The Runner (30 page)

“I thought he wasn’t political.”

“That’s not politics, my dear Major. It is destiny.”

Judge thought it was hogwash, but kept to his line of questioning. “Would Egon agree?”

“Egon?” If she was surprised at the turn of conversation, she did not show it. “Well, yes. As long as destiny increased the
konzern’s
order book. If we were in the business of school wares, I can assure you he would have fought tooth and nail against Herr Hitler. But, alas, our family is in the business of selling armaments. War increases our fortunes.”

“So he and Seyss had something in common?”

“They both wanted a strong Germany. But six years ago, you could have said that about all fifty million of us.”

“They weren’t friends?”

“Friends?” Ingrid’s sardonic laugh infuriated him. “Egon hated Erich. He was everything Egon wasn’t. Tall, handsome, a soldier. You don’t know Egon. He’s short. His eyesight is terrible. He’s like a wolverine, an ugly little creature with sharp fangs and claws. He’s absolutely vicious. Erich, of course, was our White Lion.”

“Of course,” said Judge, not bothering to hide his disdain. But the provenance of his next words mystified him. “And he had you.”

Ingrid dropped her eyes, and when she answered her voice had gone flat. “Yes. For as long they allowed him.”

CHAPTER

36

T
HE
A
MERICAN
M
ILITARY
H
OSPITAL STOOD
on a broad hilltop at the southern edge of Heidelberg. Formerly known as the Universitätspital, the building was squat and rectangular, a beige three-story brick plopped down in the midst of a verdant forest. As dusk surrendered to night, the sky flushed a deep azure. Few lights burned in the windows. A shortfall of coal was forecast for the coming winter. Even hospitals had been ordered to cut their use of electricity.

Judge brought the jeep to a halt under the porte cochere extending from the hospital’s main entrance. A steady stream of nurses, doctors, soldiers, and visitors trickled in and out the door. He checked over his shoulder for the trail car that had never materialized, then scanned the parking lot to the far side of the building. A dozen army vehicles were scattered haphazardly across the wide space, suggesting that they’d arrived at different hours during the day. Thus comforted, he climbed from the jeep.

“We’ll make this quick,” he said, offering Ingrid his hand to help her from the jeep.

Inside, he presented himself to the information desk and asked if Colonel Stanley Mullins was anywhere in the hospital. The reply came that Mullins had returned to the provost marshal’s office in Bad Toelz. Judge was relieved at the news. He didn’t relish confronting his former precinct commander with his suspicions of impropriety. Who had arranged for Judge to pick up von Luck? Mullins would ask. Who had seen to it that his transfer to the Third Army was extended by twenty-four hours? Who was it that just last night spent an hour teaching his former charge the rudiments of driving an automobile? Judge could hear the insulted voice, decrying his complicity. “Are you completely daft, lad? D’ya think I’d lift you up with one hand, only to knock you down with the other?”

And in truth, Judge was disposed to believe him. With every passing hour, the Silver Star assumed a greater role in his deliberations. Not only was the award uncommon but most of the men who’d received it had already shipped out of Europe. Decorated combat vets had first dibs on spots back to the U.S.A. The fact was that Darren Honey was one of the few soldiers so decorated still in Germany. In court, Judge would have considered the ribbon a strong piece of evidence.

After stating his business, Judge was told to wait until an orderly arrived to show him to the morgue. He’d barely taken a seat next to Ingrid Bach when a thin young man dressed in a white lab coat limped out of the elevator and waved at them as if they were long-lost buddies. “Good evening, sir,” he announced in passable English. “I am Dieter. Please come with.”

Dieter was nineteen with shaggy brown hair and a survivor’s all-weather smile. The Americans had taken his leg at Omaha Beach, he explained, and given him a new one in Frankfurt, just three weeks ago. No hard feelings, okay? Even Ingrid Bach smiled at his unsinkable good cheer.

“You want to see what body?” he asked, as the three descended in a cramped elevator.

Speaking German Judge said, “Seyss, he was brought in Sunday morning with the Americans who were killed in Wiesbaden.”

Dieter grimaced. “Bad business, eh? Like the war all over again.” He showed Ingrid and Judge into the same tiled viewing room where yesterday nine gurneys had been lined against the wall. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

The room was empty except for some metal tables placed in each corner and the large operating light that hung from the ceiling. One sniff made Judge’s sinuses burn. He’d forgotten how overpowering the odor was. Placing a hand under Ingrid’s elbow, he said, “It will be very quick. All I need is a nod yes.”
Or no,
he hoped desperately.

