My Cousin Skinny, page 3
‘Is that a warning?’ said Willi.
Heisse gave Willi a sharp look. ‘You’re really asking for it, aren’t you, Geismeier?’
‘I guess so,’ said Willi with a smile.
Heisse gave him a stare, then just had to laugh. He reached across the desk and gave Willi a little slap on the cheek. Willi thought it was friendly, but you never knew with Heisse.
28 JUNE 1914
‘CORRUPTION!’ was the headline in the morning’s Volkspresse, the People’s Press. After a year-long investigation, a team of reporters at the Volkspresse has uncovered a pattern of corruption in the highest ranks of the Munich city government. The corruption reaches across multiple departments, including transportation, police, parks and forests, and public health. The corruption is widespread and involves multiple current and past officials. It came two weeks after Willi and Werner Heisse had had their little talk, and it was just like Werner had said.
Willi realized he had been thinking too narrowly about the case. There was the corruption, of course, but that was not the whole story or even the main story. Walther Metzger’s life, like everyone’s, was more complicated than what he was working on. Willi started going through Munich’s newspapers, going back six months and studying the corruption stories. Every week or two there was another one; you could depend on it. With each story he found he tried, with no luck, to match the initials and dates from Walther’s calendar with names in the stories. But now with the Volkspresse story there were some matches: initials and dates.
Willi called Izabella Bauer and asked to see her. She didn’t seem surprised to hear from him.
But when he got there the next morning, she said, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have time.’ Before he could press her, she handed him a cablegram. ‘This just came in: somebody shot and killed Franz Ferdinand and his wife.’
‘When?’ said Willi.
‘Just now,’ she said.
Willi read the cablegram. ‘Sarajevo. This means war, doesn’t it?’ said Willi.
‘War,’ said Izabella. ‘Probably. Yes.’
It had been a long time coming. Willi turned and looked out the window at the leaden sky above the buildings across the street. The first drops of rain began splashing against the windows, like a harbinger of something awful.
Izabella looked at Willi. A young man like him was going to be drafted as soon as the fighting started. Willi and Izabella stood there, lost in their own thoughts, trying to grasp what had changed for them, what the future held for them, for everyone.
You had to go on with life as it was, not as you imagined it was about to become. ‘I have a few questions,’ Willi said. ‘Did you see the corruption story in the Volkspresse?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Izabella and laid the cable aside. ‘I guessed that’s what you wanted to talk about.’
‘Have you read the story?’
‘Yes, but not closely; this …’ She waved her hand, as though Sarajevo were right outside the window. It was raining hard now.
‘What’s your first reaction to the story? Is this the kind of thing Walther Metzger might have somehow been involved in?’
‘It might be, but I really don’t know.’
‘Were you surprised to see the Volkspresse story?’
‘No, not really. We’ve been working on civil corruption too. This is Munich, after all.’
‘So it’s not unusual for different papers to be working on the same thing at the same time?’ said Willi.
‘Not at all,’ said Izabella. ‘It would be unusual if we weren’t. We have the same sources, and a corruption story sells papers. Every editor is pushing his reporters in that direction. And the reporters are competing to get the story first. As I said, corruption is always a story in Munich, and we always have someone working on it.’
‘Do you know any of the Volkspresse people in the byline?’
‘I’m sorry, Sarajevo … is this really that urgent?’
‘It’s murder and corruption,’ said Willi. ‘What do you think?’
She sighed, then looked at the paper. ‘Three of them,’ she said.
Willi wrote down their names.
‘And what about your people on the corruption beat? Could I talk to them?’
She gave him the names.
Ruprecht Brecht was at his desk looking through financial ledgers when Willi came up. ‘Herr Brecht, can I talk to you for a minute?’ said Willi.
‘I’m busy,’ said Ruprecht without looking up.
‘I’m a police detective,’ said Willi. ‘Geismeier.’
Now Ruprecht looked up. Then he snorted. ‘What do you want?’
