‘With respect, I don’t think it is nonsense, sir. Kuttner was living with a man in Berlin. A man with convictions for male prostitution. A man who used to frequent a notorious homosexual bar called the Burger Casino, dressed in a schoolboy sailor-suit, and who used to take his clients to a nearby pier on the river in order to have sex with them.’
‘Rubbish. I just don’t believe it. And I think it very poor taste on your part to malign a fellow officer who is no longer in a position to defend himself from that kind of defamation.’
‘Let us assume for one minute that I’m right about this.’
‘Why?’
‘Please, sir. Indulge me for a moment.’
‘Very well.’
‘What would your opinion be of a man like that?’
‘My opinion?’
‘Yes, sir. What do you think of an SS captain who shares his bed with a male prostitute?’
Hildebrandt’s smooth face darkened. The lips tightened and the jaw turned pugnacious.
‘I mean, sir, it’s said it was Ernst Röhm’s homosexuality that was one of the reasons the Party turned on him, why he was executed.’
‘That’s probably true,’ admitted Hildebrandt. ‘Röhm was a degenerate. As were some of the others. Edmund Heines. Klausener. Schneidhuber. Schragmüller. They were loathsome specimens and richly deserved their fate.’
‘Of course they did.’
I wasn’t sure they had deserved their fate, not all of them. Erich Klausener had been the leader of the police department at the Prussian interior ministry in Berlin and not a bad fellow at all. But I wasn’t there to debate with Hildebrandt.
‘Do you think that sort of thing should be tolerated in the SS?’
‘Of course it shouldn’t. And it isn’t tolerated. Never has been.’
‘Do you think it brings dishonour to the SS? Is that why?’
‘Certainly it brings dishonour to the SS, Commissar Gunther. What a fucking question. It’s obvious. If the man was, as you say, homosexual – although I still don’t believe Kuttner was – then I’d go further than that. Such a man should be put in front of a firing squad. Like Röhm and those other queers. It’s the pansies and the Jews who almost destroyed Germany during the Weimar Republic.’
‘Oh, surely,’ I said.
‘Who continue to threaten the moral fibre of our country. We are cultivating increasingly healthy blood for Germany and it must be kept pure. As the father of three children myself, two of them boys, I say it quite emphatically. If such a man was under my command I should not hesitate to denounce him to the Gestapo. Not for a minute. No matter how serious the consequences.’
‘Well, of course,’ I said, ‘I know it’s illegal under paragraphs 174 and 175 of the Criminal Code. But I thought that homosexuals could only be sent to prison for up to ten years. So, let me get this straight. There are extra punishments that apply to such people in the SS, is that right? Like being shot, as you say. I assume you would know, sir.’
He lit another cigarette.
‘As a matter of fact I do know. And in the strictest confidence I will tell you what happens. In the SS we have about one case of homosexuality a month. When they are uncovered, by order of the Reichsführer-SS himself they are degraded, expelled, and handed over to the courts; and following completion of the statutory punishment, which you mentioned, they are then sent to a concentration camp, where they are most often shot, while attempting to escape.’
‘I see.’
‘Personally, I can’t see the need for the camp. If it was up to me, it would be the commanding officer who would shoot such a man. Summarily.’
‘So, let me get this straight. If you had absolute incontrovertible proof that Captain Kuttner was a homosexual, and he’d been your junior officer, you’d have shot him yourself. Is that right?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Thank you, General. That will be all, sir. I do appreciate your candour in this matter.’
Hildebrandt paused. ‘Are you playing games with me, Commissar?’
‘I was merely testing a theory, sir.’
‘And what theory is that?’
‘Only that it’s quite possible he wasn’t murdered by a Czech after all, as you insisted earlier. But by another German. I dare say you’re not the only man who thinks Kuttner was probably murdered by a Czech. It’s a common enough prejudice we Germans have: a suspicion of other lesser races. Take Berlin’s S-Bahn murderer, this summer. Paul Ogorzow. Remember him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Before he was caught everyone thought the murderer was a foreign worker. But Paul Ogorzow was a German. Not only that, but he was a Party member. Not as early a member as you, sir, but I think he joined well before Hitler became Reich Chancellor.’
I shrugged. ‘When it comes to murder, I like to keep an open mind.’
Hildebrandt got up to leave. He straightened his immaculate riding-breeches, which were the expensive kind – with the suede inside legs, as if he actually went riding – and moved toward the Morning Room door.
‘By the way, sir. How did you find living in America?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Did you enjoy living in America, sir?’
‘Yes. I did.’