“I understand,” she said.

Dieter returned five minutes later, a confused look on his face. “Seyss was here, sure. But it says he was sent for cremation today.”

“Today?” Judge robbed Dieter’s hands of a sheaf of papers. The top page held an order transferring body 9358, Sturmbannführer Erich Seyss, to the crematorium. The order was signed by Colonel Joseph Gregorio, chief of hospital administration, and countersigned by General Hadley Everett. “Has the body already been disposed of?”

Dieter snatched the papers back from Judge. Smiling, he peeled off the top sheet and read from the page below it. “‘Pursuant to order number six nine one issued by the United States Army of Occupation, military government of Bad Würtemberg, Mandatory Conservation of Coal, effective July 15, 1945, all nonurgent uses of coal are to be hereby discontinued”—he thumbed to the next page, taking up in midsentence—“therefore all bodies sent for cremation shall be transferred to Section D, Graves Registration, for immediate burial.”

Judge was growing impatient. “Do you still have the body?” he demanded.

Dieter shrank an inch. “Sure, just in a different place. I only came to tell you it would be a while.” He shot a glance at Ingrid. “Americans . . . always in such a hurry.”

He returned five minutes later, his entrance presaged by a stubborn caster in need of oil. Having rolled the gurney to the center of the room, he took hold of the white sheet with both hands. “Tell me when you are ready.”

Judge stepped forward, stopping a foot from the gurney. Ingrid Bach took her place at his shoulder. She clutched his hand and said yes. Dieter removed the sheet. In preparation for cremation, the body had been stripped of clothing. It lay naked, its skin a translucent blue. The wound to the head was crusted and black, a malignant crater.

“It’s not him,” said Ingrid Bach, after hardly a second had passed.

Judge stammered, “H-how could you—”

“It’s not him, dammit! Put back the bloody sheet!”

Dieter hastened to comply.

“But you didn’t even look at his face,” Judge protested when they’d left the morgue.

She spun to face him, addressing him with her most venomous glare. “I didn’t have to, Major. He was my lover. Don’t you think I’d know?”

And turning, she rushed down the hall.

T
HE JEEP WAS WHERE THEY
had left it, parked directly across from the main entrance. Dusk had turned to evening. The air had grown cool. Judge grabbed his travel bag from the backseat and took out a khaki windbreaker bare of rank or insignia. Ingrid slipped a white cardigan from her bag and placed it over her shoulders. One glance told him it was cashmere. If she needed money so badly, first thing she should do was sell her wardrobe.

Settling into the driver’s seat, he turned over the ignition. For once, the engine fired smoothly, starting on the first try. Illuminating the headlights, he slid the gearshift into first and guided the jeep off the hospital grounds. He shifted to second. Usually it was a tricky affair, but this time the gearshift advanced easily. Like a hot knife through butter. He was finally getting the hang of it.

“I suppose you’re disappointed?” Ingrid asked as they pulled out of the parking lot. She had folded her arms across her stomach and he could see she was shivering slightly. The body had shaken her more than she wanted him to know.

“On the contrary. I never believed it was Seyss to begin with.”

“No?”

He shook his head, offering an apologetic smile. “I can’t tell you anything more. I can only say that you’ve been a tremendous help.”

“I suppose I should be grateful,” she replied, her tone caustic and insincere. “Finally, a chance to help the victors. Or would
collaborate
be the more appropriate term?”

Judge ignored her sarcasm, granting her the right to be upset. “It’s more important than you think.”

“Is it, now? To what? The army or your career?” Not expecting an answer—or, Judge suspected, not wanting one—she plied on. “That was a dirty trick to play. I’m still trying to figure out your reasoning. Help me, would you? Did you think if I knew you had doubts it was Erich, I’d try to convince you otherwise?”

“I just wanted to gauge your reaction. That’s all.”

“You thought I might lie to protect him. Just like at that squalid little roadhouse the other night, quietly asking me more questions about Erich, as if we were sharing confidences. You were trying to catch me out on something. After all, I’m a Bach. I can’t be trusted. No, no, don’t say anything, Major. I remember the look of disgust on your face when you met my father.”

“I had to be sure,” he retorted. “I didn’t have any other choice.”

Ingrid looked away, laughing dryly. “Another one just following orders.”

“That’s enough!” Judge slammed the base of his palm against the steering wheel, causing Ingrid to jump in her seat. He let go an exasperated sigh, feeling his neck flush hot; even as he was robbed of further words. It was impossible to pick the truth from the residue of her anger. Not knowing where to begin, he concentrated on the road and kept quiet.

