Leslie took the Kommandant’s proffered hand. They exchanged what might have passed for pleasantries in another time or place. A comment on the journey, the traffic, the weather. Maisie—Fr?ulein Donat—was introduced. The second man gave the briefest nod by way of a greeting, and instead of offering his hand, held it high.
“Heil Hitler,” he proclaimed, his eyes on the visitors.
Maisie felt sick. Her skin grew clammy as she raised her hand and uttered words she most detested. As a child she had witnessed her grandmother, upon hearing a boy swearing on the street, take the urchin by the scruff of the neck, pull him inside the house, and proceed to wash out his mouth with carbolic soap. “I’m going to clean that mouth for you, my boy, and your mother will thank me for it,” said Becca. Maisie wondered how she might ever banish the taste of those words from her mouth. Perhaps it would take a good brushing with carbolic soap.
The Kommandant spoke. “May I present my colleague, Untersturmführer Acker, chief of the Dachau Political Department. It is Untersturmführer Acker’s job to hear all cases at Dachau. His presence here is an important formality, as you can imagine.”
Maisie nodded, biting her lip. Acker looked at her, drawing breath as if to speak—yet she felt compelled to say something before either Leslie or Acker uttered a word.
“I have all the documents to secure my father’s release. I am very anxious to see him—it has been almost two years. Please, gentlemen, . . . please.” She took the sheaf of stamped, signed, and countersigned documents from her bag and laid it on the table between the two men. “I only want to go home with my father.” She thought she might stutter, yet played her hand. “I am his only family, but as you know, he has dear friends at home who want only to see him safe in his own country.”
Leslie’s discomfort was palpable. She had no need to look at him to know he was afraid.
Acker leaned over the papers, turning each one at a snail’s pace as he appeared to read. Maisie suspected he was not reading at all, just taking his time, as if turning a hidden screw in the room to ratchet up the tension and thus render both the man from the British consulate and the daughter of a prisoner even more ill at ease. Maisie took a deep breath, imagining an impervious circle of strength encompassing and protecting her. She pulled her shoulders back and stood taller, as if to counter the officer’s intention, which she believed was to make her feel small, insignificant.
Acker bore a half smile as he looked up. It was not a smile intended to demonstrate kindness, or a friendly outcome to the morning’s events. It was a smile worn to invoke fear. He spoke in German, and Leslie translated. Maisie suspected the officer could have conversed in English, had he wished.
“Yes, indeed, all the papers are in order. I can see that.” He looked up from the desk, sat down, and pushed the open folder toward the Kommandant, crumpling the sheets in the process.
Maisie heard an almost inaudible gasp from Leslie.
“Naturally, in my position, I am always reticent to release a prisoner, especially when I know that man to be guilty.” He looked at Maisie as if daring her to counter his words.
There was silence in the room. Leslie cleared his voice to speak. Instead, Maisie stepped forward.
“Sir,” she said in halting German. “My father is a man of the world. He has respect for the people of the many countries he has visited during the course of his work. He can speak several languages, and in fact was disappointed that I have little of his talent—as you can hear, my German is very poor indeed. However, out of respect, I am doing my best. My father, as you know—and as his testimony maintained—was here in Munich only to do business. He was a victim, and has been proven innocent—hence the many papers you have in front of you. Now I want to take my father home.”
Acker came to his feet once more, staring at Maisie. He raised an eyebrow. “Then let us bring him to you.” His smile was now unnaturally broad.
Acker nodded toward the Kommandant, who instructed the guard to take the two English visitors to another room. The guard followed instructions, leaving them in a small square room. He said nothing as he closed the door and left them alone. Leslie spoke almost as soon as he heard the lock turn.
“Miss Donat, I really must—”
Maisie silenced him, placing a finger on her lips. With her other hand she gestured to two points on the wall where the plaster was mottled. Leslie flushed.