‘The Killing of Gentle People’

Edited by Alan Hughes

Written by Michel Henri.


All articles by Michel Henri are copyright ©Michel Henri and should not be reproduced without the author's prior written consent.
 
michelhenri@hotmail.com

Telephone: 01384 372233. Mobile: 07952 219018


Michel Henri


Short Stories:

The Penny Whistle. 2.857.
Who Dares Wins. 794.
The Devils Advocate. 10.290.
Abducted by Fairies. 10.789.

Novels:

The Killing of Gentle People. 25.000
The Killing of Gentle People: Film Script.
The Chronicles are Lies. 16.266.
Across the Line to Atlantis. 23.355.
The Bird with no Wings. 23.230.
The Story and the Secret. 94.391.

Musical Play:

Our Wicked Art Club. 10.300.

Comedy Play:

The Death of the Duchess of Grassmere 19.500.

Free Verse Poems


All articles by Michel Henri are copyright ©Michel Henri and should not be reproduced without the author's prior written consent.


To

Bluntly


Follow


Orders


Without


Due


Diligence


Makes


Monsters


Quote:


I came into this world as a child.

I live as a child.

l have the thoughts of a child.

l will die as a child.

WHY?

Because the examples living grownups set for me as a child,

With the exception of my dearest uncle!

Were just too horrendous for me to learn anything good from.

Uncle and l were happy playing as children.

Then my Son arrived and the three of us

were happy to play as children.


Michel Henri
 


‘The Killing of Gentle People’

“Must not become a Distant Memory”


CAST


Abraham Golden


Chief Inspector Victor Mercedes


Sergeant Becky Gold


Constable Maria Reagan

Gustav Droysen

Heinz Stein
Petra Schilling
Café Waitress
Helga Krolle

Assorted German Soldiers and SS Guards


Locations

Auschwitz-Birkenau Death Camp

Berlin Police Headquarters

The Dumb Cow Wine Bar

Greasy Spoon Cafe

The Central Library


The Killing of Gentle People


All articles by Michel Henri are copyright ©Michel Henri and should not be reproduced without the author's prior written consent.


Forward:


Abraham Golden attempts to come to terms with his experiences of the Holocaust.


This is neither a Holocaust chronicle nor a motion picture.

This is a narrative of one man’s personal struggle within himself, a fight for moral ethics, a battle of

the virtuous over the sinful.

But Abraham Golden has to ask himself: does he get it right?


This emotional journey attempts to explain the bitter-sweet voyage Abraham Golden takes,

and the conclusion of his life which mysterious circumstances have chosen for him.


The narrative begins within an old train carriage, from which his dear mother, father and little sister,

are brutally thrown and gassed to death before his eyes in a space full of naked strangers.


Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp was liberated by the allied troops in 1944.

At that moment in time everything Abraham Golden was planning for retribution got underway,

and the ‘The Killing of Gentle People’ started its distressing journey.


Only after reading this story does the author allow the readers their own personal moral evaluation.


Please take Abraham Golden’s journey yourself….


Introduction: May 1940.


Our stinking contaminated and over-crowded train carriage at last arrived at its destination, the

monster podium ‘The Ramp’


I have to ask you a question or two:

“Have you ever heard of ‘The Ramp’?
“Do you know what ‘The Ramp’ is, or where it is”?
Have you any idea why people of a certain age and piety have arctic shivers
just at the thought of it?
And why it conjures up such drastically negative emotions for the people
who were touched by its very existence?

Our journey was full of people, silence, and the stink of death; of hushed whispered words uttered

by children to their parents, and of the last breath and sighs echoing from the throats of the old

struggling to survive but failing and slowly sinking to their knees, finally to collapse face down

into the human faeces which covered the floor of the carriage.


We could not and would not want to imagine a journey of such degradation and hopelessness.

However, some persons without choice had to endure this and much more: good, gentle people.


Some did survive to reach their destination, a destination which offered for the fortunate a quick

death and a cremation.


For the others there was a short tortured future, and an insight into the Devil’s design for a

living hell on earth.


The Ramp
Concentration camp prisoners built ‘The Ramp’, for the Nazis. It was a special welcoming place to unload the death trains, giving the travellers a false sense of security.

These trains were overflowing with gentle people; mothers and fathers with their children, who knew not what was to befall them after they fell or were physically thrown from the carriages and onto the ground; the ground under their feet was the dreaded ‘Ramp.’

The children of the camp chosen by hard-case guards to die of hard labour and not to be gassed with their parents had built the wicked archway the train rumbled under in order to arrive at
‘The Ramp’.
Most children who died building the archway were left to rot where they fell. Others had their tender young bodies dug into the brick work of ‘The Ramp’ itself; so becoming a monument not just to their fortitude, but at the same time becoming part of an iconic picture of depravity and evil.

The living dead on the trains would not be aware of what has now become one of the most photographed of all Nazi memorabilia. But the moment the trains stopped at ‘The Ramp’ now that was different, as their cargo of human cattle was about to learn.

Should you know nothing of ‘The Ramp’ l feel sorry for you! Please look into your history books or your computer search engines, then inwardly digest what you find to read.
If you do know about it and you experienced it, my humble verbal skills will not be able to express my personal grief and outrage at the most malicious of the Devil’s work.

The world and its entire populace should hang their heads in shame at the very thought that a catastrophe like the Holocaust could ever have been contemplated.
The world said: “Never Again” Six Million Times too Late.

