The Bormann Testament (The Testament of Caspar Schultz) Read online

  “Take me to a quiet grave more likely,” Chavasse told him.

  “Just as you please,” Steiner said coldly. “But make your decision quickly. I don’t have a great deal of time to spare.”

  Chavasse glanced at von Kraul, and there was pity in the German’s eyes. Chavasse said desperately, “How do I know the girl is still alive?”

  “You can judge for yourself.”

  There was a murmur of conversation at the other end and then Anna’s voice sounded, clear and calm, but somehow far away. “Is that you, Paul?”

  He found difficulty in speaking. “I’m sorry, Anna. I’ve made a fine mess of things.”

  “Don’t listen to them,” she said calmly. “They mean to kill you.”

  There was a commotion and the receiver was pulled from her hand. Chavasse heard the confused sounds of a struggle and Steiner’s cry of alarm. “Stop her, you idiot! She’s making for the window.”

  There was a crash of breaking glass and then the sound of three shots, so close together that to anyone other than an expert, they might have sounded like one.

  Chavasse got to his feet, a terrible coldness seeping through him. There was a slight click at the other end of the line and Steiner said calmly, “All bets are off, Chavasse. It appears we no longer have anything to discuss.”

  Chavasse dropped the receiver into its cradle. He felt a hand on his shoulder and von Kraul said, “I think it would be better if you were to sit down, my friend.”

  Chavasse brushed the hand away. “I’ll be all right,” he said. “Just give me a minute, that’s all.”

  He went into the kitchen and searched the cupboards until he found a half-full bottle of Polish vodka on a lower shelf. He pulled the cork with his teeth and tilted back his head.

  The liquor burned its way into his stomach and he coughed and leaned over the sink. After a moment, von Kraul appeared at his side. “Do you feel any better?”

  Chavasse turned and looked at him with staring eyes. “She did it deliberately. She made him shoot her. That way, she solved my problem for me.”

  “She must have been a very wonderful young woman,” Colonel von Kraul said.

  In impotent fury, Chavasse smashed the bottle against the sink. “I only want one thing, to wrap my hands around Steiner’s throat. I don’t give a damn what happens to me as long as I can do that.”

  Von Kraul gently moved away. “Then I suggest we leave. We have not got a great deal of time.”

  Chavasse followed him without a word, and it was as if for the moment his mind had become frozen, so that the sights and sounds of the streets as they drove out toward Blankenese had no meaning for him.

  He stared out of the windshield into the night and remembered that the last time he had driven out along this road, Anna had been by his side. As they entered Blankenese and passed the station, he looked down toward the direction of the Elbe, remembering the café on the Strandweg and the lights over the water and the feel of her in his arms, the plans they had made. It was all like something that had never really happened, a dream already half-forgotten and fast-fading, so that now when he tried to picture her clearly, he found it to be impossible.

  Nagel’s house was a large, imposing mansion with grounds running down to the Elbe, and the road that ran past the main gates was lined with parked cars. Von Kraul took the car to the end of the road and turned into a small, dark cul-de-sac, where he braked to a halt and switched off the lights.

  “The terrace of the ballroom is at the rear of the house and looks down toward the river,” he said. “There is a little gate in the hedge which is mainly for the use of tradespeople. It will be our best way in.”

  He found the gate with no difficulty, and Chavasse followed him through and they crossed the wide lawn toward the great house. The place was ablaze with lights, and several windows were half-open so that Chavasse could hear the murmur of conversation and occasional snatches of careless laughter.

  The terrace stood some six feet above the level of the ground, and a mass of rhododendron bushes ran along its entire length. Drapes were drawn across the French windows of the ballroom, but here and there a ray of light poked out into the cold night air.

  They found the table and chair arranged at the north end of the terrace. They moved into the bushes until they were directly underneath it, and von Kraul said, “Simple, but extremely clever. Steiner can fire from here at virtually point-blank range and yet not be seen himself should anyone else appear on the terrace unexpectedly.”

