The Sleepwalkers by Paul Grossman Page B

paper, whose editor had since disappeared, published a most explicit packet of his personal correspondence, and Roehm’s homosexuality became front-page news. Not that he’d ever tried to hide it, but it left the SA commander with a distinct lack of friends in the Nazi brass, according to Fritz’s sources. And now Roehm was as dependent on the Führer as the Führer was on him.
    The man may have given up the army to become a political soldier, but he remained a soldier to the bone, and the moment he spotted the Iron Cross, First Class, on Willi’s chest, he rose. “Herr Inspektor-Detektiv. How excellent you could make it. I hope you’re hungry.”
    “
Nein
. I can only stay a moment.”
    Willi’s attention had by now been drawn to perhaps the most ironic surprise of the evening. Directly next to the SA leader, Roehm’s brutal hand stroking his blond head, sat the chief of the Red Apaches—Kai, sans makeup and gold earring, transformed into a rather sinister-looking Nazi, his normally merry blue eyes sharp and distant now as a wolf’s. So this was his new “position.” Why be surprised? He’d simply graduated from the world of childhood gangs into the big league. Yet there was a real sting of betrayal. Kai liked him. They’d helped each other. More than once. For a second, the eighteen-year-old’s sharp Prussian gaze took him in and, with a secret glow, seemed to say,
Isn’t this ridiculous? Me, a Nazi!
Then he looked away as if he’d never seen Willi in his life.
    Roehm had meanwhile taken Willi’s refusal to sit as well as could be expected.
“Ach so.”
Roehm assumed an amused tolerance. “Let us speak over there then, in the corner.
    “I know of course what this is in reference to, Herr Inspektor-Detektiv,” the SA leader added as they stood face-to-face. He was truly ugly, a good foot shorter than Willi, his face badly scarred from bullet wounds and burns. “And you will have my one hundred percent cooperation.”
    Willi also recalled von Schleicher saying the brute was a man one could do business with. He certainly spoke more like a company executive than the usual shrieking Nazi.
    “When I assumed command of the
Sturmabteilung
”—Roehm folded his arms thoughtfully—“in 1930 . . . we had roughly seventy-seven thousand members. One single year and we tripled our strength. This year we doubled it again. The problems for any organization with such rapid growth are numerous, I assure you. The task of absorbing so many tens of thousands each month, keeping them in line. We’ve had outbreaks of poor discipline; I’ll admit it. We’ve suffered a lack of capable leaders. But I have never tolerated disobedience of any sort, and certainly not criminal activity. Cohesion and discipline are of paramount importance to me. If there is even one rotten apple, it must be purged.”
    Roehm stopped to catch his breath, casting a fierce glance at Willi. “All levels of our Party agree that power in Germany can only be attained legally and with the support of the army. General von . . . that is
Chancellor
von Schleicher has made an urgent request that I offer you my assistance.” Roehm paused. “Of course, I am not fond of Jews.”
    “No less than I am of Nazis, I’m sure.”
    Roehm lifted his battle-scarred chin. “Then I must ask you, Herr Inspektor-Detektiv, what exactly do you need from me in regards to your investigation of General Meckel?”
    “First off, that you ensure the safety of my officers and I as we conduct it.”
    “Natürlich.”
    “We will want to search Meckel’s residence. The SA guards posted there will have to stand down.”
    “Very well. Let me know in advance, and it will be done.”
    “I want every scrap of information you have on Dr. Meckel, including his file from the Charité Hospital archives that went missing.”
    “You shall have it.”
    “And I want Meckel completely in the dark about this.”
    “In the dark he shall be, Herr Inspektor-Detektiv. Completely in