Songbird Under a German Moon (34 page)

“And so Oskar took his brother's name? But why?”

“Maybe so he wouldn't be forgotten, or maybe so he could live two lives. One who would care for the Festspielhaus, and one who could destroy it.”

“Destroy it?”

“I think I know what's going on. Maybe our friend Oskar had his own plot to blow up Hitler—the man responsible for his brother's death.”

“You mean during the Bayreuth Festival?”

“Then or perhaps another time Hitler was around.”

“But he's German. Didn't all the Germans love Hitler?”

“Maybe not, especially if Hitler was responsible for the death of someone he loved very much. Some of the military tried to assassinate the man; why not someone who'd lost a loved one at his order?”

“Or maybe the loss of more than one person.” Betty sat on the couch. “Oskar told me once that his mother was deaf and that his parents moved away before the war. Maybe they left so the same thing wouldn't happen to her.”

“That's possible. They most likely left to save his mother's life. Maybe after what happened to his brother…” Frank let his words fade. He could tell from Betty's face she understood.

“So he planned to blow up the opera house?” Betty bit her bottom lip. “It makes sense that he would want to end Hitler's life, but why destroy the opera house? He adores Wagner, and Wagner is the one who designed and built the Festspielhaus.”

Frank pressed his hand to his forehead, trying to think. “You're right, and I don't have any idea what this has to do with Kat. It doesn't make any sense. If it weren't for the costume, I'd think we were heading in the wrong direction.”

Betty gripped Frank's arm. “What if—what if he's still planning to destroy it? I mean Hitler is dead, but the opera house is still there. If Kat got lost in the opera house, maybe she came across something—something she wasn't supposed to.” Betty stood and looked at the photo again then returned it to the frame.

“Can you think of a motive—of why he'd want to destroy it now?”

He watched as Betty strode around the room, and suddenly she looked at him, eyes wide, as if the pieces had begun fitting together in her mind.

“Look at these things that are important to him—the music, the sets, the productions, the glory. Things are so different now. Even though Oskar was going along with the changes—like repainting old
sets or the new type of music—I know he didn't like it. In fact, maybe he was serious when he told me Wagner would never be played there again. Maybe he'd rather see it go up in flames than have to”—she swallowed hard—“to have the place sink so low because of American singers and dancers.”

Fear stabbed Frank's heart like a frozen lance, slicing into his chest. “We need to get back there, Betty. We have to warn them. If tonight's the last night, it's also Oskar's last chance.”

Frank ran back into the kitchen, with Betty trailing right behind him. It was only then he realized that they hadn't been alone in the house. Even though he'd closed the door when they'd arrived, it was partially open now.

Were we followed? By who?

Frank opened the door wide, and before he made it two steps onto the front walk, he got the answer. In the distance, a shadowy figure was racing back to the opera house.

It was Oskar—or whatever his name was.

Betty had never run so fast in her life. She'd sprinted up the hill, and even though she trailed behind Frank, she worked hard at keeping up.

“Betty, I don't know where Oskar went,” he called back over his shoulder. “I'm going inside. Everyone needs to clear out!”

Betty exited the woods near the back entrance to the Festspielhaus. If it weren't for the small glimmer of light that flickered in the bottom corner of the building, she would have never known there was a door there. Heaven knew, she'd walked by it dozens of times going to and from practice and shows. Mostly hidden by bushes, the small door was painted the same color as the foundation stones.

“Frank, look,” she called. Then she moved toward the partially open door.

She pointed, and Frank paused. He seemed torn between running in to tell everyone and following Betty.

“We have to warn everyone! We have to get them out.” He headed to the back door. “Wait for me, Betty. Wait!” Then he disappeared inside.

Betty's heart raced.
There won't be time. There will be too many people to try to get out. We have to stop him.

Betty slipped inside the small door. The music from the concert vibrated the walls around her. She recognized the music from Wally's big band number. The moonlight from outside filtered into the room, and she could barely make out a small table and chair. She peered into the room, almost expecting Oskar to be there. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure it was going to escape from her chest. She scanned the wall and, thanks to the moonlight filtering in the door, she saw a light switch near the door.

Betty sucked in a deep breath and then stepped forward. The door shut behind her and darkness enveloped her. Stretching forward, she reached for the switch. Her hand slammed into the concrete wall and something scraped her leg.

Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him: fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass….
The scripture verse replayed through her mind, but she received no comfort. The words meant something completely different when she was alone in a dark room chasing a madman—or at least she hoped she was alone.

“Oh, God, please, please. I need help.” Before her prayer was even finished, her fingers brushed the switch. At the same time, she heard the door creaking behind her. She flipped the switch and bright light flooded the room. Then she turned, not knowing what to expect. It was Frank, standing in the doorway.

“Thank God.” She ran to him.

“I can't believe you ran in here alone.”

“I can't believe you didn't follow me.”

“I saw Irene. I told her to clear the place out, and I told her to get the MPs searching the place.”

As if on cue, the music stopped. A muffled voice—Mickey's—could be heard over the microphone, and while Betty couldn't make out his words, from the eruption of panicked voices and stomping feet, she was sure Irene had passed the word and the opera house was clearing out.

