Woody asked.
“I assisted. On the dental work done for many of the high-ranking party members. And the military. The Goebbels family. Dr. Goebbels. He had some problems with his maxillary left molars. And I sometimes worked on the children's teeth. Feldmarschall Keitel, of course. And Reichsleiter Bormann. I worked on a gold crown for his right bicuspid in the lower jaw. Very successful. And Eva Braun. We made . . .”
“Who's Eva Braun?” Woody asked.
Gotthelf looked embarrassed. "Fräulein Braun is—eh—the Fuhrer's special friend,” he said lamely.
“His mistress, you mean?” Woody was intrigued.
Gotthelf nodded.
“Well, well,” Woody chuckled. “Will wonders never cease? Nice-looking chick?”
Gotthelf blushed. “I do not know-chick,” he said stiffly. “We worked on a bridge for Fräulein Braun,” he continued. “I was to have fitted it myself. But it was finished too late. The fitting never took place. The bridge still lies in the laboratory in Berlin. And there was work for the secretaries who worked for the Führer. Fräulein Junge and Frau Christian. And I made a crown for . . .”
“Did you assist on any work made for Hitler, himself?” Woody interrupted. Would the man never stop talking? He wasn't remotely interested in Goebbels’ kids or Hitler's girl friend. But maybe Adolf himself.
“No.” Gotthelf shook his head. “ Brigadeführer Blaschke had his personal technicians. Fritz Echtmann and Käthe Heusermann. They did all of the Führer's work. But there were many others . . .”
And on it went, until Gotthelf had run out of both steam and information.
Woody typed up a brief interrogation report. A damn waste of time. Whatever tiny hope he'd still nurtured that the interrogation of Sturmbannführer Franz Gotthelf would yield something of importance was snuffed out.
The coveted extra five points looked farther away than ever.
He brought the report to Major Hall.
The C.O. looked up brightly, as Woody entered the office. “Hey,” he said. “The CID just called. They got the two men. And they confessed. It was pretty much as you'd figured it. That rope around his arm, incidentally, was meant to make it look as if the poor bastard had been tied up. Kept prisoner. Cute touch.”
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. “The CID boys said thanks for a job well done.”
“Charge,” Woody said sourly. “That's a great help.”
Hall looked at the report. “Well,” he said, “did you learn anything earth-shaking from your friendly neighborhood dentist?”
Woody shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Nothing. Not a damned thing.”
4
A SOUR SMELL OF DEFEAT AND RESIGNATION permeated the Bunker, now that it had become common knowledge that the Führer had decided to take his own life. It struck Heinz Lorenz, Reich Press Representative to the Führer, forcefully as he came hurrying down the stairs to the lower level of the Führer Bunker. It was the foul, debilitating breath of Götterdämmerung. The end was truly near. An ignominious and terrifying end. True, he thought, Hitler’s grim decision to end his life in the Bunker had not been unexpected. For days he had been talking about it and making preparations. But hearing it finally voiced as an irrevocable resolution had still been a shock to him.
He walked rapidly through the far corridor past the machine room and the guard room. He always felt uncomfortable in the Bunker. This time more than ever. The Bunker moles had become so jaded to the grotesque that they did not see the morbid incongruity in the fact that the Führer in almost the same breath he announced his decision to commit suicide had also announced his intention to marry his mistress, Eva Braun. Lorenz could not help being appalled. The wedding ceremony would be that night.
Fräuleine Gertrud Junge, Trudl, one of the Führer’s personal secretaries, had taken great delight in telling everybody who would listen that she had actually
“I assisted. On the dental work done for many of the high-ranking party members. And the military. The Goebbels family. Dr. Goebbels. He had some problems with his maxillary left molars. And I sometimes worked on the children's teeth. Feldmarschall Keitel, of course. And Reichsleiter Bormann. I worked on a gold crown for his right bicuspid in the lower jaw. Very successful. And Eva Braun. We made . . .”
“Who's Eva Braun?” Woody asked.
Gotthelf looked embarrassed. "Fräulein Braun is—eh—the Fuhrer's special friend,” he said lamely.
“His mistress, you mean?” Woody was intrigued.
Gotthelf nodded.
“Well, well,” Woody chuckled. “Will wonders never cease? Nice-looking chick?”
Gotthelf blushed. “I do not know-chick,” he said stiffly. “We worked on a bridge for Fräulein Braun,” he continued. “I was to have fitted it myself. But it was finished too late. The fitting never took place. The bridge still lies in the laboratory in Berlin. And there was work for the secretaries who worked for the Führer. Fräulein Junge and Frau Christian. And I made a crown for . . .”
“Did you assist on any work made for Hitler, himself?” Woody interrupted. Would the man never stop talking? He wasn't remotely interested in Goebbels’ kids or Hitler's girl friend. But maybe Adolf himself.
“No.” Gotthelf shook his head. “ Brigadeführer Blaschke had his personal technicians. Fritz Echtmann and Käthe Heusermann. They did all of the Führer's work. But there were many others . . .”
And on it went, until Gotthelf had run out of both steam and information.
Woody typed up a brief interrogation report. A damn waste of time. Whatever tiny hope he'd still nurtured that the interrogation of Sturmbannführer Franz Gotthelf would yield something of importance was snuffed out.
The coveted extra five points looked farther away than ever.
He brought the report to Major Hall.
The C.O. looked up brightly, as Woody entered the office. “Hey,” he said. “The CID just called. They got the two men. And they confessed. It was pretty much as you'd figured it. That rope around his arm, incidentally, was meant to make it look as if the poor bastard had been tied up. Kept prisoner. Cute touch.”
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. “The CID boys said thanks for a job well done.”
“Charge,” Woody said sourly. “That's a great help.”
Hall looked at the report. “Well,” he said, “did you learn anything earth-shaking from your friendly neighborhood dentist?”
Woody shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Nothing. Not a damned thing.”
4
A SOUR SMELL OF DEFEAT AND RESIGNATION permeated the Bunker, now that it had become common knowledge that the Führer had decided to take his own life. It struck Heinz Lorenz, Reich Press Representative to the Führer, forcefully as he came hurrying down the stairs to the lower level of the Führer Bunker. It was the foul, debilitating breath of Götterdämmerung. The end was truly near. An ignominious and terrifying end. True, he thought, Hitler’s grim decision to end his life in the Bunker had not been unexpected. For days he had been talking about it and making preparations. But hearing it finally voiced as an irrevocable resolution had still been a shock to him.
He walked rapidly through the far corridor past the machine room and the guard room. He always felt uncomfortable in the Bunker. This time more than ever. The Bunker moles had become so jaded to the grotesque that they did not see the morbid incongruity in the fact that the Führer in almost the same breath he announced his decision to commit suicide had also announced his intention to marry his mistress, Eva Braun. Lorenz could not help being appalled. The wedding ceremony would be that night.
Fräuleine Gertrud Junge, Trudl, one of the Führer’s personal secretaries, had taken great delight in telling everybody who would listen that she had actually
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