Hitler's Angel Read online

  ‘But you no longer live here.’

  ‘It is still her home.’ Frau Raubal moved her hand over her eyes, and sat for a moment. Her breathing was even, her body didn’t shake, she was not crying. Fritz and Father Pant sat in silence with her for quite a while. Finally, she took a deep, shuddering breath and uncovered her eyes. The intensity was back, and Fritz finally remembered where he had seen that look before: on the man who had opened the apartment door before Fritz left Munich. Angela Raubal was Adolf Hitler’s sister.

  Fritz swallowed, the resemblance reminding him of the questions he needed to ask. ‘Forgive me, Frau Raubal, but I need to know if you think someone had reason to hurt your daughter.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘What about as a way to get to your brother?’

  Her eyes went flat. It was a startling change. One moment she had blazing intensity, the next it looked as if she had left her body.

  ‘My daughter is dead. Tomorrow we bury her. That will be the end of it. I have nothing more to say.’ She stood, adjusted her skirts, and looked at Fritz. The sorrow she carried bowed her shoulders and lined her rounded face. ‘Nothing we can do will change the past.’

  ‘She didn’t care how her daughter died?’ the girl asks, interrupting him.

  Fritz gazes at her. She is American. She is young. For all her studies, she does not understand, and he is not sure he can explain it to her. Angela Raubal was ten years older than Fritz. Her generation, even more than his, had lost hope of doing much more than surviving. The whys and hows were not important because whys and hows did not change things. Once an event happened, it happened, and a person had to move forward or not move at all.

  ‘She cared,’ he says. Of that, he is certain. ‘She just knew she could not change it. She knew that the door to the past was closed and should remain so. I should have known that as well.’

  FIFTEEN

  The morning of the funeral dawned cold. September in Vienna was not as pleasant as September in Munich. Or perhaps the events of the last few days had prejudiced him. Perhaps he would feel differently about Vienna if he had come for the opera instead of investigating a murder.

  Fritz arrived at the cemetery late. The service was to be performed over the grave site. All who attended would be easy to view from afar for a few moments. Now that he knew he had a murder investigation on his hands, he wanted to make certain that he had all the advantages. He did not want to be surprised by any attendees at the funeral.

  The wind had picked up as he crossed the dirt path that led to the grave site. Father Pant had indicated the new area of the cemetery the day before. He had also shown Fritz the half-dug grave site outside the consecrated ground where Geli was originally going to be placed at rest. Fritz followed the new path. Geli had, at the very least, received a dignity in death.

  Only a handful of people stood on the brown lawn, all dressed in black. He recognised Father Pant first, both from his robes and from his height. The ceremony hadn’t started yet. Father Pant was talking with Angela Raubal. A broad shouldered young man stood beside her. From the resemblance, he was her son. Beside him was a young woman whom, Fritz first thought, was Geli in the flesh. A few couples were scattered among the mourners, and one Brownshirt, who stood some distance back. He must have been the man Father Pant alluded to the day before, the man who had threatened Dr Zerht. The man whom, Fritz suspected, Frau Winter had almost mentioned in her story about the removal of Geli’s body.

  Her uncle was not there, nor was any member of his household.

  Fritz stuck his hands in the pocket of his overcoat, and joined the group. No one looked at him, and he did not scan the faces as a detective normally would. Instead, he focused on the coffin. This was different than the one he had seen the day before, an expensive zinc-lined model designed to preserve the body. Someone had spent a great deal of money on the arrangements, and judging from Angela Raubal’s clothing, it had not been her.

  Fritz stood so that he could see the SA man and Angela out of the corner of his eye. Angela’s children flanked her, tears running down the young woman’s face. Angela Raubal stared at the coffin, that far away look again in her eyes, but she did not cry. She appeared older than she had the day before, as if age had descended on her in the night. Her son held her hand, his face so still it could have been made of stone.

  Father Pant took his place at the head of the mourners and, in a voice that carried over the wind, gave Geli a traditional burial. He did not use any portion of the ceremony to speak of her or her nature, nor did he discuss her death. Once, he glanced at the Brownshirt, as if wishing him away.

