you?’ Buhtz grinned proudly. ‘But I’m afraid not. I’ve fired a whole clip from that weapon, and there’s not one of the bullets that’s the same as the one I gouged out of the victim’s helmet. It’s as I was telling you earlier. About the metallurgy? The slug that went through his skull was standard 7.65 mill, yes. But it was a significantly heavier load, with a bit more nickel in it. The corporal was shot with a seventy-three-grain load as opposed to the normal sixty-grain load that’s in his pistol’s magazine and which is standard issue to the 537th Signals. The seventy-three-grain load is normally issued only to the police units and the Gestapo.’

He was right, of course; and – a long time ago – I’d known this, but not lately. You see enough lead flying through the air and it soon ceases to matter where it comes from and how much it weighs on a set of scales.

‘So someone just tried to make it look like a suicide, is that what you’re saying?’ I asked, as if I really didn’t know.

‘That’s right.’ Buhtz’s grin widened. ‘And I doubt that there’s another man in this whole damned country could have told you that.’

‘Well, that is fortunate. Although I don’t imagine Lieutenant Voss is going to be all that pleased. He still hasn’t solved the murders of those other two signallers.’

‘Nevertheless it does establish a sort of pattern. I mean, someone really does have it in for those poor bastards in the 537th, don’t you think?’

‘Have you tried making a telephone call out here? It’s impossible. There’s your motive, I shouldn’t wonder. Still, I don’t suppose an Ivan would have bothered to make it look like a suicide, would he?’

‘I hadn’t considered that.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, that is reassuring for the Germans in this city, I suppose.’

‘All the same, sir, if a German was responsible for the murder it might be a good idea not to mention any of this to the Gestapo. Just in case they go and string up more of the locals in retaliation. I mean, you know what they’re like, sir. The last thing we want is an international commission arriving in Smolensk to find a makeshift gallows with some Russian pears growing on it.’

‘A man – a German – has been murdered, Captain Gunther. That really can’t be ignored.’

‘No, of course not, sir. But perhaps, until this whole thing with the international commission is over, it might be to Germany’s political advantage to hide this under some hay in the barn, so to speak. For appearances’ sake.’

‘Yes, I can see that, of course. I tell you what, captain. You used to be a police commissar at the Alex, didn’t you?’

I nodded.

‘Very well then. I promise to keep the murder of Corporal Quidde quiet, Gunther, if you promise to find his murderer. Does that sound fair?’

I nodded. ‘Fair enough, sir. Although I’m not sure how. He’s done a pretty good job so far of concealing his tracks.’

‘Well, do your best. And if all else fails we can have each man with a police load in his pistol fire a round into a sandbag. That should help to narrow it down for you quite a lot.’

‘Thank you, sir. I might take you up on that offer.’

‘Please do. You’ve got until the end of the month. And then I really will have to tell the Gestapo. Is that agreed?’

‘All right. It’s a deal.’

‘Good. Then let’s go and get some lunch. I hear it’s Konigsberger Klopse on the menu today.’

I shook my head. ‘I’ve already eaten,’ I said.

But in truth, what with the smell of formaldehyde and the dead body and the prospect of investigating a murder that I’d committed myself, I had lost my appetite.

CHAPTER 6

Wednesday, April 7th 1943