‘I’m investigating a murder …’ said Willi.
Brecht snorted again. ‘Whose?’ he said.
‘… and corruption,’ said Willi.
Now Ruprecht laughed outright. ‘A cop interested in corruption? Don’t make me laugh.’
‘You already laughed,’ said Willi. ‘Maybe you can tell me what’s funny. So I can laugh too.’
A smile flickered across Ruprecht’s face, but he gave Willi a considering look and decided not to say anything clever about boy detectives. He placed a sheet of paper to mark his place and closed the ledger. ‘Pull up that chair, Detective …’
‘Geismeier,’ said Willi again, and pulled the chair over beside Ruprecht’s desk. He sat down and took a small notebook from his jacket pocket.
‘Fire away,’ said Ruprecht.
‘How do you know when you’ve got corruption?’ said Willi.
Ruprecht stared at Willi. ‘What kind of question is that?’
‘A fairly easy one, I would think. Do you start with the assumption that everything and everyone is corrupt? What’s the first thing that tells you there’s corruption going on? Does it start with a hunch, a clue, a tip?’
‘Rarely a hunch, sometimes a tip, usually a clue,’ said Ruprecht.
‘And how do you recognize that it’s corruption?’
‘Something smells, Detective. Something doesn’t feel right, doesn’t add up. Isn’t it the same for you?’
‘How did the Volkspresse get the story before you did?’
‘They got ahead of themselves, that’s how,’ he said. ‘Their story won’t stick. Half the people they’ve arrested are gonna walk. They don’t have the witnesses; they don’t have the documentation. Let me show you something.’
Ruprecht opened the ledger. It was from the Munich Hospital administration. Over the next fifteen minutes, Ruprecht explained how money had been dispensed for medical supplies and services, but the supplies could not be located and the services had never been dispensed. There were discrepancies in the ledger, but they had been papered over by receipts which now appeared to be fake. And the signatures authorizing the purchases and on the receipts were not real, and there was no evidence as to who had written or signed those documents. ‘So the guy they mention in the Volkspresse – a Doctor Vietor – is already suing the paper for defamation. He may be the guy, but they haven’t proved it. They made the same mistakes with other departments – including the police.’
‘Tell me,’ said Willi.
‘They’ve got an assistant police chief protecting the guy that owns his gambling debts. But all they’ve got is the word of the bookie. Hey, I thought you said you were looking into a murder.’
‘I am,’ said Willi. ‘Do you know the guys that wrote the Volkspresse piece?’
‘Some of them,’ said Ruprecht.
‘Are any of them any good?’
‘Some of them.’
‘What about the lead guy, Arenz?’
‘You’re the detective,’ said Ruprecht. ‘Find out for yourself.’
HELMUTT ARENZ
Helmutt Arenz was the lead reporter on the Volkspresse corruption story. Willi went back to Izabella. ‘Tell me about Helmutt Arenz,’ he said. ‘Do you know him personally?’
‘Yes,’ said Izabella. ‘He used to work here.’
‘As a reporter?’
‘Yes.’
‘When was that?’ said Willi.
‘About eight or ten years ago. I’d have to check to be sure.’
‘And was Walther Metzger working here at the same time?’
‘I think they overlapped for a few months.’
‘And you can remember they overlapped for a few months, even though it might have been ten years ago?’
‘I remember because they were sort of friends.’
‘So they knew each other pretty well?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did they remain in touch?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Izabella.
‘Why did Arenz leave the paper?’
‘The Volkspresse offered him more money.’
‘Were you sorry to lose him?’
‘No, not really. He was unreliable. He cut corners.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He didn’t do the work – the research, the legwork – the stuff you have to do to get a story.’
‘So, were you surprised when you saw that Arenz had written this particular story?’
‘No, I still haven’t read the whole story. But maybe he’s finally pulled himself together. If so, I’m glad to hear it.’
‘Do you think Walther could have been working with Helmutt Arenz?’