Death Train to Auschwitz
The old wooden railway carriages used for taking cattle to the slaughterhouses were now taking different forms of cattle to a different kind of slaughterhouse.
My mother, father, little sister, and I, along with many other families travelled like sardines stuffed into the carriage, with no room to move, no food to eat and no water to drink. We travelled hour after hour, day after day, to our unknown destination.
Sometimes sympathizers would whisper our destination to us as the train stopped briefly at railway crossings. At this moment, they would throw bits of bread into the carriages and try to pass water to us, but some were shot dead for their kindness by the SS guards at the crossings.
Other people were not so kind. They must have been anti-Semitic, as these people were happy to shout out:
“You are going to ‘The Ramp’ at the Auschwitz death camp! You will never return! It’s a one way trip to die, you dirty Jewish bastards!”
They would urinate and spit through the small gaps in the wooden carriage.
For the entire journey of five days and five nights my father, with new-found strength, carried me high above the bodies of our friends who had died. In order to get air to breath we had to stand on each other, so dear father held me high in order that l could breathe what air there was. They were crushed to death by the rest of us because the carriage was over-flowing.
Mother did the same for my little sister in order to keep her away from the dead bodies and the human faeces, which was thick on the floor.
My little sister died in my mother’s arms, the good Lord taking her his own way without my mother knowing she had flown away to Heaven.
At last the train stopped sharply with its banging and hissing, as though announcing its arrival for
all to hear. The suddenness with which it came to a halt sent us all falling and clutching at the
wooden carriage walls with our blooded fingers.
We had arrived at the menacing Auschwitz-Birkenau ‘Ramp.’


The carriage doors were immediately unlocked and most of the travellers fell
out onto the ground, along with the dead and dying.
I can still see my dear father catching my lovely mother in his arms in order to break her fall, so she would not get hurt any more. But her weight, with my little sister’s dead body in her arms, sent father falling to the ground.
An evil guard in black leather thrusted his rifle barrel between them, breaking their bodies apart.
Then he kicked, punched and pushed my mother and father into the moving lines of gentle Jewish
families, leaving my little sister’s lifeless body lying on the cold hard ground where she fell.
The victorious ‘Ramp’ had taken yet another innocent soul. A compassionate guard picked
up my little sister’s body by one arm and pushed her into my mother’s chest without thought or
concern, shouting out loud: “Life is a bonus.”
A youngish SS Nazi officer, again dressed in black leather and wielding a leather bullwhip, shouted
and pointed at the families. Then, without hesitation and with a smirk on his face, he shouted hard
and loud, laying his leather bullwhip on the heads, necks and shoulders of the elderly who were
confused as he directed them:
“Left, left, left; right; left, left, left; right, right.”
Everyone in the line of death walked submissively in the direction the guard ordered them, without question or thought as to what would be the outcome of this gruesome walk.
This was the line of death, and my mother, father, and l were getting nearing to the front of the line where we would take our turn in the gamble of life.
One of the guards punched me with great force to my head; this punch sent me crashing into the muddy ground. I landed at the feet of the guard in black leather, who was the main dealer in this life-or-death sport.
“You little Jewish bastard!” he shouted:
“Stay down there in the filthy mud where you belong and don’t move! That’s where all you Jewish bastards should be!”


The big guard laughed, then stomped his muddy leather jackboot onto my neck, holding my face down into the mud while he continued his work. He shouted and hit out with his riding stick, hitting everyone, especially the old and infirm.
At the same time, the monster continued his commands:
“Right; left, left, left; right; left, left; right.”
I didn’t know at that point what going ‘left’ meant. It was something I soon heard more frequently, and quickly grew to understand it meant immediate death in the gas chambers. To go ‘right’ also meant death, but these gentle souls would die of hard labour, starvation and disease. Or maybe just by being kicked to death, as this was one of the guard’s favourite games, especially when boredom of the death camp routine set in and they wanted some fun.
Looking up for my parents amongst the rows of the walking dead, l could see no sight of them. They had gone, disappeared. Which way, l did not know. I was not terrified. My young senses had gone past that point. But my body was shaking and the mud and stinking water in my mouth was making me vomit. No, l was not terrified. But l wanted my mother and father so badly that tears would not stop falling from my eyes. But l was not crying; l just would not cry.
“So, little Jewish bastard! What shall l do with you then? Maybe l will give you to the dogs to play with! But with your pretty Jewish face some of the guards would like you as their play thing. That would make them happy!”
Then the guard took his big jackboot from my neck and kicked me in the chest with the intention of injuring me. Bending down, he shouted out:
“Get up, scabby Jew-boy, and follow me! Get up now!”
I reluctantly did as he ordered me and followed the dealer in the death game. As l stumbled forward in his long black shadow, l shouted:
“My name is Abraham Golden and l want my mother and father! I want them! What have you done to them? I want to see them, now!”
I punched him repeatedly in his back with my little fists, still shouting, and then kicking out with my legs and feet.

“Where are they, my mother and father? I want to see them now!”
The monster in black leather suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned to face me, his eyes and his mouth twisted with pure evil.
“You little parasite! You really want to see your dirty Jewish mommy and daddy, do you? You really want to see them now?”
“Yes!” l shouted, still hitting out and kicking.
“Then you shall, little Jew boy! You most certainly shall!”
He laughed aloud as he picked me up and carried me under his big arm as if l was a rag doll, and took me to a nearby building.
There he lifted me up high and shouted:
“Take a look, Jew-boy! Look through the window!”
The small dirty window had bars and electric wire around it.
“Look then, you Jew-boy! Look closely and you will see your filthy parents being gassed. Then they will be off to hell fire!”
I held onto the window ledge with my blooded fingers, my eyes searching for my mother and father. I scanned the white tiled room full of naked men women and children. At last l saw her. “Mother! Mother!” l shouted. I banged on the small barred window, cutting my hands further on the wicked wire. Mother was naked and standing close to my naked father, who was holding her tightly to his body and stroking her hair. Mother was still holding my already dead little sister, stroking her cold white face.
They were both crying and swaying from side to side as the gas took hold of them.
Other people around mother and father were screaming and slowly falling onto the filthy floor. Some lay still. Others were twitching, and moving until the good Lord took them to his heart. Mother and father, still holding each other close and with my sister held between them, finally fell down and lay still in the pile of dead bodies and human excretion.
At that moment the monster pulled my hands from the window and dropped me onto the stinking muddy ground.

The monster leaned down, covering me in his black shadow and shouted loud into my ear:
“Happy now, you little Jewish bastard?”
I covered my head for fear of his jackboot. Then l vowed, even as a twelve year old child, that one day retribution would be mine.
These animals would pay dearly for what they had done to my family and the actions they had taken against these gentle people!.
What my future was to be l had no idea as l was only twelve years old. Would l live or would l die? I had no idea. But l knew in my heart that this would be the commencement of my existence.

