Johann raised his pistol. All he had to do was pull the trigger. It was that simple. He would pull the trigger and take another man’s life, as he had done many times on the battlefield—only this man sitting before him was far more deserving of death than any of those soldiers who were only doing their duty, as he had been doing his. So why wasn’t it that simple?
Friendship. Johann knew it came down to that. And for all the terrible things Volker had done, even now he wished his childhood friend, with whom he had spent so many happy years before the war, would say something to redeem himself. He had been the brother Johann had never known—the brother he had yearned for since learning that his flesh-and-blood brother had died as an infant. Johann stared into Volker’s eyes, but he saw no trace of remorse. Even if there had been, even if Volker were kneeling on the floor in penitence, begging for forgiveness, Johann knew there could be no stay of execution for this man who was ultimately responsible for the death of his wife.
‘Well, Bl?dmann!’ Strobel said. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Johann’s arm began to shake again. He willed himself to pull the trigger and be done with it, but something, or someone, now prevented him. It was his son. Volker was right. If Johann fired a single shot, the guards patrolling the street outside would be at the door in seconds. It had been easy enough to get into Dachau, but he imagined it would be much harder to escape, especially with the camp on full alert after discovering the body of their Lagerführer.
‘You can’t do it, can you soldier boy?’ Volker continued, as if he were deliberately taunting Johann in an attempt to make him pull the trigger.
But Johann did not fire. As much as he wanted Volker to pay for all he had done, he could not deliberately leave his child fatherless as well as motherless. He was suddenly resolved to do all he could to return to Gilching. He had not yet held his son as a father should—as he doubted his own father ever had. Johann lowered his pistol and Volker sat up with a look of bewilderment on his face.
‘You really can’t do it, can you?’ Volker said, his shoulders slumping as he spoke.
‘You sound disappointed.’
Volker drew a long and thoughtful breath. ‘Yes, perhaps I am. Perhaps in moments of weakness I’m shocked myself at the things I’ve done. And if you can’t stop me then who will?’
‘You can stop yourself.’
Volker laughed. ‘You don’t really know me at all, do you Johann? You always look for the good in people, and I’ve always loved you for that, but there is no goodness in my heart. I used to look for it, questioning why I do the things I do, when I know I’ve caused pain and suffering. I’ve long since stopped looking. There is nothing there to find.’ He relaxed back into his chair and pressed his fingers together in front of him, as if in contemplation. ‘Let me make this easier for you, Johann. I’m going to tell you a story, and then you’re going to shoot me. I promise you will.’
Johann frowned, wondering how Volker could be so sure.
‘There was an adjutant here at Dachau before the war called Max Koegel,’ Volker began. ‘He became a good friend of my father’s, and in turn of mine. When the war began, he was commandant of the concentration camp at Lichtenburg, and then at Ravensbrück. Currently, he’s the commandant of Flossenbürg.’ Volker paused and smiled at Johann. ‘Now you begin to see where my story is going, eh?’
Johann felt his muscles tighten again. He already knew what Volker had arranged for the Bauer family, but he sensed he was about to learn something that Ava’s mother had not told him.
‘I’m telling you this,’ Volker continued, ‘because it’s important for you to understand just how easy it was for me to incarcerate the Bauer family at Flossenbürg. And how easy it was for me to arrange special treatment for them if I so chose.’
‘What kind of special treatment?’
Volker looked very pleased with himself now. ‘Well, since you ask, let me tell you. The first time Ava refused me, I had her father shot.’
Johann’s breath began to quicken. His hand tightened around the grip of his pistol, but he kept it at his side.
‘The second time Ava refused me,’ Volker said. ‘The very last time she turned me away . . .’ He paused, as though teasing Johann. He gave a sigh. ‘I told you there was no good in me, Johann.’
‘What did you do?’ Johann asked through gritted teeth. A part of him did not want to hear the answer, yet he was compelled to know. ‘Tell me!’
Volker sat forward again. ‘The main camp at Flossenbürg is split into male and female sections,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you already knew that. Well, as a special treat for those prisoners who performed certain camp duties, a selection of the prettier looking women were sent into the male camp to satisfy their sexual needs.’
‘Stop!’
‘No, Johann. You have to stop me, remember?’
Johann put his hands to his temples and tried to knock the images Volker had put there from his head.