  The SA man’s stance did not change during the entire ceremony. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his legs spread. His boots were shiny black, and his uniform crisp. He had an oddly compelling face that Fritz felt he had seen before: it was square, with an overhanging forehead, and dark shining eyes. His gaze lingered on Fritz twice, no more and no less than it did on the others.

  While Father Pant’s voice rose to cover the wind, Fritz fretted about his next move. He needed to speak to the Brownshirt, but he also knew that if he did, his knowledge of the murder would become apparent. Finally, he decided to use a halfway measure. He would speak to the man, but wait until they returned to Munich before revealing his identity. It would buy him time.

  Finally, Father Pant said a blessing, and when he was through, Angela Raubal knelt and kissed her daughter’s coffin. Her hand lingered on the wood, her head remained bowed for a long moment. It was the only affection Fritz had seen her display toward her dead child, and because it was so unexpected, it caught in his throat. Then she stood, and the funeral was officially over.

  The family would stay, and Fritz needed to speak with them, but first he had to talk with the Brownshirt. The SA man had not moved. He too watched the family as if he were waiting to speak to them. Fritz walked over to him.

  The SA man watched him come, remaining in his alert posture. Fritz braced himself. He had come too close to SA before. They had a tendency toward unnecessary violence. That this man was alone didn’t make him any less dangerous.

  Fritz, however, was in fine physical condition. The best fighter in his unit, perhaps the best in all of Munich. He had nothing to fear from an SA man, at least, not alone.

  ‘Hello.’ Fritz stopped next to the SA man as if he were there only to make conversation. ‘Such an unexpected tragedy.’

  ‘Tragedies are always unexpected.’ The SA man’s voice was soft, and he spoke with a pronounced Bavarian accent.

  ‘I understand you came from Munich with the poor girl.’

  ‘And you followed us, Detective Inspector.’

  A flush heated Fritz’s cheeks and throat. He was still not used to being recognised, even though he was perhaps the most famous police officer in Bavaria. Had the Chief Inspector thought of that when he assigned Fritz to this case?

  ‘I am at a disadvantage,’ Fritz said, keeping his own tone even. ‘I understand you are associated with Herr Hitler, but I do not know how.’

  ‘My name is Hess,’ the Brownshirt said, and Fritz started. It took a moment for him to orient himself. Hess, Rudolph Hess, was not a member of the SA, even though he was wearing their uniform. He was known in Munich police circles as Adolf Hitler’s shadow, a man who was Secretary of the NSDAP, a man who was considered the source of the party’s unusual funding. A man who was often present when something had gone awry in Hitler’s life.

  It had been smart of him to wear an SA uniform after discovering Geli’s body. It gave him a level of protection the average German did not have. People who viewed it thought, as Fritz had, that Hess would be violently unpredictable. Anything he said in his soft voice would have three times the weight of another man.

  ‘I had thought to see Herr Hitler here,’ Fritz said.

  ‘His political beliefs keep him out of Austria,’ Hess said. ‘He sent me to make certain Geli was well cared for.’

  ‘Surel
y the Austrian government would make an exception for a family death.’

  ‘One would think so.’ Hess had not shifted his position during the discussion. His absolute stillness made Fritz nervous.

  ‘Did you know Geli well?’

  Hess finally moved. He turned his head so that he was looking directly at Fritz. Hess’s eyes sparkled with intelligence, his lips were curled in a slight smile. ‘Is this an interrogation, Inspector?’

  ‘Should it be?’ Fritz asked.

  ‘The poor child died by her own hand. The Kripo should leave it at that.’

  ‘The Kripo always gathers information on unusual deaths.’

  ‘Even in closed cases?’ Hess asked.

  ‘The file must be complete,’ Fritz said.

  At that, Hess did smile. The expression was warm, too warm in this cemetery on such a cold and dismal morning. ‘I had heard that you concentrated on detail.’

  ‘The press will want answers on this. You know that. The Kripo has to have something to tell them.’

  ‘The Minister of Justice gave you something to say.’ Hess swivelled his head enough to watch the other mourners.

  ‘But with no evidence to back it up.’