“Retribution” was the last word l heard daddy cry out to the Rabbi, before
the Nazi guards dragged us away from our home and threw us onto the train.
The horrendous train, which was to transport us to “The Ramp” at the Auschwitz-Birkenau
death camp in Poland.
But at that time, as a child of twelve, brought up in a loving and happy family, l had no idea
what retribution really meant, or what it was related to.
The SS guard threw me into a small room near to the gas chamber.
I heard the turning of the lock after the door was slammed shut.
It was black. It was dark. And the smell of the stale air that filled the room made me heave and gag. The sound of lamentation and sobbing from the gas chamber seeped through the walls into this place l was thrown into.
I sat in the room exactly where the guard had thrown me for fear of the
dark and for what else might be in the room. I heard someone cry.
“Hello!” l whispered softly. “Is someone there?” No one answered, but l knew somebody was there.
I whispered softly once more:
“My name is Abraham Golden. I’m new here”
Still there was no answer, but l heard a yet another whimper. So I tried once more.


“Hello! Is someone there? Please answer me! I’m so frightened!”
“Yes, I’m here. My name is Heinz Stein. I’m new here as well, and I’m scared! Can you come
towards me? Follow my voice?”
Doing as I was asked, I moved towards the voice. This was my first meeting with Heinz Stein.
Heinz was also twelve years old, and, like me had just been parted from his family
at the monstrous “Ramp”.
We did not talk to each other. We just knew that we were the same. So we sat holding each other for comfort in the dark, and cried.
The door was kicked open and a blinding light was switched on. This was the first time l saw the
face of the boy who, putting his own life at risk, would save my life many times over.
For the next three years Heinz and l became saviours of each other in this Auschwitz-Birkenau
dead end death camp.
The room we had been deposited in meant nothing to either of us. How long it was to be our
Punishment room l cannot remember. But the punishment lasted longer than grown up people could
have withstood. It would be impossible for me to detail all the happenings. Suffice to say they were
horrible, painful and included castration; terrors l dare not think about now.
Later we found out that this place was the storeroom for the camp doctor known as Dr. Death,
Dr. Jose Mengele.

Police Headquarters. Berlin, Germany. 1980.
Both the German Police and Interpol had been working on a series of bizarre
crimes which seemed at the time to be unsolvable.
Over a period of fifteen years a serial killer or killers had taken out a large
number of people. Both male and females had been shot, and then left on
the ground where they fell.
So far, the Police or Interpol had not found any linking evidence other than that
they were all one-shot killings. More important, no motive for the killings

had yet to show its evil face.
None of the victims, male or female, had been subject to sexual attacks. All had been killed by just
one clean small-calibre bullet hole to the heart area or to the head. The possible weapon was
thought to be a German Luger with a potable silencer.
This case was going nowhere. The killings had take place in Strasburg, Bremen, Danzig, Dresden,
and Berlin. In fact all over Germany. And then there had also been number in Austria,
Switzerland, and Poland.
The judiciary had assigned several top class police inspectors to the job of investigation principal,
but no one was able to break into the case.
Chief Inspector Victor Mercedes, who was now in charge of the clean-up operation, decided to code
the problematical massacre as ‘The Killing of Gentle People.’
The Inspector named it such because there was no evidence other than that all the victims had been
ordinary gentle German residents who had been going about their every-day business when their
lives were swiftly taken away.
Chief Inspector Mercedes had been transferred five years earlier to his beloved Criminal Police
Department. This department was responsible for the country’s more serious criminal cases, and as
such this case, ‘The Killing of Gentle People’, was the most serious one ever to take place in
Germany since the Second World War.
The Government of the day recommended Inspector Mercedes to head the extensive investigation team. The Inspector not only had the experience and the reputation of being a great criminologist. During the war he had top secret clearances, and friends who had not since been arrested for crimes against humanity. He still had the ears of people in the highest places.
Unfortunately his team of two hundred inspectors and extra constables was getting a negative response to all the investigations they had undertaken.
The costs of the investigations were now sky-high and way over budget.
The authorities were getting irritated, and losing patience with Inspector Mercedes, and were now demanding his resignation.

The SS Commandant
It was a little known fact that Inspector Mercedes was indeed an SS Commandant during the Holocaust. He lived and worked at the dreaded Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp.
Mercedes was never charged with anything as his documents and orders mysteriously disappeared before the camp was liberated in1945.
When the Allied Forces entered the Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp Mercedes was nowhere to be found. Then, in all the confusion, he was conveniently forgotten about. This happened to quite a number of SS monsters from the death camps, but not all of them got away with their carnage.
SS Commander Mercedes was very careful not to be photographed or witnessed getting involved in his pleasure activities, which were the most heinous of crimes against the most fragile and innocent of peoples.
The SS Commander had a job in the death camp: he was responsible for organizing the collections of all Jewish gold, silver, art, and, best of all, hard cash.
All Jewish families were forced into the de-clothing rooms before entering the showering (gas) chambers, and it was at this point that all their cash, jewellery and gold, secreted into their clothing for safekeeping, was stolen.
SS Commandant Mercedes had all the stolen money and gold delivered to his office by his private Jewish slaves, Heinz Stein and me, Abraham Golden. We were charged by Commandant Mercedes to conceal the cash from the other SS guards who would come looking for it. If they found any we would be kicked and beaten by our Commandant. If the guards did not find any then we would get a beating from them.
Our job was to count and bag the cash before letting it be delivered to the secret Nazi banking accounts in Switzerland.
The gold and silver trinkets were sold inexpensively to the SS guards as a sweetener, in case of problems which SS Commandant Mercedes thought he might encounter in the future.

It was trouble-free for the Commandant, with help from Heinz and myself to feather his own nest.
He accomplished this very well, as we were both terrified of his mad rages and his beatings.
All the Jewish slaves who worked for him as money clerks would just disappear one by one, thus assuring him of his privacy to do what he wanted with his ill-gotten gains.
Only Heinz and myself stayed alive, working in that money office.
We worked as a team, taking care of each other, sharing our stolen food and water, and protecting each other as best we could from our viscous and drunken Commandant.
We very rarely left that office.
We had dug out part of the floor in a corner and made it into our sanctuary. We both fitted into it perfectly. It was just behind a counting table which when laden with the stolen jewellery was very heavy and a no-go area, so no-one touched it.

