A Man Without Breath (Bernie Gunther Mystery 9) Read Online Free PDF

There were some Hebraic-looking design details on the wall but no sign of the kind of angular, astronomical artwork the Nazis were fond of adding to anything owned or used by Jews. ‘Nice place you’ve got here, Doc.’
    Lustig bowed again, and then glanced ostentatiously at his pocket watch. ‘Yes, yes, but you know, tempis fugit.’
    ‘You have a patient, Franz Meyer, who was brought here on Monday night or perhaps the early hours of Tuesday morning. He’s the key witness in a war-crimes inquiry I’m carrying out for the Wehrmacht. I’d like to see him, if I may.’
    ‘You’re no longer with the police?’
    ‘No sir.’ I handed him my business card.
    ‘Then it seems we have something in common. Whoever would have thought such a thing?’
    ‘Life springs all sorts of surprises on the living.’
    ‘That’s especially true in here, Herr Gunther. Address?’
    ‘Mine, or Herr Meyer’s?’
    ‘Herr Meyer’s, of course.’
    ‘Apartment three, ten Lützowerstrasse, Berlin Charlottenburg.’
    Curtly, Lustig repeated the name and address to the attractive nurse now accompanying him. Immediately and without being told, she went into the office behind the front desk and searched a large filing cabinet for the patient’s notes. Somehow I sensed Lustig was used to always having the first plate at dinner.
    He was already snapping his fat fingers at her. ‘Come on, come on, I haven’t got all day.’
    ‘I can see you’re as busy as ever, Herr Doctor,’ I said as the nurse returned to his side and handed over the file.
    ‘There is some sanctuary in that, at least,’ he murmured, glancing over the notes. ‘Yes, I remember him now, poor fellow. Half his head is missing. How he’s still alive is beyond my medical understanding. He’s been in a coma since he got here. Do you still wish to see him? Perhaps wasting time is an institutional habit in the War Crimes Bureau just as much as it was in Kripo?’
    ‘You know, I’d like to see him. I just want to check he’s not as scared of you as she is, doc.’ I smiled at his nurse. In my experience nurses – even the pretty ones – are always worth a smile.
    ‘Very well.’ Lustig uttered a weary sigh that was part groan and walked quickly along the corridor. ‘Come along, Herr Gunther,’ he yelled, ‘you must pursue me, you must pursue me. We need to hurry if we are to find Herr Meyer capable of uttering the one all-important word that may provide the vital assistance for your inquiry. Evidently my own word counts for very little these days.’
    A few seconds later we met a man with a largish scar under his ill-tempered mouth that looked like a third lip.
    ‘And this is why that is,’ added the doctor. ‘Criminal Commissar Dobberke. Dobberke is head of the Gestapo office in this hospital. A very important position that ensures our enduring safety and loyal service to the elected government.’
    Lustig handed the Gestapo man my card.
    ‘Dobberke, this is Herr Gunther, formerly of the Alex and now with the Bureau of War Crimes in the Wehrmacht’s legaldepartment. He wishes to see if one of our patients is capable of providing the vital testimony that will change the course of military jurisprudence.’
    Quickly I walked after Lustig; so did Dobberke. After several days in bed, I figured such violent exercise could only do me good.
    We went into a ward full of men in various states of ill health. It hardly seemed necessary, but all of these patients wore a yellow star on their pyjamas and dressing gowns. They looked undernourished, but that was hardly unusual by Berlin standards. There wasn’t one of us in the city – Jew or German – who couldn’t have used a square meal. Some were smoking, some were talking, and some were playing chess. None of them paid us much regard.
    Meyer was behind a screen, in the last bed under a tall window with a view of a fine lawn and a circular ornamental pond. Not that he seemed likely to avail himself of the view: his