  ‘And you expected to find that evidence in Vienna? I did not know that the arm of the Munich Kripo was this long.’

  ‘It would be easier if you talked with me,’ Fritz said. The wind ruffled the hair on the back of his neck. He wished he had worn a hat.

  ‘Easier for whom, Inspector?’

  ‘Easier for all of us,’ Fritz said. ‘When you play verbal games with me, it leads me to believe you have something to hide.’

  Hess unclasped his hands and brought his feet together in a crisp, military manner. ‘I have nothing to hide, Inspector. I was merely surprised that the Kripo is interested in a suicide.’

  Geli’s brother had his arm around her sister. The young woman was sobbing. Frau Raubal was speaking to Father Pant. The wind carried their words away from Fritz.

  ‘So, did you know Geli?’ Fritz asked.

  Hess sighed. ‘We all knew Geli. She accompanied Hitler on all social occasions.’

  ‘How about privately?’

  He shrugged. ‘My wife knew her better. Hitler was protective of Geli. He preferred her to have the company of women.’

  ‘He was more than her uncle, then.’

  Hess pinned Fritz with a sharp gaze. ‘He was her half-uncle. Angela Raubal is his half-sister. It is a permissible relationship.’

  The defensiveness made Fritz take note. Here was an issue even the party found sensitive. ‘How serious was Hitler about her?’

  ‘He loved her.’ Hess spoke simply.

  ‘Was he planning to marry her?’

  Hess glanced at the mourners before speaking. ‘He has been concentrating on his political career. He was going to announce his presidential campaign this weekend.’

  ‘In Hamburg?’

  ‘In Hamburg, yes.’

  ‘I saw him in Munich late Saturday afternoon. How did he return from Hamburg so quickly?’

  ‘He drove to Nuremberg on Friday. We managed to locate him there before he went farther north.’

  ‘We?’

  Hess clasped his arms behind his back again. It appeared to be a nervous gesture. ‘I meant, I managed to locate him. I am used to speaking for the party.’

  ‘And what does the party say on this?’

  Hess tilted his head as he looked at Fritz. ‘The party says this is a lamentable tragedy. The girl was obviously unstable. It was only a matter of time.’

  ‘Really?’ Fritz said. ‘The party does not think it odd that their presidential candidate had an affair with an unstable woman who was half his age and a relative as well?’

  ‘The party understood Hitler’s relationship with Geli. Your reaction is precisely the one we wanted to avoid when the body was discovered on Saturday.’

  ‘What else were you trying to avoid?’

  Hess tilted his head slightly. ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘You were trying to avoid scandal caused by a suicide.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Of an unstable girl related to Herr Hitler, an unstable girl he was in love with.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what else?’

  ‘Need there be anything else, Detective Inspector?’

  Fritz let the words hang in the grey morning air. One of the couples was speaking to Frau Raubal, shaking her hand, the man turning his collar to guard his neck from the damp.

  Finally, Fritz said, ‘Who broke her nose?’

  Hess’s chin went up. Soldier position. ‘I beg your pardon.’

  ‘Geli. She is covered with bruises, and her nose is broken. Who did that?’

  ‘I assume it happened when she fell.’

  ‘Some of the bruises are old, fading.’

  Hess was watching the mourners leave. He would not look at Fritz. ‘I told you, she was an unstable girl.’

  ‘An unstable girl who shoots herself in the chest, and then falls forward, thus breaking her nose. Do you expect me to believe this, Herr Hess?’

  Hess shifted so that his feet were apart again, his entire body on guard. In the tight SA uniform, he projected a considerable threat. Fritz was as large, and in better shape. He braced himself as well.

  ‘I expect you to believe the Minister of Justice,’ Hess said.

  ‘I am not as easily bought,’ Fritz said.

  ‘You malign Franz Gürtner.’

  ‘You cannot malign a man who bases his judicial opinion on money, cronyism, and a phone call from an associate. Such a man maligns himself.’

  ‘The matter is closed, Inspector.’

  ‘A woman has been murdered, Herr Hess, in the home of the man you are backing for President. Have you no fear that her attacker will return for Hitler? Or do you know that Hitler was never a target?’