1945: Liberation
In 1945 the Allied Forces entered the death camp and released us.
The Doctors cared for us and tried their best to make us healthier. But by that time we were psychologically destroyed, and physically we had become old men with no future but with a mind full of grim memories.
Inspector Victor Mercedes, as he was now known, was a strong man, over six feet tall. In his hometown his neighbours thought of him as a gentle giant and a good family man.
The local people there had no knowledge of what had transpired in the Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp in Poland, or that he had been a high SS Commandant.
His wife died after the birth of his last daughter, and as a family they were very close and kept their secrets of the war close to their chests. This was very important for two reasons. One, avoiding the authorities when the death camp was liberated; two, because the gentle giant could instantly turn into the malicious psychopathic individual he really was.
Inspector Victor Mercedes work on the case ‘The Killing of Gentle People’ had lasted over five years with little or no success, and had opened up the anger hidden inside the mind of this

psychopathic monster. At the same time as he felt growing frustration at seeing his expert reputation was going down the drain, both the politicians and the public were asking for his resignation.
This situation unleashed closeted inner anti-Semitic traits which he found very hard to cover up.
As an addition to his own specialist team, Inspector Mercedes had the forensic force of Interpol to

call on for help. But still the ‘Killing of Gentle People’ case was going nowhere.

At his best, he would just give a lecture to a captive audience of anyone who would listen saying:

“How do you think this criminal disaster impacts on the rest of the world? This is a bad moment for the glorious German nation. All people think about in this modern age are things they can touch and see. What they need to do is to take a good look inside themselves.”
Sergeant Becky Gold just stared into space, as she had heard this rhetoric before many times,
and knew every word.
“I’m stuck with this bloody case and I’m getting nowhere, do you hear me? I said, do you hear me,
Sergeant? Just nowhere! Adolph Hitler, our glorious Fuehrer brought the people death, pain, and
destruction but they loved him for it. He would have sorted this out in no time at all. Heaven
knows how long l can take this situation. Do you know that the city of Berlin; gave the Jewish
people sanctuary, and it was filled with them. I am Chief Inspector Victor Mercedes. Do you hear
me, Sergeant? Chief Inspector Victor Mercedes! I am theoretically the very best person for this
kind of assignment. Yet fifty-seven people have been murdered in and around Germany. This is
now fifty-eight! All have been shot, then left where they fell. Not one bloody clue! Sergeant Gold:
are you listening to what l am saying! Do you hear me!”
Turning away from the Sergeant and mumbling to himself, he said:
“Gold! That’s a good name, they tell me. Well, I will be fine when l have drunk myself to sleep
tonight! Yes I’ll be fine! Sergeant, do you care?”
This rhetoric and rambling went on and on.


At his worst the Inspector would pick on anyone arrested who was found to be Jewish, and that
went for his own police staff as well.
Three hundred officers had been dispersed into the killing areas with instructions directly from
The Inspector to use any force necessary, then to follow up any shred of information they obtained
from informants.
All investigators had to report to Police head-quarters immediately if any linking evidence were
found, however small that evidence should be.
Inspectors Mercedes had his office at Police head quarters fitted out in dark oak panels. His staff
said it matched his personality.
The centre point was a large hand-carved table standing right in the middle of the large room.
Rumour had it that the table was worth a small fortune and originally belonged to Wagner,
Hitler’s favourite composer.
A wealthy Jewish family purchased the table from Wagner family before the atrocities started
during the Holocaust. In1940 some families were robbed of all their wealth and then murdered
by the Nazis. This beautiful table just disappeared, only to turn up years later in the Inspector’s
office.
Inspector Mercedes never sat at the magnificent table. When asked why not he always
laughed, saying:
“It was one of the spoils of war!”.
He preferred to work on a smaller desk at the side of the dark panelled room by the large double
glazed window.
The light from the large window lit up the dark panels of the room.
This seemed to have a soporific effect on the Inspector which calmed him down. He also left his
office door open so he could see and hear everything that was going on in the outer duty room,
helping him to keep tabs on his officers and on any visitors to the police station.
Inspector Mercedes shouted for his Sergeant, who had walked out of the office during his
customary rhetoric.

“Sergeant Becky Gold! I need you in here now, quickly!” He waited a moment,
then shouted again at the top of his voice:
“I said, now, for Gods sake! Not next week! Can you hear me, Sergeant Gold?”.
Sergeant Gold walked quickly into the office and over to the desk by the window with an
noticeably businesslike approach. She was carrying a folder of new information on the case.
Sergeant Becky Gold herself was a stunning woman with long dark red hair, full red lips and
the perfect cheekbones. She stood at a height of five feet seven, her body slim and athletic, her
breasts large. All this made her an object of lust and lewd comments amongst some of her fellow
officers, and the Inspector’s disrespect and lechery was at the forefront.
“So sorry, Inspector! But we’ve just received details of another killing with the same MO as the
killing of gentle people.”
The Inspector put his big hands over his face, then stood up at his full height of over six feet five.
He was a big towering man. His face had suddenly turned bright red as if he had been drinking or
was having a heart attack.
“What in a pigs’ bladder is happening in our glorious Germany; Sergeant Gold? Can you explain it
to me?” He paused for a moment, keeping his eyes on Sergeant Gold’s ample breasts.
“No, you can’t! You are just a tart and should be having babies, washing up and looking after a
man. Look, we have Islamic terrorists bombing and killing their own people all around the world.
You Jewish people and the Arabs are still fighting, and here we have some mad person or persons
or even terrorists killing our gentle German people. Sergeant: l ask you once again, what the
bloody hell is going on? With your stupid university degree can you explain it to me?”
“No sir! But for you information my degree was a First with Honours. And this may be the lead we
have been looking for!”.
“Ok, clever Sergeant Gold! Sit down and talk, just you and me!”
Immediately doing as she was told, Sergeant Gold sat down and put her hands in her lap over the files, in a submissive position.
“Coffee, and make it quick!” shouted the Inspector.