  Chavasse checked his watch without replying. It was a quarter to nine, and he squatted down beside von Kraul in the bushes and waited, feeling suddenly calm. A small wind brought the smell of the river with it through the darkness, and he could hear the sound of a ship’s engines clearly as it moved downriver.

  He heard Steiner coming before von Kraul did, and rose to his feet, his hands coming out of his pockets. They stood together in the sheltering darkness of the bushes, and Steiner paused no more than a foot or two away from them.

  A ray of light streamed through a gap in one of the drapes and continued down through the bushes and slanted into the ground. Steiner dropped on one knee and took out a gun, and quickly checked its action in the small pool of light. It was a Mauser with a silencer on the end of the barrel.

  Chavasse said quietly, “Hello, you bastard,” and as the kneeling man glanced up in alarm, he kicked the Mauser out of his hand.

  Steiner came to his feet slowly. “I knew you were trouble the first time I clapped eyes on you on the train. I should have put one between your eyes at Berndorf yesterday, but Nagel wanted to play games.” He laughed harshly. “But I fixed your girlfriend for you – one in the back and two in the belly.”

  Chavasse kicked for the crotch, but Steiner caught the blow on his thigh and swung with his fist, catching Chavasse high on the right cheek, sending blood spurting from the gash that was already there.

  Pain flooded through Chavasse and he lashed out viciously with the edge of his right hand, catching Steiner on the side of the neck. Steiner lurched into him and they fell to the ground, Chavasse underneath. He felt the big policeman’s hands wrap themselves around his throat, and he tensed his neck muscles and forced back the little finger of each hand.

  Steiner grunted with pain and released his grip, and Chavasse pushed back the man’s head with the heel of his hand, twisting the neck until Steiner fell backward and rolled over onto his back, coming to a stop so that his face lay in a pool of light.

  Chavasse moved forward, hands reaching for the throat, and then a hand appeared from the darkness holding the Mauser. The bulbous silencer on the end of the barrel was jammed against Steiner’s right ear and there was a slight, muffled cough. Steiner’s body jerked once, and then blood poured from his eyes and nostrils.

  Chavasse got to his feet. Before he could speak, von Kraul whispered, “Someone is coming.”

  They moved into the bushes and crouched down as one of the French windows was opened. It was carefully closed again and steps crossed the terrace.

  “Are you there, Steiner?” Nagel whispered from the darkness, and he leaned over the balustrade.

  Before Chavasse could move, von Kraul rose to his feet and shot Nagel between the eyes. He must have been killed instantly and fell across the balustrade, his body sliding headfirst into the bushes.

  “We must move fast,” von Kraul said.

  He took out a handkerchief and carefully wiped the Mauser clean of his fingerprints, and then he knelt down and folded the fingers of Steiner’s right hand around the butt.

  He stood up and gave Chavasse a gentle push. “And now I think we had better leave events to take their course.”

  As they crossed the wide lawn, rain started to fall and they hurried along the path, passed out through the gate in the hedge, and climbed into the car. Von Kraul drove back the way they had come, and they passed Blankenese station and moved on toward Hamburg.

  After a while, they came to a beer h
ouse on a corner and von Kraul stopped the car and said, “I think we are entitled to drink, my friend.”

  Chavasse nodded and they went inside. Von Kraul gave him a cheroot and they sat in silence over two glasses of brandy. Finally, von Kraul said, “You feel a little better now?”

  Chavasse managed a smile. “I acted like a beginner on my first job. I’m sorry. When he boasted about what he’d done to her, I lost control.”

  “Under the circumstances, it was understandable,” von Kraul said, “but my way was better. Police inspector suffering from brainstorm shoots well-known Hamburg industrialist and then commits suicide. The trimmings they give the story do not really matter. It is the result which counts.”

  “But why did you want to handle it that way?” Chavasse said.

  Von Kraul sighed. “Can you imagine how difficult it would have been to have proved your allegations against Nagel? Even Steiner would have presented us with quite a problem. Unfortunately, such people have many powerful sympathizers. A long drawn-out legal battle could have lasted for years.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Chavasse said. “So that wraps it up. I won’t be taking much back with me. Bormann was dead in the first place and his memoirs have gone up in smoke.”