Approaching a sharp turn, he downshifted the vehicle into second, suppressing his desire to keep a foot on the brake just in case. His growing confidence behind the wheel, however, did little to allay the pool of anxiety welling in his stomach. Anyone keeping tabs on his movements would by now have learned that he had visited Dachau, and upon being apprised of von Luck’s death, proclaimed his intention to return to HQ military government in Bavaria. How long would it take until they grew worried about his failure to show up at Bad Toelz? This evening? Tomorrow?
Or had they already?
Once they made the discovery, he had little doubt their first call would be to the guard detachment at Sonnenbrücke to inquire if one Major Devlin Judge had come to visit Ingrid Bach.

The implications of Ingrid’s confirmation that the body did not belong to Seyss were only now beginning to take root. So far, only one thing was clear: Until his superior officers could be made to believe that Seyss was still on the loose and take proper action, Ingrid Bach’s life was in danger.

Rounding a curve, Judge braked hard, confronted by a string of flares sizzling in the center of the road. At their head, a jeep was parked horizontally across the road. A lone soldier waved a flashlight, signaling for him to stop.

“Excuse me, sir, but we’ve got a bad accident down the hill a ways. Had to close the road until we get it cleared up.” The soldier shined the flashlight down an asphalt lane veering from the main street. “If you’ll follow that route, you’ll come into town at Wilhelmplatz. Take you an extra five minutes.”

Judge stared at the sparkling flares, the short-lived arc of the red-and-gold embers setting off an internal alarm. “What happened?”

“A six-by-six flipped onto its side and collided with an ambulance coming up the hill. The driver said he was trying to dodge some DPs coming out of the forest. This part of the country’s crawling with ’em.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Ingrid asked, concern etched on her face.

“I’m not sure, ma’am. Let’s hope nothing more than a few bruises and some jangled nerves.”

Judge returned the man’s salute. “Thanks for the information.”

“No problem, Major. Have a good night.”

Judge eyed the soldier warily, but the GI was already walking past him, giving the same news to the nurses in the jeep behind them. A moment later, the four women pulled up to Judge’s bumper. The two in the back were throwing sweaters over their white uniforms, madly freeing bobby pins from their hair; the gal driving rushing to apply a fresh coat of lipstick. Four girls headed out for a night on the town. None looked over twenty.

Hearing their infectious giggles, Judge dismissed his worry and accelerated down the hill. The road curved gradually to the right, then descended steeply into a ravine. The forest encroached on the road, forming a canopy over their heads that blocked out the night sky. He glanced to his right, catching only Ingrid Bach’s mute profile and the evanescent sheen of her platinum hair.

“Okay, I apologize for not sharing my doubts with you. What do you expect? I’m a lawyer. I’m trained not to trust people.”

“Especially the family of war criminals, right?”

Now it was Judge’s turn to get angry. “Look, you wanted an apology, you got it. I can’t change whose blood runs in your veins. Or that you almost married the guy I’m looking for. If you’re curious whether it makes me a little uncertain, you’re right, it does. You’re a smart woman. How would
you
react?”

To her credit, Ingrid pondered the question, vitriol replaced by deliberation. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she said, “I’m quite aware what you think of us. I’ve read the counts against my father. I’ve seen some of the testimony against him. You can’t know what it is like to learn that the man you’ve adored and admired your entire life is some kind of monster. Frankly, I still can’t quite comprehend it.”

“You didn’t know what went on in his factories? No idea at all?”

Ingrid shook her head slowly and he could see she was still answering her own charges. “I’m afraid armor plate and proximity fuses aren’t a particular interest of mine. I’ve hardly been out of the mountains for the past three years. But to answer your question, Major, no, I wouldn’t have told you either. That doesn’t make your actions right, though. If I sound at all contrite, it’s because I wasn’t completely honest with you earlier when you asked if I’d had any contact with Erich. What do you expect? I’m a German. I’m trained not to trust Americans.”

Judge laughed and the tension between them was broken. He was careful not to push her to talk. If she had something to say, he’d give her her own good time to say it.

“The day we met you told me Erich had escaped from a camp for war criminals. What had he done?”

Judge looked her up and down, admiring her willingness to stare truth in the face. “For one, he ordered the murder of a hundred unarmed American soldiers. They were prisoners. They’d given up their weapons. He herded them into a field and ordered his machine gunners to open up on them. When they were done, he walked the field himself. Anyone he found alive, he finished with his pistol. December the seventeenth, 1944. Malmedy, Belgium.”