Fumbling with her files Sergeant Gold went to get up from the seat.
“Not you, damn it Becky! Surely they can get the bloody coffee. Now what did you say this lead
was all about? Explain it to me! Come on, get on with it!”
“Well, we have just had word that a woman has been shot outside her home. Her name is Helga
Krolle. She was thirty five years old. The duty officers think that you may know the name Krolle.”
The Inspector, looking puzzled, repeated the name:
“Helga Krolle! No, l don’t think so, Sergeant. Why would they think l would?”
“Maybe the name Josef Krolle, sir?” The Sergeant waited for the answer.
“No, l just said no! How many bloody times do l have to say it to you? l am told women have as
many brain cells as men. NO, NO, NO is what l said and NO is what l meant! Got it now,
Sergeant Gold?”
Sergeant Gold stayed quite for a few moments, then in a passive tone said:
“Or SS Officer Josef Krolle and the Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp. Does that mean anything
to you, sir?”
The Inspector moved over to the big table, banging his fist hard on the edge, then began shouting
out once more “Coffee! Damn you lot to hell, l ordered coffee, a year ago!”
Turning sharply, and with a viscous whisper he looked into the Sergeant’s eyes like a cobra about
to strike. “Damn it! You too, Sergeant Becky Gold! I know what you are suggesting! So get to the
bloody point! Do not pussy foot around with me. Say it as it is! The myth is everything, but its
nothing! Nothing! Do you hear me this time?”
The Sergeant calmly poised herself and replied: “Well, sir, we have been checking all the dead victim’s families, as you said, in order to ascertain if there is a link from that angle. You know,
if anyone shot had a family member working at that death camp. Well, it would seem that there is.” She briefly paused then asked:
“Are you ready for this, sir?”
The Inspector sat down at the small desk staring out of the window, knowing inside himself that all
was not well and that he himself had opened up a bag of worms. The past was about to come to the

front and play a distinctive part in his future.
“All the parents of those who have been shot were working in the world war two death camps,
mainly Auschwitz-Birkenau in Poland. All their fathers or mothers were SS officers or guards and
were responsible for….”
“Ok! Stop right there, Sergeant! Don’t go any further with your assumptions.”
The Inspector leaned over to his Sergeant, their faces inches apart; She could smell his bad breath
and see the stains on his crooked teeth.
“You know bloody well that l was an SS Commandant. Well, l wasn’t responsible for the things
that happened in that place. No SS officer was responsible. Understand me? We were just obeying
orders. Do you hear me? Just obeying orders. What you are suggesting, Sergeant Gold?”
Before she could respond to the question the Inspector continued:
“Well, it’s just not possible. We were all just obeying orders and doing our duty for the
Fuhrer and the great German people. Obeying orders, that’s all!”
The Inspector walked back to his chair in the window, leaned back heavily
in the chair, staring once again into the space outside the window.
Sergeant Gold sat very still and stayed quiet. Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door.
“Come in, damn you!” shouted the agitated Inspector.
A nervous officer gently laid a cup of coffee in front of his inspector.
“Thank God! Coffees at last! Now get out!”
The officer did as he was ordered then slammed the door with a bang.
“Damn him to hell and back” shouted the Inspector.
“That bastard always slams the blasted door shut when he knows l want it left open. Everyone
knows l, want, the, door, left, open!”
“Sir!” interrupted the Sergeant:
“Apparently this Josef Krolle was in charge of all the Zyklon-B cyanide gas used in the
Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp. It’s his daughter Helga who has been shot. It can’t be a


coincidence that for the last seven victims we checked, all their fathers worked at the camp. We are
now checking the details of all the other victims.”
“Well, get on with it then, Sergeant GOLD. That is if you want to stay a Sergeant!”
“Sir, l think this is the link we have been looking for. Anyway, at the moment it’s all we have to
work on.”
“Ok, Sergeant. Go with the munchkins and check this last killing. But l think you are barking up the
wrong tree. Finish your coffee outside, then go to the crime scene and take a team with you. I want
everything in a report on my desk first thing in the morning.”
“Yes sir!”
Sergeant Becky Gold sarcastically saluted on the way out of the office.

The Library. 1985.
I was leaving my dear old friend Heinz Stein, who had become the head librarian at the main
library, with a piece of crumpled paper in my damaged and shaking hand. I walked slowly down the steep concrete steps, stopping for a moment on the last step. I wondered which was the more broken, the steps or my old physically abused body. I looked back up the steps to the large double
doors of the library, then back to the small piece of paper in my shaking hand.
I crumpled the paper up and pushed it into my overcoat pocket. As l did so my mind rushed to my
childhood. At that moment tears developed and fell freely from my eyes down my wrinkled face.
I dried my eyes with the cuff of my coat, then turned my back on the library and started to walk.
After walking for about five minutes down the wide boulevard my body aches were absent and l
was feeling a little better. There, at the side of the boulevard, was a very rough looking wine bar
with a large broken sign hanging from the window. Written on the sign was the name ‘The Dumb
Cow’, l thought to myself: “that will do nicely” and entered its flaking doors.

The Dumb Cow

Well, the wine bar did not let me down. It was not only rough; it was also empty. I ordered a


large brandy from the old woman behind the bar.