“Betty…”

She looked at Frank's face and saw him scanning the room. She'd been so focused on the sounds above her that she hadn't taken time to see what was there. It looked as if someone had gone crazy with an ax. There was a theater chair that had been chopped into a thousand pieces. Photos of Hitler hung on the wall, all of them with slashes and knife marks. Scattered on the ground were song sheets, photographs, and programs from numerous Nazi events. Frank's guess had been right. Oskar, or Dierk, had hated Hitler. She only hoped their second guess wasn't true—that Oskar was bent on destroying the Festspielhaus, even though Hitler was gone.

“Betty, you need to leave. The MPs are no doubt taking the others back to Wahnfried. Head to the house with them. It's not safe here. The MPs are supposed to be coming.”

“No. They don't know Oskar. I don't know him that well either, but maybe if I find him, I can talk to him. Or you can talk to him—about the loss of your sister. Maybe he'll see that he's not the only one who's gone through that pain. More than that”—she moved
down the hall, not waiting to hear Frank's arguments. “Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

Betty hurried down the hall with Frank right on her heels. She scanned from side to side as she ran, looking for doors or alcoves where Oskar could hide.

“It's just like the hall upstairs. Identical almost.”

The hall stopped at a set of stairs, and Betty ran to them. They led up to a trap door. Betty stepped aside and let Frank go ahead of her. He pushed on the trap door, and she could tell that he felt resistance. He pushed harder, opening a small gap, and reaching his fingers through, he touched something. “It's a rug, I think. Can you reach up and try to pull it off as I push?”

“I'll try.” Betty reached through, grabbed the edge of the rug, and pulled it over as Frank lifted.

The trap door opened, and they peeked their heads out.

“We're in the hall on the other side of the dressing rooms.” She watched as Frank climbed up the stairs, pushed the rug completely out of the way, and opened the trap door fully, letting it rest on the wall.

Frank looked around. “If Kat ran down this hall by accident, and she came across Oskar—doing something—then he could have been scared and reacted.”

“I can't imagine him killing her.” Betty thought of the man who'd always been there, at their beck and call, to help with whatever prop they needed. “Then again, if he wanted to blow up an opera house, maybe he's not as innocent as he seems.”

She climbed the stairs after Frank. At the end of the hall, a door stood partially open.

Frank hurried ahead of her and pushed the door open. Then he flipped on the light. Betty followed him.

Inside, the large room had been set up like a set of a play. Furniture had been arranged. Costumes were hung. And there was something else.

Betty hurried forward to a table bearing a hypodermic syringe with a long needle. She'd seen syringes like that before, in a newsreel that showed the concentration camps. They were used to shoot poison directly into the hearts of those condemned to die. The newsreel had said they'd been used before the gas chambers had become common.

“Betty…”

She turned to the sound of Frank's voice. He was standing near the costumes, holding one up. It was a white silk gown with sleeves. Two other dresses just like it hung on the wall. “I think we know where Kat ended up. Where she spent her last moments. Is this similar to the dress she wore?”

“Yes.” Betty pointed to the needle. “And I think I know how she died.” She walked over and took the dress in her hands, feeling her chin quiver.

They heard footsteps behind them, and Frank drew his gun and turned.

Betty recognized one of the MPs who'd been backstage earlier, but she didn't know the older, red-haired man with him. Both men had their guns drawn.

“Officer Frey.” Frank lowered his gun and placed it back in its holster. “You're back.”

“I got news yesterday that Kat's death wasn't suicide after all. I came back up here to talk to a few people, including you.” Officer Frey glanced around the room. He walked over to the table and saw the long needle, nodding his head. “But maybe I had the wrong guy in my sights. I've been known to be wrong before.”

“We went to Oskar's house—”

Officer Frey held up his hand, silencing Frank. “You can tell me all the details later. But I have to say I'm not happy with how you handled it. You cleared out the place, Frank. The soldiers are up in arms. Everyone in town is no doubt panicked. Do you seriously believe your friend Oskar is going to blow this place up like Irene said? Don't you think murder is bad enough?”

“I do, Officer Frey. And we can either argue about it or try to find him. I suggest we don't stand around here for long.” He moved to the door and then paused. Officer Frey hurried over and pointed his gun at the dress in Betty's hands. “That looks familiar.”

Betty took a step forward. “Yes, this is the same type of dress Kat was wearing when she was found in the pond. It's different from the one that she wore during the concert.”

“And how did you know what she was wearing? Were you there at the pond? Or maybe…” He hurried forward and pulled the garment from her hands. “Maybe you saw photos?” He leaned in close, his face only inches away from hers.

Think, Betty, think before you speak.

Betty stepped back. Then she turned to Frank and noticed his wide-eyed gaze.

“That doesn't matter now, does it?” Frank said. “We can talk
through all the details later about how Oskar did it, but we also have reason to believe he has this placed wired with explosives. They could detonate any minute.”

“Fine. We'll look around. This is our job—this is what we do. I sent for the demolition experts. They're on their way to check things out. If there are explosives, we'll find them.”

“It's not
if
there's explosives,” Betty said. “There are. We saw crates of them. That's what we found at Oskar's house. There were boxes, crates. I have no doubt that explosives will be found around this place.”

Officer Frey stepped forward, and then he motioned for Frank and Betty to leave. “If you truly think this place might explode into flames, I wouldn't stick around. And bring that extra set of prints into HQ tomorrow, Frank. We wouldn't want anyone to find them and cause a fuss.”

Betty saw the look on Frank's face relax.