‘No. Definitely not. Walther was a loner.’
‘You said Walther was a good reporter?’
‘Walther was the best.’
Helmutt Arenz was waiting for Willi at his desk at the Volkspresse. Willi had called to say he wanted to talk.
‘About what?’ said Helmutt.
‘About Walther Metzger. I’m looking into his murder.’
‘Yeah, I heard about that. Poor guy,’ said Helmutt. ‘Terrible business.’
When Willi showed up, Helmutt was at his desk, feet up, puffing on a cigar. Some of his coworkers were hanging around, laughing and bantering. Helmutt shooed them away, and motioned for Willi to sit down. He opened a box of Havana cigars and held it toward Willi. ‘Have one,’ he said. ‘I’m celebrating my big story.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Willi.
‘First in a series,’ he said. ‘It’s going to blow the lid off things.’
‘It is quite a story, Herr Arenz. You must be proud,’ said Willi. ‘I look forward to the next installment.’ But he didn’t take a cigar. ‘So, I just have a few questions regarding Walther Metzger, if you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all,’ said Helmutt.
‘How well did you know him?’
‘Not very well,’ said Helmutt, and put out his cigar in the ashtray. ‘We were at the Kurier at the same time, but I didn’t know him except to say hello. I hadn’t seen him for a long time. He started drinking heavily, you know, and he stopped working, as far as I know. Last time I saw him, he was unfriendly – the alcohol, I think. Hostile. I think he was jealous, that I had this job and was breaking stories, and he wasn’t. I don’t know; it was sad.’
‘Would you be surprised to know that he was working right up to the end?’
‘Really? Who for?’
‘I heard he was working on a corruption story of his own?’
‘Really? No, I didn’t know that.’
‘So you wouldn’t have any idea whether you and he were covering the same ground?’
‘No idea. It’s possible, but it seems unlikely.’
‘Why unlikely?’ said Willi.
‘Well, none of my sources ever indicated to me that they had talked to anyone besides me. Not a single one. So he must have been working on something else, if he was working on anything at all.’
‘You don’t believe he was?’
‘Well, I don’t know, of course. But the last I heard he was drunk most of the time.’
‘Did you read any of the stories about his murder?’
‘A few. I’ve followed it a little,’ said Helmutt. ‘I knew the guy. The police are a little “stuck,” aren’t they?’
‘Well, my thinking is Metzger was looking into corruption in the police department,’ said Willi.
‘Well, that would be fertile ground, wouldn’t it, Detective?’ Helmutt grinned. ‘That’s probably what got him killed.’
‘So you think the police had him killed?’ said Willi.
‘I don’t know, Detective. That’s your line of work. I’m just guessing, but it seems pretty likely, doesn’t it?’
‘Likely?’ said Willi.
‘Well, they found evidence, didn’t they?’
‘You mean the button?’ said Willi.
‘Yeah, the button,’ said Helmutt. ‘From a police uniform, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it was,’ said Willi. He paused to write something in his notebook. ‘Herr Arenz, you mentioned your sources. Do you think I could talk to some of them, just to find out whether Walther had been in touch with them? They might have useful information.’
Helmutt laughed. ‘You know, Detective, a reporter can’t reveal his sources. It’d be unethical. And, besides, no one would ever talk to me again, would they?’
‘So you had people inside the government that talked to you?’
Helmutt smiled. ‘I’m not saying who talked to me, Herr Detective.’
‘How long have you been working on this story?’ said Willi.
‘Three years.’
‘That’s impressive,’ said Willi.
‘This business is all about patience and legwork,’ said Helmutt. ‘Following leads wherever they take you. A little like your work, isn’t it, Herr Detective?’
‘Maybe,’ said Willi. ‘Except I have to get it right.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Helmutt.
‘Well,’ said Willi. ‘You don’t, do you? Everybody knows half of what’s in the paper is made up.’
‘What are you saying?’ said Helmutt.
‘Lawsuits are already being filed against you and the Volkspresse. I’ve heard that you cut corners.’
