Bomber. Len Deighton

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      ‘You know, Beer, sometimes I think you would have made a bloody wonderful Pope.’

      As Löwenherz reached the foyer of the Mess half a dozen aircrew officers were arriving for their noon meal. He nodded curtly to each of them and collected his peaked cap from the orderly in the cloakroom. In the foyer there were soft leather chairs and low tables with copies of Luftwelt, Signal and Der Adler scattered on it. Sitting nervously on the edge of his armchair was Blessing, the man in charge of civilian labour. Sitting next to him, leaning well back and reading the Deutsche Zeitung, there was an elderly man in civilian clothes. Blessing tapped the other man on the knee. He lowered his paper and looked up. Blessing nodded towards Löwenherz. The man was too old to be local civilian labour, and his clothes were a little too good and of German cut. My God, thought Löwenherz, it must be a relative of some recent aircrew casualty. The man reached for a soft hat and leather briefcase, got to his feet and approached Löwenherz with a sad smile.

      ‘Oberleutnant Victor von Löwenherz?’ said the man. The suit he was wearing was of pre-war quality but had been darned carefully at the corner of the pocket. There were three pens in his waistcoat and under it he was wearing a grey home-knitted sweater. The man’s eyes stared calmly at him through gold-rimmed spectacles. His eyes were moist, as old men’s eyes become, but they were as active and alert as they had ever been. His face was heavily lined and had the mauve tints that afflict the skin of heavy drinkers. His stiff white collar was of an ancient style and the knot of his tie was secured by a gold pin. A doctor or lawyer most people would have guessed him to be, and rightly. Blessing saluted carefully while the man extended a hand to Löwenherz. It was while they were shaking hands that the man said ‘Heil Hitler’ in a disinterested voice that he also used for commenting on the weather. He smiled bleakly and introduced himself. ‘Feldwebel Dr Hans Starkhof of AST Nederlands, Group IIIL.’

      The man’s eyes flickered short-sightedly behind his spectacles and yet Löwenherz wondered whether this myopia – like his hesitations and eyebrows raised in surprise – was a ruse feigned for his own purposes. The man watched for Löwenherz’s reactions to his low rank and the manner of its coupling to his doctorate, and to the Nazi greeting with his soft civilian handshake. He watched too for the reaction to the word AST – the Abwehr, or Military Intelligence, office: the technique of surprise was one that Starkhof had perfected many years ago as a criminal lawyer in Hamburg. There was always work for a criminal lawyer in Hamburg and a surprise immediately upon meeting could often help a case to a quick conclusion. From Löwenherz came no reaction, but Starkhof still had a card to play.

      ‘Perhaps I should introduce …’ he half turned towards Blessing.

      ‘Feldwebel Blessing I already know,’ said Löwenherz coldly.

      ‘Ah, yes, precisely, which is why I should tell you that Blessing is employed by RSHA and has a SIPO rank of Untersturmführer.’

      ‘May I see your identity papers?’ asked Löwenherz.

      ‘Alas, we carry none except a Wehrpass, but you may phone my office if you are worried.’

      ‘I am not worried,’ said Löwenherz.

      ‘Excellent.’ He gestured towards the entrance. ‘We’ll talk as we walk,’ he suggested. ‘You’ll perhaps feel more comfortable in the open air.’ He put on his trilby hat and stepped out into the sunshine. The three men walked down the long gravel drive, their shadows sharply drawn on the path by the warm sun. When he realized that Löwenherz had no intention of speaking first, the man said, ‘There has been a theft of some documents, Herr Oberleutnant.’ He paused but still nothing came from Löwenherz. ‘Some secret documents,’ he added. ‘We are in no doubt about the identity of the thief.’

      ‘I am sure,’ said Löwenherz, ‘that you have not come here to boast to me of your success.’

      ‘Precisely,’ said the man in civilian clothes. ‘We should value your frankness and aid.’

      ‘You will in any case be treated to the former,’ said Löwenherz. ‘As to the latter, until you are more forthcoming who knows what it might entail?’

      ‘Dear comrade Löwenherz,’ said Starkhof. ‘You must be patient with an old man. Secret documents have been stolen and they must be recovered.’

      ‘This is the Medical Centre, Herr Doktor,’ interrupted Blessing.

      ‘They were stolen from this building,’ Starkhof explained to Löwenherz. ‘We know the thief but lack the …’

      ‘Corpus delicti,’ supplied Löwenherz.

      ‘Precisely,’ said Starkhof. He turned to his colleague, ‘The corpus delicti, Blessing, that’s what you must find.’

      They stood on the road between the farm-like headquarters buildings. Everywhere was quiet, for the true working day of this night-fighter station had not yet begun. A lorry rattled noisily through the main gate loaded with oil drums. Outside the Pay Section a line of men had formed and assumed the relaxed attitudes with which Servicemen accept inevitable delay. From the Medical Centre two orderlies were bringing chairs and piling them together in the sunshine, while from inside came the sound of buckets and mops and tuneless singing.

      Starkhof said, ‘The thief first misappropriated the documents. It was later that he stole them.’

      ‘If that means that someone hid them behind a cupboard and went back for them later, why not say so more clearly?’

      Eagerly Blessing said, ‘The papers were secreted behind a cupboard and the thief did return later. How did you know that?’

      ‘Deduction,’ said Löwenherz. ‘And I’ll tell you another deduction too.’

      ‘If you …’

      ‘Comrade Untersturmführer Blessing’ – the old man interrupted them. He raised a finger at Blessing. ‘My witness, I believe.’ He smiled; Blessing nodded.

      The old man said, ‘My dear Löwenherz. We should both be most interested in your deduction.’

      Löwenherz said, ‘You knew where the documents were, and yet did not retrieve them. Then you hoped to catch the thief taking them to some other place …’

      ‘Or other party,’ nodded Starkhof. ‘Excellent, Oberleutnant.’

      ‘You do not have the documents therefore you did not catch the thief in …’ Löwenherz paused.

      ‘You were about to say flagrante delicto, my good friend. Do say it.’ In a quick aside to Blessing the old man added, ‘Red-handed, my dear Blessing.’ Blessing smiled.

      It was difficult to be sure whether the man was trying to make a fool of Löwenherz or of Blessing. When Löwenherz walked forward again the others kept by his side.

      Löwenherz said, ‘Since Blessing pointed out the Medical Centre to you, I deduce that you have not seen it before. So it was’ – Löwenherz feigned difficulty with the SS rank and pronounced it in a precise and ponderous manner – ‘Untersturmführer Blessing who set a trap for the thief but was outwitted.’

      ‘Sunt lacrimae rerum,’ said the man to Blessing. ‘Tears are a part of life, as I said to Blessing at the time.’ Blessing scowled.

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