  “But you have been of great assistance to Germany, if I may say so,” Colonel von Kraul said.

  Chavasse shrugged and said bitterly, “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

  Von Kraul placed his glass very carefully down upon the table, and when he spoke, there was a slight edge of emotion in his voice. “Presumably, this means nothing to you? Are we still fighting the war fifteen years later?”

  Chavasse was immediately sorry. “I’m sorry if I sounded offhand. I didn’t mean to be.”

  Von Kraul finished his brandy and stared into the empty glass. “Were you aware of the fact that at no time did the Nazis ever achieve a vote of more than thirty-seven percent, Herr Chavasse?”

  Chavasse was surprised. “No, I can’t say I was.”

  “Then tell me something else and be perfectly honest,” von Kraul said. “You are a Frenchman by birth and English by adoption, so you are an authority on two great nations. How many men have you met of both countries who you consider would have made conscientious members of the SS or some similar organization?”

  “A hell of a lot,” Chavasse said.

  “Thank you!” Von Kraul smiled slightly. “Perhaps you will not be too harsh on us in the future.” He got to his feet. “Are you ready, my friend?”

  Chavasse shook his head. “No, I think I’ll stay and have another. Don’t worry about me. I’ll make my own way back.”

  Von Kraul held out his hand. “A real pleasure, Herr Chavasse. Perhaps our paths will cross again. I hope so.” For a moment he appeared to hesitate, and then he said, “Forgive me for stating the obvious, but time is a great healer.” He turned without waiting for a reply and went outside.

  Chavasse ordered another brandy and sat there for a little while longer, thinking about von Kraul’s last remark, but it didn’t help. It didn’t help at all. Suddenly the noise and the bustle and the cheerful laughter of the beer house was too much for him and he got to his feet and left, pushing his way roughly through a party of people who were at that moment coming in through the door.

  As he walked along the pavement, collar turned up against the rain, a car drew up beside him and Sir George Harvey said, “Hello there, Chavasse. I thought it was you. Can I give you a lift?”

  Chavasse hesitated, and then climbed in beside him without a word. As they moved away, Sir George said excitedly, “Terrible business at Nagel’s reception. Absolutely astounding. Somebody shot him and then committed suicide!”

  Chavasse lit a cigarette and said carefully, “Were you there when they discovered the bodies?”

  Sir George shook his head. “No, we were all requested to leave. The excuse given was that Nagel had met with an accident. Naturally, I was curious and had a word with one of the servants on the way out. He gave me the details.”

  “Have they identified the man who killed him yet?” Chavasse said.

  “Not as far as I know,” Sir George told him. “The police had just arrived as I left.” Chavasse didn’t say anything more, and Sir George looked sideways at him curiously. “You don’t know anything about it, do you?”

  Chavasse nodded slowly. “I should imagine they’ll just be discovering that the dead man is Inspector Steiner of the Hamburg police.”

  The car slewed violently and Sir George fought for control, and finally brought it to a standstill. He took a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Sorry about that,” he said, “but to be perfectly frank, you rather took the wind out of my sails.” Chavasse didn’t reply, and after a moment of silence Sir George went on. “I suppose it all ties in with the Bormann affair?”

  Chavasse wound down the window and flicked his cigarette out into the rain. “There is no Bormann affair any longer. It’s finished, all wrapped up.”

  Sir George frowned. “But what about the manuscript?”

  “A heap of ashes,” Chavasse said. “I’m afraid Steiner was just one step in front of me.”

  Out of the silence that followed, Sir George said awkwardly, “And Miss Hartmann?”

  For a moment, the words refused to come, but Chavasse swallowed hard and forced them out. “I’m afraid he got to her as well.”

  Sir George turned slowly and looked at him, horror in his eyes. “You mean she’s dead?”

  Chavasse didn’t bother replying, and they sat there for some time in silence. After a while, Sir George said, “Is there anywhere I can take you?”

