‘No, there was no message.’
Johann couldn’t believe it. He began to doubt then whether this man had found Volker at all. Surely his friend would have something to say to him.
‘Did you speak to him yourself?’
The man’s tone became impatient. ‘As I said, Lagerführer Strobel is a very busy man. Goodbye.’
The call ended and Johann just stared into space for several seconds as he tried to understand the situation. Volker, it seemed, did not wish to talk to him. Another tap-tap at the window snapped him out of his thoughts and he quickly hung up the handset. There was a sarcastic cheer from someone in the queue as he opened the door and left at a pace with his head bowed low, knowing that if anyone so much as saw the youthfulness in his eyes, they might stop him to question why he was not fighting for the Reich in what now seemed to Johann to be its dying days.
Johann continued south along Sonnenstrasse, pedalling as fast as his limited strength would allow before dizziness threatened to overcome him. He slowed down, and he was panting hard as he turned off onto Lindwurmstrasse in the Ludwigsvorstadt district, heading for the borough of Sendling, southwest of the city, where Ava and her parents lived. He had hinged so much hope on the belief that his friend would have at least some answers for him, but now that hope had been dashed. He tried to tell himself that Volker was simply too busy to speak to him—as the person he had spoken to on the telephone had suggested. With the Allied forces pressing in from the west and the Soviet army coming ever closer from the east, he supposed that Volker had far more important matters to attend to. He suspected there was more to it, however, and that troubled him.
Johann’s only idea now was to return to Ava’s home. He thought perhaps a neighbour might have seen or heard something that could prove useful to him in his search. He knew he would be running a great risk as he would have to knock and ask questions at every door without first knowing who would answer, but it was a risk he had to take. The road he was on ran into Sendling, which was essentially a residential quarter. When he reached the end of Lindwurmstrasse, he turned left, heading towards the spire of St Margaret’s church at Margaretenplatz. The area seemed eerily quiet, as though the soul had been stripped from the place in the time since he last saw Ava there.
He passed the church and turned into the road where Ava lived, wondering whose door to knock on first. He could see Ava’s home further down on the right. He rode up to it, thinking to start with the immediate neighbours, but when he pulled up at the kerbside and dismounted the bicycle, he glanced at the house again and noticed that some of the boards were missing. He was sure of it. A week or so ago, when he had called at the house before going to Gilching, the doorway had been fully boarded. Now there were at least four planks missing from the lower section. His hopes lifted when he thought that perhaps Ava and her parents had returned home, but he was equally conscious of the fact that the boards could have been removed by looters.
Johann approached the house with caution and saw the missing boards in a loose pile to the side of the porch. The door was set back and just visible through the gap, enough to see that it was ajar. He ducked his head and passed through, teasing the door further open. Once inside, he was greeted by a stale and musty odour. The air was cold and it was too dark to see much at first, but his eyes quickly adjusted and he knew the place well enough. Ahead of him, a narrow staircase ran up from the entrance hall to the first floor. The family room was on his left and the kitchen and dining areas were straight ahead. He stepped further in and suddenly froze as he heard a rattling sound coming from the family room. The door was open and Johann stepped carefully towards it, until he was standing in the frame.
The sound came again and Johann’s eyes were drawn towards it. This room was partially lit by the gaps in the boards at the window, and in the half-light he saw the silhouette of a man in an overcoat, bent over a cabinet, rummaging for something—valuables, Johann supposed. He despised looters, who preyed on the misfortune of others. He leapt at the man, grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him round, pinning him back against the cabinet.
‘Get out of here!’
Johann drew his fist back ready to hit the man, whom he could now see more clearly. He was an older man, perhaps in his fifties. He looked terrified.
‘Candles!’ the man said. ‘I was looking for candles.’