Cold Peace

David stood his ground and insisted, “I wish to speak to Herr Dr Friedebach.”

The “butler” shrugged his big shoulders and his face became harder. “You can wish all you want. That doesn’t mean Herr Dr Friedebach wants to speak with you.”

“I am the sole heir to the last legal owner of this property. He can speak to me now or he can speak to me in court,” David retorted, bluffing only a little. He would take it to court if he had to.

The door to the study swung open and a tall, sleek man with close-cropped black hair emerged. Wireless reading glasses perched part way down a fine aquiline nose that ended over a thin and neatly trimmed moustache more reminiscent of Errol Flynn than Hitler. He was immaculately dressed, right down to the gold cufflinks on his starched white shirt. “What’s going on, Klein?” He spoke sharply, but David detected an Austrian accent .

“This man claims to be the legal owner of your house, Herr Dr Friedebach,” the butler made it sound like a joke.

Friedebach was already looking his visitor up and down critically. David had the uncanny feeling that he even noticed that his face was reconstructed. “And what would your name be?”

“David Goldman.”

“Goldman,” Friedebach repeated the name with a small, contemptuous sneer. David remembered that tone of voice. The teachers had started using it in 1933 and the director of the glider club, too. A shiver crawled up his spine, and he felt his guts start to cramp again. It was irrational perhaps, but he knew Friedebach was a Nazi, a senior Nazi, one of the Nazis who’d been in some way involved in industry. To Friedebach he clarified. “I’m a nephew of Dr Otto Kuczynski, the legal owner of this property until 1942 — when his property was illegally confiscated by the corrupt and criminal Nazi regime. The Four Occupation Powers, in rare agreement, have judged such expropriations illegal, null and void. The Occupation Powers, most especially the Americans, in whose Sector this property lies, specifically recognise the right of the legal owners — or their estate if they are deceased — to claim restoration of any illegally expropriated property. That is what I am hereby doing.” 

Friedebach shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This property was allocated to me by the SMAD in May 1945. If you have any complaints, take it up with them.” 

“The SMAD, as you well know, is no longer in control here in Zehlendorf. The US Military government is.”

“Oh really?”

“You could hardly have failed to notice,” David countered.

“Look, Mr Goldman, I’m a businessman and I mind my own business which is what I advise you to do as well — if you don’t want unpleasant things to happen to you, that is. The Americans…” He shrugged eloquently. “Nice little schoolboys, aren’t they? They agreed to respect all decisions made by the SMAD before they arrived here in Berlin, and they always play by the rules. In any case, they won’t be here much longer. Meanwhile, Mr Goldman,” his lips twisted as he spoke the name in that same contemptuous tone, “I manage three major pharmaceutical factories in Bitterfeld. Innocent children depend on the medicines I produce. No one in East or West is interested in seeing me inconvenienced, much less thrown out of my house. So, take your greedy little Jew-fingers somewhere else.” He turned on his heel and disappeared back into his study, slamming the door in David’s face. His butler took the hint and hustled David out the front door.

David stood on the front porch reproaching himself for bungling the entire confrontation. He didn’t know what he should have done, but obviously not confront the man head-on like this. Of course, from the records, it had not been so obvious that he was dealing with a senior Nazi. Nor did he have a shred of evidence. He simply knew it in his bones. He’d heard rumours about SS generals who were given a new identity by the Soviet Secret Police. Presumably, it was because these high-ranking Nazis were useful to the Soviets in some way. Would an understanding of pharmaceutical production come under that category? And what exactly was covered by the term “pharmaceuticals”? Poisons? Drugs? Biological weapons? David didn’t know, but he also recognised that he was up against something he could not handle on his own. 

He needed help.