  Hess’s eyes narrowed. ‘Inspector, we are not on German soil here.’

  Fritz straightened. Finally, they had come to the violence he expected. Or the intimation of violence.

  ‘And since we are not,’ Hess said, noting Fritz’s change in posture, ‘I shall speak freely and then deny anything I have said if others ask.’

  Fritz felt a chill run down his back.

  ‘Geli’s death has come at an opportune time for Herr Hitler’s enemies, and in the perfect location.’

  ‘Are you saying she was murdered?’

  ‘If she were – and I am not saying that she was – the time and place of her death would have created problems for Herr Hitler.’

  ‘Who would need to set him up?’ Fritz asked.

  Hess’s smile was small, cold. ‘Talk with Gregor Strasser. Ask what would happen to him if Herr Hitler were no longer leading the party.’

  ‘You tell me,’ Fritz said.

  Hess lowered his chin, the look both condescending and cold. ‘You really should follow politics more, Detective Inspector.’

  He would. He would follow the lead. It was more than he expected from Hess. ‘If she were murdered by one of Hitler’s enemies, isn’t it better to reveal that?’

  ‘Come now, Inspector. Not even you are so naïve. This is our year. We may never get another chance. Better to close the case than to run a campaign during an on-going police investigation.’

  ‘Better to let a murderer go, to let a threat to Hitler continue than to risk a few weeks bad publicity.’

  This time, Hess’s smile was broad. He brought his head forward once, not fast enough to be a nod, not slow enough to be anything else. ‘You are as quick as they say.’ The tone was mocking.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Fritz said. ‘I revel in difficult cases.’

  Hess crossed his arms over his broad chest. ‘Geli Raubal committed suicide. That is a fact you should remember, Inspector.’

  Fritz clenched his fists, energy running through his arms. He hated the smugness on Hess’s square face. ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘I have no need to, In
spector,’ Hess said. ‘You threaten yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am to speak to the family.’

  He walked away, his stride long and athletic. Fritz watched him go. Fritz had known the NSDAP since its inception years before. He had not thought of the party as particularly powerful. Perhaps he would have to rethink his impressions.

  Hess continued his walk to the open grave. Fritz watched him mingle with the Raubal family. They greeted him like an old friend which, in truth, he probably was.

  ‘Why didn’t you speak with the family?’ the girl says.

  ‘You get ahead of me,’ Fritz replies. He shifts in his chair. The spring is digging into his back. ‘I spoke to them after Hess left. They did not know anything of Geli’s life in Munich. The sister, Friedl, obviously looked up to Geli, and envied her abilities with men. The brother was protective, but dismissive. He had not spent much time with her since she was a girl. And he did say that she had always been Hitler’s favourite, even as a child.’

  ‘And what about her mother?’ the girl asks.

  Fritz takes a cigarette from his pack, taps the end on the table, and then puts the cigarette in his mouth. ‘She said nothing.’

  ‘This didn’t bother you?’

  ‘Of course it bothered me,’ Fritz says, ‘but not in the way you think. Angela Raubal was the one who let her daughter live in Munich without supervision. She had to have known Hitler’s feeling for Geli. She had to have known the dangerous people her brother associated with. She had to have known that her daughter was flighty and flirtatious, and still she allowed Geli to live away from her.’

  ‘Geli was a grown woman, for all you call her a girl.’

  ‘Yes, but it was customary in good Catholic families to keep the unmarried daughters at home.’

  ‘Even after 1923?’

  So the American does have some inkling of history. Fritz picks up his lighter, flicks the end, and watches the butane flame flare. He touches the flame to the cigarette and inhales, enjoying the cool burn as it travels down his throat into his chest. ‘Especially after 1923,’ he says.

  SIXTEEN

  Fritz was exhausted when he arrived at his own apartment. The scarred door, with its twisted ‘No 3’, never looked so inviting. He shifted the duffel over his shoulder, and crouched to pick up the morning’s Münchner Post. He was not too tired to note the headline, A Mysterious Affair: Hitler’s Niece Commits Suicide, nor to realise its implications for him. He tucked the paper under his arm and let himself inside, no longer relieved to be home.