“I’m only the cleaner, dear” she said smiling with no teeth.
“The barmaid will be back in a few minutes.”
But the old lady did serve me, taking the my money and placing it on the wooden bar top.
Picking up my glass, l shuffled over to a table in the window and then sat down, gazing out onto the wide boulevard.
Without thinking about it l took a sip of the brandy, which warmed up my body parts. My mind was so full of deep-rooted memories, memories l wanted so badly cleaned from my mind; but my consciousness would not allow that. It was all over the place This made my head thump with pain, and my hands started to tremble.
Thoughts came of dear mother, who was always there for me, and my father, who taught me to ride my bike. Their horrible deaths and the white shower room were always in my mind, never leaving me any freedom from discord or hurt. The death train, the camp, the pain, the filth and the extreme stench. Yes, it happened all those years ago, but for me it was right now.
I was haunted by it all, and the smell of death was still overflowing in my nostrils.
My eyes once again filled with tears. I had no power over their flow. My frail body shuddered, and
l kept asking myself:
“Just how long can l go on carrying this cross?”
All the terrible things l had to contend with in order to survive and stay alive at the death camp
had taken away my heart and soul, and had left me this bitter and broken old man.
Maybe l should have given in to the situation and just died. But my dear friend Heinz, my rock,
my saviour, would not allow that!
Looking around the bar, l could see it was a typical German wine bar with all the paraphernalia of drinking, dancing, and music on the walls. It was not that clean. But that did not matter to me, as l had experienced a rotting hell in the death camp. So this place was like a peaceful haven to me, and l must say l liked it.
In its lifetime this room had experienced happiness and laughter. People would have fallen in love

to the music played and the wine taken. Wonderful!
Along with sipping from the glass of brandy l moved the liquid around my mouth, my senses absorbing its full flavour, before letting it run its own way down my throat to warm the whole of my body.
Taking the piece of crumpled paper out of my overcoat pocket, l placed it on the table and just stared at the names and addresses before me. Tears came to my eyes again as l continued to stare at those names and addresses and the other information my dear friend Heinz Stein had secured for me from the Central Library. With his position as the head of the library, Heinz was able to obtain and then give to me the information l needed in order to deliver my promise of retribution.
The Government department dealing with war crimes had lodged all its top secret information there. Then the old Nazi officials who were responsible conveniently forgot about it.
Heinz Stein and l had worked together in the money exchange office as Jewish slaves to the brutal SS Commandant in charge.
I remember the very moment that we made the death pact to look after each other in order to
survive; Heinz pulled a scab off his hand and then made it bleed and l then did the same. We put our hands together, letting the blood exchange and so became blood brothers. Then we vowed that we would continue our friendship until retribution was ours or death took us to a better place.
I fingered the paper with uneasiness, and my shaking hand moved it closer.
I clenched my hand into a fist and banged it onto the paper in order to stop it in its tracks. Did l really want to do this? Then my fist pushed it, moving the name and addresses away from me and out of my reach.

Retribution:
I read the first name:
Krolle. Josef: SS Officer: Auschwitz-Birkenau Camp: Top Secret: Commandant in Charge: Distribution of ‘Zyklon-B Cylinders
It also told me of two children; a woman now 35 years old and a man now 40 years old. Both had

two children. I ran my fingers over the details and looked closely at the piece of paper.
I shuddered but knew what l had to do.
“Are you alright, sir?” asked a voice from the direction of the bar. Turning l saw a woman who l assumed was the barmaid.
“You look pale! Are you ill or something?”
“No, madam. I’m fine! But thank you for your concern” l answered.
“Well you don’t look too good to me. If you need anything just let me know; l will be happy to help. Can you hear what l am saying, sir?”
I nodded my head in answer, and she walked into the room at the back of the bar. Then l turned my attention back to the words on the paper.
Not only was Josef Krolle in charge of the killing gas; he also participated in the guards’ private sport of kicking prisoners to death and making wagers on which prisoner would last the longest.
Unfortunately Krolle had died a natural death, escaping the authorities when the Allied liberated the death camp.
This man Krolle had not felt heartbreak or pain. So his family would now have to pay the price for his atrocious activities. I had promised retribution, and gave my word when l saw my dear parents gassed in the death camp.
My Retribution would continue. If not against the accused monsters then it would have to be against their children or even their grand children. They will have to experience the misery and hurt that their parents happily delivered to millions of gentle Jewish people without qualms or repentance.
Drying my eyes, l took out the much-used pin from my coat lapel, closed my eyes and stabbed the pin into the piece of paper on the table. It penetrated the name of Josef Krolle’s daughter, Helga. In a tearful voice and without thinking l shouted out: “So be it!”
The barmaid heard my shout and quickly walked over to me with a quizzical look.
“It’s ok, madam!” l tried my best to reassure her:
“Just just an old man talking to himself. That’s all. No problem!”
“I haven’t seen you in here before, dear. With that lovely white hair l would have recognised you!

Are you a local?”
“No madam, l’m just passing through the town and needed a warmer. I think l may have a cold coming on or something like that. You know, man flu.”
“Well, just look after yourself, and don’t be a stranger! Come back and see us again!”
She walked back to the bar area and went on about her business.
As she disappeared into the back room l got up from the table, finished off my drink, and then dragged my wrecked body out of the front door of the bar and into the boulevard. Turning left, it was a short distance to the first address on the paper. It was the home of SS Commandant Josef Krolle’s daughter, Helga Krolle. Her house was one of three which were positioned as one at the corner of the Fiveways Boulevard intersection. The house l wanted was the one situated on the right hand side of the three. It was painted green and looked neat and spotless, with a small well-kept garden in the front and a name plaque, which read The Krolle Residence.
I waited by a large old oak tree, in view of the house. It was a beautiful old tree, and so l gave the
tree a hug, a long loving hug, taking its great strength into my prematurely old and painful body.
As usual, l was careful not to be seen when viewing the surroundings of one of my retribution
victims. Luckily for me there were no people around. In fact, it was very quiet. So l quickly
checked my Luger pistol inside my old overcoat. After l had screwed the silencer onto the barrel l made sure the gun was loaded, then put the safety catch on. At that point l put two extra bullets in my trouser pocket. I had seen the Gestapo do that when they went out on a killing spree. That finished and l was ready. But the actions l had just taken always made me agitated. Do l or do l not? Should l or should l not? But l had as a boy made my pledge in blood. Each time, my emotions filled me with the fear that l had become an automaton, programmed to keep my promise. Right or wrong mattered not; it had to be done. It was as though l was chosen for this work, because no one else could justify the deed.
It was an act l struggled against time after time. I closed my mind; it was an easy trick to do. Heinz and l had learnt how to do it in the death camp in order to stay alive.
Without haste l walked around the block. It surprised me that at that time of day there were so few

