Self's deception - By Bernhard Schlink & Peter Constantine Page 0,103
to the Collini Center and then past the National Theater and across Werderplatz Square. At six in the morning the streets are empty, and only on the Goethestrasse or the Augusta-Anlage will you find some light traffic. It had not cooled off in the night, and the warm morning augured a hot day. A black cat crossed my path on the Rathenaustrasse. I could use some good luck.
I wrote my report for old Herr Wendt to the extent that I could. Then I faced the last chapter.
I put a call through to the Ministry of Defense and was passed from one department to another until I finally got hold of the official in charge of overseeing the poison-gas depots of the two world wars. He didn't want to say anything and couldn't say anything, but his department, naturally, was interested in anything that would help avert any potential danger and damage. Viernheim? A map from the archives of the Wehrmacht and later the Ministry of Defense? A reward for handing over the map? He would be glad to look into the matter. I wouldn't give him my number, but he gave me his—his private line, his departmental number, and his number at home.
Nägelsbach, too, didn't want to say anything, or couldn't say anything. “You'd like to know how Frau Salger is doing? The preliminary proceedings are under way, and we have been issued strict instructions not to pass on any information to third parties. My inclination to make an exception in your case is minimal, to say the least.” His tone was as sharp as his words. But Nägelsbach was prepared to arrange a meeting with Dr. Franz from the Federal High Court.
So I sat facing them once again in the Heidelberg District Attorney's Office: elegant Dr. Franz, the unavoidable Rawitz, and Bleckmeier with his gloomy glumness—so to speak. Nägelsbach had joined us but did not pull his chair up to the table, as if he were planning a quick getaway, or planning to stop one of us from doing so.
“You wanted to talk to me?” Dr. Franz asked.
“I have a few facts to put on the table, and an offer to make.”
“Oh God!” Rawitz snapped. “Now he wants us to strike a deal with him!”
“I'll begin with the facts, if you don't mind.”
Franz nodded, and I told them of Lemke's postmodern terrorism, of Wendt's and Peschkalek's first meeting years ago, and of their final meeting beneath the autobahn bridge near Wieblingen. I told them of my visit to Peschkalek's place, of Peschkalek's material, and about the map. All in all, I stuck to the truth. Except that I gave them to understand that I had saved the binder and the cassette from the flames.
“Are you saying that Wendt's murderer is lying in the hospital, waiting, so to speak, to be arrested?”
“So to speak. But I didn't say that he murdered Wendt. I find his version of the story entirely credible.”
“Ha!” Rawitz barked.
“And what is the offer that you mentioned?” Franz asked. He was sporting his affable smile again.
I smiled back, letting the tension mount as I let them stew a little. “I shall hold on to Peschkalek's material. I'll keep it under lock and key and will guarantee that it will reach neither the media nor the defense lawyers. You can tell Pesch-kalek and Lemke that it was lost in the fire.”
“I wonder what Dr. Self might want in return,” Rawitz said with a smirk.
“There's something else. I'm prepared to give you the map.”
“Like we're interested in geography!” Rawitz scoffed.
“Not so fast, Herr Rawitz. If it's worth something, it's worth something,” Franz said.
I gave Franz the phone numbers of my contact at the Ministry of Defense, and he sent Bleckmeier to make the calls.
“And what would you like in return?”
“I would like you to release Leonore Salger and drop all charges against her.”
“There we go!” Rawitz said, laughing.
“So that's what you want,” Franz said, nodding. “And what does your client say to this?”
“One of the last things that Herr Wendt's son did was to take care of Leonore Salger. He hid her in the State Psychiatric Hospital and then found her a position in Amorbach. My client feels deeply for what his son was, and for what his son did.”
Rawitz had started laughing again. Franz looked at him, irritated. “Will you furnish us with copies of Peschkalek's material?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don't want you to familiarize yourself with the material and orchestrate something that will defuse it.”