presentation that she and Müller had fallen in love when he was assigned by Hitler to head up her security. She said she regretted that he was married, but not enough to stop the affair,” Zach said.
Next came the photos of the newborn. Like any new mother, there was no shortage of baby photos. Most were of Ellen holding the infant in her arms, wrapped in blankets. Others featured Müller, the proud papa, holding the child. And not to be outdone, there were a couple of Hitler awkwardly cradling the child to his chest. Seeing the mass-murderer holding an innocent child was both strange and chilling.
The next album centered on Ellen’s time in the United States. Zach found particular interest in a picture of Josef at his wedding in 1959. According to Veronica’s calculations, he would be about twenty at the time. She remembered Ellen stating in the letters that she hoped the marriage would help him get his life together. The ceremony looked to be lavish, and his wife was a Nordic beauty.
Like many of the clues that Ellen had left for them, the pictures were both fascinating and shocking, yet didn’t seem to help them get any closer to the answers they needed. They didn’t even know the aliases of these people in the pictures, so how could they track them down? Veronica thought Ellen could have at least had the courtesy to tag the names.
The photos that followed were the polar opposite of the happy wedding photos—they were from Josef’s funeral. His wife was still beautiful and svelte, but appeared to be about fifteen to twenty years older than at the wedding.
Ellen was dressed in black from veil to shoes. She displayed the same despondent, sad expression that Veronica remembered from Carsten’s memorial service. It was hard to find sympathy for her at this moment, but as a mother, Veronica felt her pain. The thought of losing a child was indescribable—she again fought to block thoughts of her own missing children.
After passing through the sea of sadness, they arrived at happier times. Ellen’s marriage to Harold Peterson, and holding Harry Jr. as a baby, just as she held Josef. No Hitler this time.
The photos kept coming—Harry Jr. and Greta’s wedding, with Greta in a dress that would make Hugh Hefner blush. Veronica studied the happy couple, and wondered again what caused Harry Jr., her children’s grandfather, to change so dramatically, so quickly.
Others included a proud-looking Ellen with her arm around Harry Jr. in his police uniform, upon graduation from the academy. Another of Ellen with her guys, Carsten and Eddie, at a Yankees game—they were maybe ten, eating cotton candy and flashing youthful smiles. The final picture was of Ellen and Maggie together at her room at Sunshine Village, which could have been taken in the last few days or weeks. Circumstances aside, it was a really good photo of the two of them. Getting Maggie in front of a camera, and then to smile, was quite a challenge.
As night drifted toward morning, Zach continued to beat a dead horse, searching every inch of Ellen’s account. He didn’t have any quit in him, she’d give him that.
Veronica got TJ set up in Jamie’s bed. He was acting unaffected, but she could tell he missed his mother. Maggie and Jamie struggled without Carsten, and not to pat herself on the back, but the mother was the comfort—the one who gave the feeling everything would be all right. The hug from her own mother was what was keeping Veronica going tonight.
Tucking the boy in felt right. She needed to feel like a mother again. She was supposed to protect them, but now they were God-knows-where with Eddie and whoever he was working for. Her heart broke once more.
She turned out the lights and wandered into Maggie’s room. It felt so lonely. Maggie normally kept it so neat, but the burglary had left clothes strewn all over the floor and her beloved easel tipped over. Veronica sat on the bed for a moment, feeling an intense exhaustion take over her body. She tried to fight it—she had no time to sleep—but the Sandman proved too strong.
It was still dark when she awoke. Her watch said it was almost four in the morning. She hoped for a dream, but the post-disaster look of Maggie’s room made her scramble to her feet. She didn’t know where to go, or what to do, but she knew she needed to keep moving.