McSweeney's Mammoth Treasury of Thrilling Tales - Michael Chabon [142]
Rudolf Hess continued this apologia all the way to the flat in Prinzregensburgstrasse, an imposing modern classical building built on the corner of a broad, quiet avenue. Hitler’s flat was on the second floor. It was light, airy, and luxurious in a subdued, up-to-date way. Doors led in several directions from the main vestibule, suggesting servants’ quarters and guest apartments. Certainly there was every way in which Hitler, his half sister, and niece could live together in such a flat very respectably indeed.
Minutes later, Sir Seaton was interviewing Herr and Frau Winter themselves. The couple had found Geli on the carpet in her bedroom, only partially dressed, as if she had been disturbed at her toilet.
The Winters were clearly shaken by what had happened. At that moment Frau Winter resembled a bewildered mole, in her gray cardigan, gray blouse, skirt, and stockings. This dour appearance was not, Begg guessed, natural to her. Herr Winter’s features, on the other hand, seemed habitually surly, yet his voice was agreeable enough. Neither man nor woman was of very high intelligence. They both confirmed, under Begg’s questioning, that Hitler and his niece had quarreled increasingly as his political career made demands on his time. But the party needed Hitler.
“Even I have fallen under his oratorical spell,” said Winter seriously. “It is almost impossible to escape his charm when he wants something from you. Crowds love him. Without him the party would be lost. But as a result, he spent even less time with Geli. You couldn’t really blame her. She grew restless; he grew jealous.”
“He had plenty to be jealous about, too,” Frau Winter interjected with an angry twitter. “She was not a good girl, Sir Seaton.”
Herr Winter reluctantly conceded. “I think she had plenty of company when Herr Hitler was gone. In particular that tall, blond SS man who wanted her to run off to Vienna with him . . . Himmler’s chap.”
“You saw them?” Begg demanded.
“Just as we saw the whips and the blood after one of Herr Hitler’s ‘sessions,’ ” she said primly.
“Whips?” asked a startled Begg. “Blood?”
Herr Winter interrupted hastily, too late to silence his wife. “It was Herr Hitler’s way of relaxing. He carries heavy responsibilities. It is often the way with important men, not so? We are people of the world here. We all know what goes on in Berlin.”
Having verified with the Winters the events of the recent past, Sir Seaton Begg thanked them gravely and made to leave. Taffy Sinclair in particular seemed glad of some fresh air.
Back in the Duesenberg, Begg asked a further question of Hess.
“Tell me, old boy, did Herr Hitler ever have his niece watched? And was he ever blackmailed?”
“Aha! I knew I had approached the right detective. You realized. Unfortunately, since the blackmail, he’s grown suspicious of everyone. Yes, he did have a couple of SA men in plainclothes keeping an eye on her, but they were incompetent. Himmler wanted to use SS people. He thinks they’re more efficient. So yes, he watched her, but you can’t really blame him for that.”
“Blackmail?” said Sinclair from the shadows in the back, unable to contain himself. “Your leader was being blackmailed?”
“A couple of years ago. That’s not what the blackmailer called it, of course, Herr Sinclair. But Putzi, Hitler’s foreign-press secretary, handled the details of that. Putzi’s half-American, a great source of vitality, you know. We all love him. Only his jokes and piano playing can cheer Alf up when he’s really depressed. . . .”
Begg had begun to realize Hess had