people about, and little or no traffic at the Fiveways Boulevard intersection.
As l came round the corner from the back of the block towards the address l spotted a woman coming out of the Krolle residence. Quickening my footsteps and forgetting the pains in my body, and with the adrenalin pumping in my heart, l walked straight up to the woman just as she reached the beautiful big tree.
Looking into her eyes, l asked the question l had asked so many times. Always with different names, different places and different districts.
“Excuse me, but are you Helga, daughter of Josef Krolle?”
I asked the question giving the impression of being a comrade.
“Yes, sir! How can l help you?” came her response.
I quickly took out my Luger, making sure the safety catch was off, and then pushed the pistol hurriedly into her chest saying:
“Helga, l knew your father at the Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp!”
She gave me a half smile as though she knew what was about to happen. Without hesitation or a sense of guilt l squeezed the trigger and silently killed her. She held onto my arm just for a
moment, then fell to the ground. Her crumpled body lay at the foot of the majestic tree.
Then, as quickly as my wrecked body would allow me, l walked back round the block, then down the boulevard intersection towards the old wine bar.
It took me fifteen minutes to walk the distance to The Dumb Cow. After calming my breathing down l walked into the bar and ordered a large brandy.
“Nice to see you back, sir! Did you enjoy your walk?” asked the barmaid:
“The colour has come back to your features. That’s good! Please sit down, and l will bring your drink over to you.”
I sat down quickly in the window as l had before. My body had come back to life, and was telling me so with the pain it was inflicting on me. While l waited for my drink to arrive l stared out of the window, recounting what l had just done. I went through the whole scenario as l always did, the house, the tree, the woman, the soundless shot, and then the dead woman falling to the ground

under that magnificent old tree.
The shrill sound of a Police car alarm passing by bought me back to reality, as it sped up the boulevard outside the window.
“The Police are about today. Looks like something is going on!” remarked the barmaid as she placed my drink on the table. I turned and saw the flashing lights of a second car speeding by.
“Enjoy your drink, dear! Look, l think you left this note paper on the table when you left for your walk.”
She placed the piece of paper on the table in front of me. I recognised it immediately, and it was indeed mine. Such an important scrap of paper! How could l have left it on the table?
“Thank you very much madam, but l don’t think it’s mine” l replied, taking my drink in both hands and taking a smooth mouth-full.
“Well, tell you what I will do! I’ll place it behind the bar in case anyone asks for it, by the whisky bottle!”
My hand started to shake. I knew l had to get that piece of paper without the barmaid knowing that
it was mine. Not only was the Krolle name and address written on it, but also the name and address of my next assignment.
I took another sip of my brandy, then l turned to look out the window again. Out in the boulevard l saw another Police car with lights flashing driving in the direction of the Fiveways Boulevard Intersection and the Krolle residence. I didn’t really give it a second thought at that moment. I had done what l had come to do; now it was the end of another part of my retribution journey. The brandy was going to my head. It was a nice warm feeling! I just closed my eyes and sat there contemplating life and death, wondering if l really understood which of the two was the best.
For my dear mother and father, l was thinking it was best for them to have gone as quickly as they did. For l had lived through the suffering of the death camp, and from what l had suffered and witnessed it was hell on earth. I would not have wanted my dear parents to have experienced such atrocities.
I heard the barmaid’s footsteps on the wooded floor walking towards my table, so l kept my eyes

closed, faking sleep, as l was not in the right frame of mind to converse with her.
She stopped at my table. Standing there, l could feel her eyes penetrating me as she whispered:
“I hope you’re alright, old man. You do look very tired! I’ll have to look after you like l did my old dad. He liked a brandy! Do you know, you have been our only customer this morning! Lets hope we get busy later on.”
The barmaid stayed another moment, then l heard her heavy footsteps walking back to the bar area.
I opened my eyes just a little to look around. Indeed, she was right. I was the only customer in the wine bar. I closed my heavy eyes once again and within seconds l must have fallen fast asleep.

Place: The Scene of the Latest Killing.
“There you go! It wasn’t a very long drive, was it? Driver, pull over there by that big tree and leave room for another car” ordered Sergeant Gold.
Sergeant Gold and the three constables she had chosen to drive with her to the scene of the crime
sat in the car and waited for their orders.
The local Police had put a cordon around the killing scene so as not to compromise any forensic evidence there might be by the dead body.
Sergeant Gold got out of the car, then turned back to the other officers:
“I want you three to check the house. It’s that green one. Hanz, you go in the front and look around. Don’t mess with forensics! You know what they are like, and they have their job to do. You two take the back garden. Look for anything strange, mark it, but don’t move anything. You got that?”
“What are we supposed to be looking for, Sergeant? Anything specific?”
“Anything! Just anything which is out of place. Now go!” snapped the Sergeant.
“Mark it but don’t move it! Understand?”
Sergeant Gold moved over to the second car that had just arrived:
“You three men check the houses near the victim’s house. Ask questions, lots of questions. Take notes of the answers. I want to see everything you get. I don’t want you telling me things. I want them written down. This is our big chance! I hope you understand me, constables.”

The men got out of the car and proceeded in the direction of the houses.
“You” snapped the Sergeant to the only woman in the car:
“I didn’t see you! Come with me. What’s your name?”
“Trainee Constable Maria Reagan, Sergeant!”
“Ok, Maria. You stay close to me and make notes as we go. Everything needs to be recorded, and you had better call Inspector Mercedes on the car radio and check in. Tell him what you are up to and that l gave the orders.”
Constable Reagan replied in a military loud voice:
“Yes Sir, Sergeant Gold!” then saluted.
“Look, Maria; this assignment is not a career. Just chill a little. Call me Sergeant on duty and Becky off duty, and please call the Inspector “Chief Inspector!”
The Sergeant walked over to talk to the forensic squad. They had just arrived and were unloading
specialist equipment from the back of their unit’s motorised investigation laboratory.
“Good morning, team. I hope you get lucky today!”
One of the forensic team stopped what he was doing, and with a sarcastic tone in his voice said loudly for everyone to hear:
“It’s not luck, Mrs Sergeant! It’s science! Or didn’t they teach you that at the police training academy?”
Sergeant Gold ignored the remark, treating it with the contempt it deserved, and the officer sheepishly got on with his job.
“If someone finds something tangible give me a shout immediately. I would be very grateful, however small it may be.”
Gustav Droysen, the head of the forensics team, leaned out of the car window and asked in a loud voice. “How grateful, Becky? Would that cover a night cap, or maybe breakfast at your place?”
“Perhaps a drink at the wine bar, Gustav. It’s just down the boulevard. It’s called the Dumb Cow. But l want results first. And you call me Sergeant when we are on duty, not Becky or Sarg. Is that clear?”

