He looked up to find Bernie standing next to him.
“Your friend?”
“No. Her husband. Christ.”
“You didn’t know?”
Jake shook his head. “It says he was decorated. It doesn’t say why.”
“That would be in his party file. These are the registry cards. You want me to find out?” Chasing rats.
Jake shook his head again. “Just where he is.”
“You mean if she’s with him,” Bernie said, studying his face.
“Yes. If she’s with him.” But he’d never imagined them together. Just Lena, opening the door, the surprised look in her eyes, throwing her arms around his neck. He put the card back and closed the drawer.
“What was her name?”
“Helene Brandt. She used to live in Pariserstrasse. I’ll write it down for you.” He went over to the desk for a piece of paper. “Can I give you a few others?” he said, writing. “I want to track down the old office staff. For a story. I know you’re busy-”
Bernie spread his hands, a what-else-is-new gesture, then took the list. “I’ll put Mike on it. It’ll give him something to do. They’d have to be in Berlin, you know.”
“Yes,” Jake said. “Let me know what Frankfurt says.”
“Get going before I change my mind,” Bernie said, retreating behind the desk.
“But you’ll make the call.”
Bernie looked up. “You could get to be a real pain, you know that?”
Jake went back up the stairs and through the quiet archive room. Records of everything, just lying here waiting, millions of due bills. Maybe Emil had been decorated as part of a group, a ceremony with families, applauded for their services to the state. Doing what? Teaching mathematics? Now filed away in one of these cabinets, to make another case for the prosecution.
“Sign out, please.” The indifferent guard, chewing gum.
Jake scribbled in the ledger, then stepped outside into the click of a photograph.
“Well, look who’s here.” Liz was bent on one knee, shooting up at the doorway and the tall blond soldier who stood posing in front of it. Last night’s date. Jake stepped aside as she took another. The soldier pulled back his shoulders. Cool eyes, an illustrator’s jaw, the kind of Aryan looks Emil’s group would have liked.
“Okay,” Liz said, finished. “Jake, meet Joe Shaeffer. Like the pen.
J“ oe -
“I know who you are,” the soldier said, shaking hands. “Pleasure.” He turned to Liz. “Five minutes,” he said, then nodded stiffly at Jake and went inside.
“Something for your personal collection?” Jake said, pointing to the camera.
“It was. ”
“How was the jazz?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know. What’s it like inside? Anything interesting?”
He thought of the files, every one a story, then realized she meant anything to photograph. “Like a library,” he said.
“Great.” A grimace. “Still, some trophy, huh? You know they got it all in a paper mill,” she said, her voice as excited as the driver’s. Jake looked at her. The war had become a kind of scavenger hunt. Rockets at Nordhausen. Engineers at Zeiss. Now even pieces of paper, decorations and promotions. The magazine spread would show tall Joe opening a file.
“Yeah, I heard,” he said, moving away. “Watch yourself in there. Lots of dark corners.”
“Aren’t you funny.”
He grinned and was about to start down the steps when he heard his name shouted inside. “Geismar!” A second shout, followed by Bernie in a mad dash, almost colliding with Liz, another piece of Gelferstrasse china. “Good. I caught you.”
Jake smiled. “You know Liz? You share a bathroom.”
Bernie barely managed a confused nod to her, then grabbed Jake’s arm. “I need to talk to you.” His face was flushed from the exertion of the run. “This list.”
“That was fast,” Jake said easily, then saw Bernie’s eyes, holding him as firmly as the hand on his arm. “What?”
“Come here,” Bernie said, moving them down the stairs, out of earshot. “Naumann,” he said, holding the list up. “Renate Naumann. How do you know her? ”
“Renate? She worked for me at Columbia. They all did.”
“That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
Jake looked at him, bewildered. “Off the books. I used her as a stringer. She had a great eye.”
Bernie made a face, as if Jake had told a bad joke, then looked away. “Great eye. Yes,” he said, his voice filled with disgust.
“You know her?” Jake said, still puzzled.
Bernie nodded.
“I thought she’d be dead. You know where she is?”
“She’s in jail.”
Bernie looked around, then took Jake’s arm again and began walking out past the sentries. “I hate this fucking barbed wire. It gives me the willies.” When they reached the jeep, Bernie leaned against it, his energy finally spent.
“What do you mean, jail?” Jake said.
“Some friends you’ve got.” Bernie took out a cigarette. “She was a greifer. You know greifer?”
“Grabber. Catcher. Of what?” Jews.
“That’s impossible. She was-”
“A Jew. I know. A Jew to catch Jews. They thought of everything. Even that.”
“But she-” Jake started, but Bernie held up his hand.