  Chavasse nodded slowly. “Yes, I think I’d like to go back to her apartment, if you don’t mind.”

  Sir George nodded, seemingly too full of emotion to speak, and switched on the engine. A moment later, they were continuing through the heavy rain toward the center of Hamburg.

  When they reached the house, Chavasse got out quickly and Sir George kept the engine running. He leaned out of the side window and said, “Is there anything more I can do for you?”

  Chavasse shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine, thanks.”

  “I’m leaving on the afternoon train tomorrow,” Sir George went on. “Will I see you again before I go?”

  Chavasse nodded slowly. “I’ll probably be returning by that train myself. I’ve nothing to hang on here for any longer.”

  Sir George smiled tightly. “I won’t say good-bye then. If I don’t see you on the train, we must certainly have a drink together on the boat going over.” He let in the clutch and the Mercedes moved away quickly, leaving Chavasse alone on the edge of the pavement.

  He went upstairs slowly, taking his time, reluctant to go into the empty apartment. He hesitated outside for a moment, and then took out the master key the caretaker’s wife had given him, and unlocked the door.

  As he turned the handle, he became aware of a slight flurry of movement inside. For a moment he hesitated, and then flung the door open and went into the room half-crouching, his hands ready.

  Mark Hardt was standing in the center of the room. He was wearing a heavy driving coat, but his trousers were wet and clung to his legs. His face looked white and tense, and when he saw Chavasse he relaxed with a deep sigh. “You had me worried for a moment.”

  Chavasse unbuttoned his hunting jacket slowly. “How did you manage to get away from them?”

  Hardt shrugged. “It was easy enough. Once I’d led them away from you, I stopped making such a damned noise. The dogs couldn’t pick up my scent in the heavy rain. I crossed the main road and hid in the loft of a barn for two or three hours. Then I thumbed a lift from a passing truck driver. I told him I’d been camping and got washed out by the heavy rain. I don’t think he believed me, but he gave me this coat and dropped me off in Hamburg.”

  “How’s the arm?” Chavasse said.

  “Bloody awful!” Hardt replied with a tired grin. “But I’ll survive. Where’s Anna?”
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  Chavasse said slowly, “I think you’d better sit down, Mark. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you.”

  Hardt frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

  “She’s dead,” Chavasse said quietly. “Steiner and his friends got hold of her.”

  Hardt swayed slightly, and then reached blindly for a chair and sat down. After a while, he said in a dead voice, “How did it happen?”

  Chavasse told him. When he had finished, he hesitated and went on. “If it’s any comfort, both Steiner and Nagel are dead. I was waiting in the garden of Nagel ’s house in Blankenese with a German intelligence man when Steiner arrived to assassinate Hauptmann.”

  Hardt got to his feet slowly. “It’s no consolation at all,” he said. “Steiner, Nagel, and Martin Bormann might have crawled out from under a stone, but Anna…” He smiled sadly. “Suddenly, it all seems so silly. I wonder what we’ve come to.”

  He walked across to the table by the window and gently touched one of the Hebrew books. “She always did her homework, as she called it. It doesn’t seem possible, does it, Chavasse?”

  And then his shoulders started to shake and the fine face crumpled. He slumped down into the chair and bowed his head upon his arms and wept.

  For a little while, Chavasse stood there watching him with pity in his heart, and then he turned and went out, closing the door gently behind him.

  CHAPTER 14

  It was bitterly cold at the Hook of Holland as the ship nosed her way out of the harbor, and fog was rolling in steadily from the North Sea, pushed by a slight wind.

  Chavasse leaned over the rail and smoked a cigarette and watched the lights disappear into the darkness. Somewhere in the distance, a bugle sounded faintly on the wind from one of the Dutch Army camps, touching something deep inside him and filling him with a curious sadness. For a brief moment, he remembered Anna’s words in the hunting lodge at Berndorf: Lights out, you’re through, it’s all over, and as Holland disappeared into the night behind them, he flicked his cigarette down into the fog and went below.