A Man Without Breath

Von Tresckow replaced the phone and explained the situation. ‘Von Kluge’s Putzer is drunk. Some peasant girl who works at the castle has thrown him over and the ignorant Ivan bastard has been sitting all night beside grave number one with a bottle getting steadily pissed. Apparently he’s got a pistol in his lap and is threatening to shoot anyone who goes near him. Says he wants to kill himself.’

‘I can think of any number of people here who would like to do it for him,’ said Von Gersdorff. ‘Me included.’

Von Tresckow laughed. ‘Exactly. It seems that Colonel Ahrens telephoned the field marshal’s office, and Von Kluge asked poor Fabian to go over there and sort it out. Typical of Clever Hans – to get someone else to do his dirty work. Anyway, that’s what Fabian is still trying to do, but without success.’ He shook his head bitterly. ‘I really don’t know why Von Kluge keeps that man around. We’d all be a lot better off if he did shoot himself.’

‘I wouldn’t care to disarm Dyakov,’ observed Von Gersdorff. ‘Not if he’s drunk.’

‘That’s what I was thinking,’ said the general.

‘Do you think Fabian’s up to it? He’s a lawyer, not a soldier.’

Von Tresckow shrugged ‘I would have told Fabian to leave the Russian and come back here,’ he said, ‘because what’s happened here at Krasny Bor is obviously more important. But always supposing they don’t go straight home tomorrow morning, Gunther’s experts will want to see the valley of the Polacks before they see anything. Under the circumstances, the last thing they probably want to meet is a fucking tanked-up Russian with a pistol in his hand.’

Von Gersdorff laughed. ‘Might add to the sense of verisimilitude, sir,’ he said.

The general allowed himself a smile. ‘Perhaps it would at that.’

‘I know you’re a general,’ I said, ‘but I’ve got a better idea. How about you try to keep the lid on things here and I go down to Katyn Wood and take care of Dyakov?’

It certainly didn’t sound like a better idea – not to me. Maybe I was regretting making that little speech about me not being a tough guy; or maybe I just felt like hitting someone and Dyakov looked like he was made for it. What with the Polish Red Cross, someone shooting at me, and the murder of Dr Berruguete, it had been that kind of day.

‘Would you, Gunther? We would both be awfully grateful.’

‘Take my word for it. I’ve dealt with drunks before.’

‘Who better than a Berlin copper to deal with a situation like this, eh?’ He clapped me on the back. ‘You’re a good man, Gunther. A real Prussian. Yes, indeed, you can leave things here to me.’

Von Gersdorff had buttoned up his tunic and was pouring another drink.

‘I’ll drive you, Gunther,’ he said. ‘I’m going to send that signal off to the Tirpitzufer.’ He grinned. ‘You know, I think I’d like to see you take care of Dyakov.’ He handed me the drink. ‘Here. I’ve got a feeling you might need this.’

CHAPTER 10

Thursday, April 29th 1943

It was after midnight when we got to Katyn Wood. I preferred it in the dark – the smell and the flies weren’t so bad at night. Things were quieter, too, or at least they ought to have been. We heard Dyakov a long time before we saw him; he was singing a lachrymose song in Russian. Von Gersdorff pulled the car up outside the front door of the castle where Colonel Ahrens was waiting with Lieutenants Voss and Schlabrendorff and several men from the field police and the 537th. They all ducked at once as a pistol shot rang out in the forest. It was easy to imagine that sound multiplied four thousand times during the early spring of 1940.

‘He does that every so often,’ explained Colonel Ahrens. ‘He fires his pistol in the air, just to let everyone know he’s not bluffing about shooting someone.’

I looked at everyone and snorted with derision. Dyakov wasn’t the only one with a few drinks inside him.

‘It’s one drunken Ivan,’ I sneered. ‘Can’t you just find a marksman and shoot the bastard?’

‘This isn’t any Ivan,’ said Von Schlabrendorff. ‘This is the field marshal’s own Putzer. This is the man who sleeps beside the dog, on his veranda.’

‘He’s right, Gunther,’ said Von Gersdorff. ‘You shoot Alok Dyakov and Von Kluge is very likely to shoot you. He’s very attached to that damned Putzer.’

‘You couldn’t shoot him even if you wanted to,’ added Voss. ‘He’s knocked out all the damn spotlights. The ones above grave number one, which is where we think he’s sitting. As a result it’s hard to make out any kind of a target.’

‘Yeah, but not for him,’ said Von Schlabrendorff. ‘That man is like a cat. Drunk or not, I swear he can see in the dark.’

‘Give me your cosh,’ I said to one of the field policemen. ‘He’ll be hearing Berliner Luft in the forest theatre by the time I’ve finished stroking his head.’

The cop handed over his truncheon and I hefted it in my hand for a moment.

‘Wish me luck,’ I told Von Gersdorff. ‘And while I’m gone brief Voss about the latest murder. You never know, he might have an idea who did it.’