‘I read somewhere that Heinrich Himmler was a friend of Volker Strobel’s father,’ Jean said. ‘There can’t have been many German families as well-connected as the Strobels during the war.’
‘What’s that further down?’ Tayte said, pointing to a section about Volker Strobel’s parents. ‘Suicide,’ he added.
Jean scrolled down so they could better see the details.
‘Suicide pills taken as Berlin falls,’ Tayte read aloud. ‘So, given that Volker Strobel vanished after the war, did Trudi Scheffler inherit the Strobel fortunes?’
A moment later, Jean said, ‘No. It says here that the entire estate was seized by the authorities. Trudi Scheffler was left with next to nothing.’
‘Wasn’t Scheffler’s family also well-connected? Surely the marriage of the only Strobel son and heir would have been matched in terms of status and wealth.’
‘Look here,’ Jean said, pointing to a section that wrapped up the information about Volker’s Strobel’s marriage.
‘Her family cut her off,’ Tayte said.
‘She became an embarrassment to them,’ Jean read. ‘She refused to denounce her love for Volker Strobel, and because she kept his name after the war her family wanted nothing more to do with her.’
Tayte and Jean slowly turned to face each other, and Tayte knew they were both thinking the same thing: that a love so obviously blind back then could be just as strong today. It made Tayte think that there was every chance Trudi Strobel née Scheffler knew where her husband was, and that she had perhaps been instrumental in keeping him hidden all these years. Trudi was high on Tayte’s list of people to see, but he and Jean had already tried several times to get an interview before coming to Munich, and every time she had refused to talk to them. He began to think about how they might be able to change her mind when his phone beeped and vibrated in his trouser pocket. He took it out and checked the display.
‘What is it?’ Jean asked.
Tayte read the message. It was short, but it set his pulse racing. ‘There’s an address in an area of Munich called Laim. The message says to be there at nine thirty tonight if I want answers.’
‘It’s late for a meeting. Who’s it from? The Kaufmanns?’
‘I guess so. Or maybe it’s from the insider they told us about at The Friends of the Waffen-SS War Veterans. Maybe he’s got some information for us.’
‘Is there a caller ID?’
‘No, but perhaps that’s understandable if it’s from Kaufmann’s insider.’
‘I saw Laim on the map,’ Jean said. ‘It’s on the other side of Munich. I can’t say I like it, but we’d better hurry if we’re going. We don’t have long to get there.’
Tayte checked his watch. ‘Not long at all,’ he said. ‘And there you are all ready for bed. If Laim’s on the other side of Munich, maybe I should go by myself while you keep digging into Scheffler. We can share information when I get back—if you’re still up.’
‘Oh, I’ll be up,’ Jean said. ‘I’ll be too worried about you to sleep. You will be careful, won’t you?’
‘Of course,’ Tayte said. He scribbled the address he’d been sent onto the hotel-room notepad and tore off the sheet. ‘Here’s where I’m going,’ he added, handing it to her.
Just in case I don’t make it back.
He knew Jean was right to be wary. He was putting a brave face on things so as not to add to her concerns, but the real reason he wanted to go alone was that he didn’t know what he was heading into and he didn’t want to put Jean at risk, too. A big part of him wanted to stay right there with her and continue the research, but he’d be the first to admit that he was too inquisitive for his own good at times. He knew he had to go along with this, if only to find out who had sent him the message and why.
‘You’ll have to get a taxi,’ Jean said as Tayte swung his legs off the bed. ‘That nightcap in the bar will have put you over the driving limit.’
‘I feel fine,’ Tayte said, ‘but sure, I’ll phone down to reception and have them call one for me while I get my things together.’
With that, Tayte made the call, hoping that his text message really was from the Kaufmanns or their insider at the FWK. He recalled pushing his business card through the letterbox when he and Jean had visited the FWK the day before, so they also had his number. The last person he wanted to see when he arrived in Laim was Max Fleischer.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The taxi that had picked Tayte up from the Hilton Munich City hotel twenty-five minutes earlier came to a sudden halt. Looking out of his window Tayte couldn’t see how the driver had brought him to the address he’d given him. There were no buildings to be seen. Just trees and bushes, and a few street lamps lighting a railed walkway that disappeared into the distance over the bridge they had stopped before. Ten feet or so below the road ahead, he could see railway tracks, shining icy blue in the moonlight.
‘Why have we stopped?’ Tayte asked.
The driver, Tayte had quickly learned, didn’t speak much English. Although Tayte had to concede that it was far better than his German.