Five Past Midnight - James Thayer [93]
"I have supervised city-wide manhunts before." Dietrich leaned back in his chair. "And you have assisted me. We know how to do it."
"Of course."
"Berliners will not tolerate a knife-wielding killer walking their streets."
"No." Hilfinger turned from the window. His face was inappropriate for a policeman, all in the department agreed. His eyes were set merrily, and the corners of his mouth were permanently turned up. Hilfinger was eager and enthusiastic and helpful. He used his happy countenance to his advantage, Dietrich knew, particularly during interrogations. Just like everyone else, criminals wanted to befriend him.
"And that's why we've had this flood of reports." Dietrich thought his own words lame. The truth was that his manhunt had failed.
"Inspector?" The voice came from the doorway. "Will you check this man out?"
Dietrich's chair squeaked as it turned toward the door. The detective rubbed his eyes before looking at the door, hoping whoever stood there would disappear.
Detective Egon Haushofer shared the door frame with a blond refugee wearing a miner's cap. The refugee kept his head bowed and repeatedly ran his tongue over his lips. He had a thick chest and rugged hands cuffed together. He had a passing resemblance to Jack Cray.
Detective Haushofer explained, "He was turned over to me by three SHD men, who spotted him on Keller Street near the armory."
The Security and Help Service were part of the air defense system, conscripted reservists who were required to sleep every other night in their barracks, which most gladly tolerated because they were exempt from the armed services.
"Are you German?" Dietrich asked.
"From Stettin," the prisoner replied.
Dietrich went through the motions. "What is the name of the six- hundred-year-old church in Stettin?"
"St. James." The refugee almost smiled. Perhaps he could feel the handcuffs loosening.
"What is the longest ship moored on the Oder?"
"The aircraft carrier Graf Zeppelin. It's been there for years, but it isn't finished."
"What's the name of the building across the roadway from the Graf Zeppelins moorage?" Peter Hilfinger asked.
"The Western Pomeranian Museum."
"Release him," Dietrich ordered.
Detective Haushofer pushed his key into the handcuffs to snap them open. The refugee rubbed his wrists. He nervously looked right and left.
"What's your name?" Dietrich asked.
The refugee again lowered his eyes. "Ewald Schack."
"Where were you going when you were arrested?" Dietrich knew the answer, of course.
"West. With my wife and daughter. We lost our home in Stettin and .. ." His voice trailed away.
Dietrich asked, "I don't suppose you have any identity papers on you."
Schack hesitated. "My Wehrmacht ID."
"Anything to show why you aren't with your unit? Any travel passes?" With that Dietrich conveyed to the refugee that he knew he was a deserter, had left the army to return to Stettin to try to take his family to safety.
For an instant the man looked like he might try dashing down the stairs. Haushofer moved his hand to the small of the refugee's back.
Dietrich reached for a piece of stationery and a pen. He wrote several lines, then passed the paper to Schack. "This will help. Good luck to you."
The refugee stared at the stationery, which below the Berlin Police Department's impressive logo and Dietrich's imprinted name and rank, read, "Ewald Schack is working for the Berlin Police. I have Reichsführer Himmler's authority to order that Schack and his family are not to be disturbed or delayed in their travels," followed by Dietrich's signature.
The refugee gripped the letter as if it were a life ring. He mumbled his thanks and backed away from Hilfinger, then disappeared down the hallway.
Detective Haushofer asked, "Want me to bring up another Jack Cray?"
Dietrich rubbed a human skull on his desk that had a hole in the temple precisely the diameter of an alpine climbing pick. "Maybe later." Dietrich gripped the fire nozzle and slammed the desk with it, so uncharacteristic a gesture that Hilfinger and Haushofer glanced at each other.
Dietrich