Helmutt stood up, his fists clenched. He took a step toward Willi.
‘Take it easy, Helmutt,’ said the man at the next desk. He came over and stepped between the two men. ‘He was just joking. Weren’t you, Detective?’
‘No,’ said Willi. ‘No, I wasn’t.’
The exposé in the Volkspresse laid out in broad outlines a web of corruption that, the article said, went across various departments in both the city government and the Bavarian government. It named some of the culpable who had already been indicted, others who had resigned, and some who had made a run for it and were no longer around to be questioned. The article was sketchy and short on specifics.
Not surprisingly, nearly everyone named had either referred the reporter to his attorney without comment or proclaimed his innocence. Willi decided nothing useful could be gained by talking to them. Toward the end of the article, though, he read about Graf (Count) Sigismund Maria von Wittelsbach, a second cousin of Ludwig the Third, the king of Bavaria.
The count, who owned a large estate in the Bavarian Forest and lived in a palace in Munich, had been caught up in the scandal, much to his chagrin. Years earlier, having been injured in a riding accident, the count had landed in a municipal hospital. And while his treatment was swift and excellent, he had been appalled to see how the lower classes were treated or, more accurately, were mistreated. Even the seriously ill and grievously injured waited in wretched conditions to get the most perfunctory care. When he inquired about this, he was told there was nothing to be done; all public health and all treatment protocols were regulated by Munich’s public health commissioners.
The count served on a number of boards and commissions already, and now he had himself appointed to Munich’s public health commission hoping to improve public health for his fellow citizens. According to the Volkspresse, Munich’s public health commission had been granting licenses to corrupt hospital administrators for years. Some administrators, yet to be named, had been receiving bribes and kickbacks from favored providers of hospital services – ambulance companies, hospital suppliers, even doctors. They had also been collecting consulting fees and skimming money from public hospital budgets.
Although the count had been shown to know nothing about any of this, he felt culpable nonetheless. ‘I should have made it my business to know,’ he said. ‘It is my duty as a Wittelsbach to accept responsibility for criminal behavior on my watch. Of course I will endeavor to make things whole.’
Noblesse oblige, thought Willi; here is a witness who might tell the truth.
GRAF SIGISMUND MARIA VON WITTELSBACH
Willi sat on a gilt chair in an anteroom between two tapestries depicting a stag hunt. In one the stag was leaping through the forest with wild eyes; in the other he was down, his tongue out, his eyes wild with fear, as dogs tore at his flesh.
Willi had written to the count asking for an interview, explaining that he was a police detective investigating a crime that might be connected somehow to the fraud in the Munich public health commission. The count wrote back, agreeing to answer his questions to the best of his ability, either in writing or in person. Willi wrote back saying he favored a personal interview.
After a few minutes, the count’s secretary came out and walked Willi down a hallway to a wood-paneled office, decorated with the mounted heads of stags and chamois, racks of guns, riding and racing trophies, and paintings of the count’s favorite horses and dogs. Count Sigismund rose from his desk and offered Willi his hand. He was elderly and, to Willi’s surprise, was wearing the uniform of a cavalry officer. He had thinning white hair, mutton chops and a mustache. A pince-nez hung on a thin gold chain from the top button of his tunic. A plumed helmet and a sword lay on a table by the window.
‘Have you been called up too, Herr Graf?’ said Willi.
‘I am rejoining the Second Austrian Ulans, Herr Geismeier. I served with them when I was young. And you, I assume, will have received orders as well?’
‘Yes, Herr Graf, I report on the first of July. Also the Ulans.’
‘Two weeks then. Do you ride?’
‘Yes, Herr Graf. Do you think there will be much riding in this war?’
‘There’s always riding in a war, Herr Geismeier. Nobody can maneuver like the cavalry. Well, neither of us has much time then, do we?’ He gestured toward a chair and sat down across from him. ‘It is Detective Geismeier?’ he said.
