relationships with the people around her. But he could do nothing without viewing the body. All he had so far were innuendoesof murder. If it became clear, after his trip to Vienna, that the girl’s death was an odd and politically embarrassing suicide, Fritz would speak to the Chief Inspector and asked to be released from the case.
Without even realising what he had done, he found himself on Prinzregentenplaz. He glanced at the buildings, shadowy in the growing dark, then pulled over in front of Geli’s apartment building. If he left now, he would arrive in Vienna before dawn. The trip over the mountains was treacherous in the daytime. At night, it would be more so, and it would slow him down. But it did not matter if he arrived in Vienna at 3 a.m. or 5 a.m. Either way, he would get his work done. He had a few moments, then, to see if Frau Winter had returned to the apartment. If she had, she could give him the letter before he left. He might also be able to see Frau Dachs. It was better than waiting until he returned.
A small crowd of curiosity seekers had gathered in front of the main door. They stood silently, almost worshipfully, as if expecting someone. He passed through the crowd and let himself in, surprised that the main entrance was not locked. The lights on the stairs were dim; the building’s owner had replaced gas lights with electricity but had tried to keep the same fixtures. The place looked ominous in the shadows.
The door to Geli’s apartment was closed. Fritz listened, but heard nothing. He was not surprised; the apartments here were built for silence. He had noted that morning the door was as thick as his arm.
He knocked. The sound was weak in the padded hallway, and he would have backed away at that moment if somethingin Frau Winter’s tale of the letter hadn’t nagged at him. Part of him was convinced that the letter did not exist.
He was about to knock again when the door flew inward. A small man, his hair dark and slicked back, his face puffy and white, stared intently at Fritz.
‘Go away,’ the man said.
Fritz nodded a greeting. ‘I am Detective Inspector –’
‘I don’t care if you are Hindenburg himself. Go away.’ The small man spoke with such force that spittle sprayed Fritz. He did not back away. Instead, he placed a hand on the door frame.
‘I am Detective Inspector Stecher. I am investigating the death –’
‘Of Geli,’ the little man finished. ‘There is nothing to investigate.’
He started to close the door, but Fritz reached above the little man’s head and held the door open. As he looked down, he suddenly realised whom he was standing before.
Adolf Hitler, head of the NSDAP, rumoured presidential candidate, and uncle to Geli Raubal. Fritz felt a shock run through him. Since he had last seen Hitler, the man had put on weight. His moustache was filled with food particles and his hair was dirty. His clothing was rumpled, and his eyes were swollen. It looked as if he had been crying.
Fritz had never seen Hitler so distraught. The man had always been a fireball of anger and efficiency. Fritz left his hand on the door, but he softened his tone. ‘I beg your pardon, Herr Hitler. The Kripo would like to close this case as quickly as possible. I –’
‘Case? Case? There is no case. There is nothing for you here. Geli is dead.’
‘I know,’ Fritz said. ‘But the Kripo must investigate all unnatural cases of death. I know this is difficult, but –’
‘The Bavarian Minister of Justice has already determined that Geli committed suicide.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Fritz kept his tone even, although a great frustration was welling within him. ‘But there are certain protocols that must be followed, even if a ruling has been made. If you would allow me to come inside, I will explain the procedures, and get through them as quickly as possible.’
Hitler’s lower lip trembled. He let go of the door, and backed away. For a moment, Fritz thought he was going to be
Without even realising what he had done, he found himself on Prinzregentenplaz. He glanced at the buildings, shadowy in the growing dark, then pulled over in front of Geli’s apartment building. If he left now, he would arrive in Vienna before dawn. The trip over the mountains was treacherous in the daytime. At night, it would be more so, and it would slow him down. But it did not matter if he arrived in Vienna at 3 a.m. or 5 a.m. Either way, he would get his work done. He had a few moments, then, to see if Frau Winter had returned to the apartment. If she had, she could give him the letter before he left. He might also be able to see Frau Dachs. It was better than waiting until he returned.
A small crowd of curiosity seekers had gathered in front of the main door. They stood silently, almost worshipfully, as if expecting someone. He passed through the crowd and let himself in, surprised that the main entrance was not locked. The lights on the stairs were dim; the building’s owner had replaced gas lights with electricity but had tried to keep the same fixtures. The place looked ominous in the shadows.
The door to Geli’s apartment was closed. Fritz listened, but heard nothing. He was not surprised; the apartments here were built for silence. He had noted that morning the door was as thick as his arm.
He knocked. The sound was weak in the padded hallway, and he would have backed away at that moment if somethingin Frau Winter’s tale of the letter hadn’t nagged at him. Part of him was convinced that the letter did not exist.
He was about to knock again when the door flew inward. A small man, his hair dark and slicked back, his face puffy and white, stared intently at Fritz.
‘Go away,’ the man said.
Fritz nodded a greeting. ‘I am Detective Inspector –’
‘I don’t care if you are Hindenburg himself. Go away.’ The small man spoke with such force that spittle sprayed Fritz. He did not back away. Instead, he placed a hand on the door frame.
‘I am Detective Inspector Stecher. I am investigating the death –’
‘Of Geli,’ the little man finished. ‘There is nothing to investigate.’
He started to close the door, but Fritz reached above the little man’s head and held the door open. As he looked down, he suddenly realised whom he was standing before.
Adolf Hitler, head of the NSDAP, rumoured presidential candidate, and uncle to Geli Raubal. Fritz felt a shock run through him. Since he had last seen Hitler, the man had put on weight. His moustache was filled with food particles and his hair was dirty. His clothing was rumpled, and his eyes were swollen. It looked as if he had been crying.
Fritz had never seen Hitler so distraught. The man had always been a fireball of anger and efficiency. Fritz left his hand on the door, but he softened his tone. ‘I beg your pardon, Herr Hitler. The Kripo would like to close this case as quickly as possible. I –’
‘Case? Case? There is no case. There is nothing for you here. Geli is dead.’
‘I know,’ Fritz said. ‘But the Kripo must investigate all unnatural cases of death. I know this is difficult, but –’
‘The Bavarian Minister of Justice has already determined that Geli committed suicide.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Fritz kept his tone even, although a great frustration was welling within him. ‘But there are certain protocols that must be followed, even if a ruling has been made. If you would allow me to come inside, I will explain the procedures, and get through them as quickly as possible.’
Hitler’s lower lip trembled. He let go of the door, and backed away. For a moment, Fritz thought he was going to be
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