Now he held the attention of his small audience, March felt a rush of exhilaration; a sense of release. He was starting to talk quickly. Slow down, he told himself, be careful.
“When I inspected the villa yesterday morning, Buhler’s guard dog was locked in the pantry, muzzled. The whole of one side of its head was bleeding. I ask myself: why would a man intending to commit suicide do that to his dog?”
“Where is this animal now?” asked Nebe.
“My men had to shoot it,” said Globus. The creature was deranged.”
“Ah. Of course. Goon, March.”
“I think Buhler’s assailants landed late at night, in darkness. If you recall, there was a storm on Monday night. The lake would have been choppy — that explains the damage to the jetty. I think the dog was alerted, and they clubbed it senseless, muzzled it, took Buhler unawares.”
“And threw him in the lake?”
“Not immediately. Despite his disability, according to his sister, Buhler was a strong swimmer. You could see that by the look of him: his shoulders were well-developed. But after he had been cleaned up, I inspected his body in the morgue. There was bruising here” — March touched his cheeks — “and on the gums at the front of his mouth. On the kitchen table yesterday was a bottle of vodka, most of it gone. I think the autopsy report will show alcohol in Buhler’s bloodstream. I think they forced him to drink, stripped him, took him out on their boat, and dumped him over the side.”
“Intellectual pigshit,” said Globus. “Buhler probably drank the vodka to give him the guts to kill himself.”
“According to his sister, Party Comrade Buhler was a teetotaller.”
There was a long silence. March could hear Jaeger breathing heavily. Nebe was gazing out across the lake. Eventually, Globus muttered: “What this fancy theory doesn’t explain is why these mysterious killers didn’t just put a bullet in Buhler’s brain and have done with it.”
“I would have thought that was obvious,” said March. They wanted to make it look like suicide. But they bungled it.”
“Interesting” murmured Nebe. “If Buhler’s suicide was faked, then it is logical to suppose that Stuckart’s was, also.”
Because Nebe was still staring at the Havel, March did not realise at first that the remark was a question, addressed to him.
That was my conclusion. That was why I visited Stuckart’s apartment last night. Stuckart’s murder, I think, was a three-man operation: two in the flat; one in the foyer, pretending to repair the elevator. The noise from his electric drill was supposed to mask the sound of the shot, giving the killers time to get away before the body was discovered.”
“And the suicide note?”
“Forged, perhaps. Or written under duress. Or…”
He stopped himself. He was thinking aloud, he realised-a potentially fatal activity. Krebs was staring at him.
“Is that it?” asked Globus. “Are the Grimms” fairy stories over for the day? Excellent. Some of us have work to do. Luther is the key to this mystery, gentlemen. Once we have him, all will be explained.”
Nebe said: “If his heart condition is as bad as you say, we need to move quickly. I shall arrange with the Propaganda Ministry for Luther’s picture to be carried in the press and on television.”
“No, no. Absolutely not.” Globus sounded alarmed. The Reichsfuhrer has expressly forbidden any publicity. The last thing we need is a scandal involving the Party leadership, especially now, with Kennedy coming. God in heaven, can you imagine what the foreign press would make of this? No. I assure you, we can catch him without alerting the media. What we need is a confidential flash to all Orpo patrols; a watch on the main railway stations, ports, airports, border crossings…Krebs can handle that.”
Then I suggest he does so.”
“At once, Herr Oberstgruppenfuhrer.” Krebs gave a slight bow to Nebe and trotted off along the verandah, into the house.
“I have business to attend to in Berlin,” said Nebe. “March here will act as Kripo liaison officer until Luther is caught.”
Globus sneered. That will not be necessary.”
“Oh, but it will. Use him wisely, Globus. He has a brain. Keep him informed. Jaeger: you can return to your normal duties.”
Jaeger looked relieved. Globus seemed about to say something, but thought better of it.
“Walk me to my car, March. Good day to you, Globus.”
WHEN they were round the corner, Nebe said: “You are not telling the truth, are you? Or at least, not all of it. That is good. Get in the car. We need to talk.”
The driver saluted and opened the rear door. Nebe manoeuvred himself painfully into the back seat. March got in the other side.
“At six o’clock this morning, this arrived at my house by courier.” Nebe unlocked his briefcase and pulled out a file, a couple of centimetres thick. “It’s all about you, Sturmbannfuhrer. Flattering, isn’t it, to merit such attention?”
The windows of the Mercedes were tinted green. In the half-light, Nebe looked like a lizard in a reptile house.