“Sorry, Becky, l mean Sarg. Damn it, l meant to say Sergeant! It won’t happen again, it’s just that you go to my head and linger like a haunting refrain. Know the song l mean, darling?”
Gustav Droysen then got out of the vehicle and walked off with his staff to comb the area for evidence, and to supervise the bagging and removal of the body of Helga Krolle.
Hanz and his three colleagues returned from the Krolle residence to report their findings to Sergeant Gold, who was talking to herself.
“Nothing going on there, Sergeant. The garden is very clean. Nothing showing, and there are no people in the house at the moment. Do you want us to stay in the house with the forensic team?”
“No, Hanz. Just one of you stay in front of the house and explain the position to whoever has a key to get in. Then go into the house and stay with that person and call me on my car radio. We are trying to locate her husband and the children from Headquarters, so one of you has to stay in case we don’t find them before they get home.”
Sergeant Gold walked slowly, looking at the ground in the direction of Gustav Droysen. As she walked she was scanning the area, and spotted something shining in the short grass near to where the body was found. She bent down, looked carefully, then looked up towards Constable Reagan:
“Your pencil please, Constable.”
With the pencil she carefully touched the object, then shouted out:
“Over here Gustav! Move your ass quickly!”
Constable Reagan moved out of the way in order for Gustav to bend down near the Sergeant and the object she had found.
“What have you found?” he asked.
“Look, l think it’s a bullet casing, small calibre. It could be the one!”
Gustav took a small plastic packet out of his pocket and with his gloved hand picked up the shell, smelled it and sealed it in the bag. He signed, time dated it, and then tagged the bag.
“That’s the only thing we have found so far, Becky-sorry, Sergeant. But it has recently been fired;
it still has the smell.”
Constable Reagan was eagerly writing everything down in her notebook:

“Luckily for you, Sergeant, l always carry a spare pencil. They taught me that when l was at the police academy”
Sergeant Gold looked at her with disgust and snapped at her:
“Lady, didn’t you learn anything at the academy? You write with a pen! Pencils are lead and they can rub out. Get a pen! No! Get two pens, and in future don’t sound so bloody clever!”
“You are a very good Constable” laughed Gustav.
“I think you deserve to take me for a drink. What do you think, Sergeant Gold? Should l let her take me for a drink?”
“Please yourself, Gustav. You always do, if l remember correctly.”
The Sergeant Gold smiled and gave a wink to Constable Reagan, who smiled back as if to say
“he won’t with me”
Sergeant Gold was just about to make a call on the car radio to the Inspector when it started to ring.
“Yes, Inspector. We have found something! I have spread all the officers around the area; they are checking door to door. The Krolle house is still empty, so l have set an officer on guard outside. He will contact me if anyone arrives at the house with details of who they are, what their business is at
the house and if they are relatives or maybe children of the dead woman.”
The Inspector sounded very agitated, and shouted down the microphone:
“I will be with you in ten minutes. Where can we have a drink and discuss your progress, Sergeant?” he shouted. “Come on, give me a name. I haven’t got all bloody day! I have other things to do besides wet nursing you.”
The Sergeant asked the constables if there was a drinking place not too far away from the investigation point.
“Yes, you’ve got one” said Gustav. “It’s called “The Dumb Cow.” No offence Sergeant! It’s that old wine bar, about ten minutes down the boulevard. Tell you what, Sergeant: Constable Maria Reagan and l will go ahead and order the drinks. Come on Constable Reagan! Lets make our way to heaven.”
“Ok. But don’t forget you are still on duty, Gustav!”

“See you later, Sergeant and, let’s not get jealous.”
Gustav turned away from Sergeant Gold. Then taking Constable Maria Reagan by the hand, walked off in the direction of “The Dumb Cow.”

The Dumb Cow Wine Bar: the same morning.
Gustav and Constable Maria Reagan were laughing and playing the fool as they walked into the dingy wine bar.
“Hush” said Maria, putting her finger to her lips:
“Look! The old man over there in the window is fast asleep. Best not to wake him up! He looks so
nice and peaceful”
“Ok” agreed Gustav, turning and kissing Maria on the lips.
“That’s for being so considerate, you lovely girl. Anyway, how old are you?”
Maria ignored the question and just smiled, then said:
“Old enough to teach you a thing or three. And you know it, Gustav. Mine is a large vodka, please. A very large one.”
“Ok, Maria. You win!” said Gustav. He then ordered from the barmaid with a swagger: “One large
vodka please, and one very large vodka. And have a drink yourself!”
Lady; as the song says, Tonight’s the Night we’re goin to have some fun.”
The comment made no impression on the barmaid. She had heard them all before. She fixed the drinks, taking her time.
“Do you want anything in the drinks?” she asked.
“Nothing for me, thank you,” replied Maria.
“Who is the old gent with the white hair? Is he ill or just sleeping?”
“Fast asleep, dear. He is just passing through and needed a rest with a little pick-me-up. He is fast asleep. Are you with the Police?”
“Yes we are.” said Gustav. “Have you seen anything strange today?”
“No. That old man is the only customer we have seen all morning. Poor old soul, he ordered a

brandy and fell fast asleep. I didn’t wake him as he was feeling the cold, so l just let him sleep.”
“Lets not worry about him, Gustav.” said Maria. “Just let him sleep.”
“Now that’s a good idea” replied Gustav, and clinked glasses with Maria.
“What time do you get off tonight? You and l could have some fun, Maria! We could order a take away bottle or two of wine and a sexy video.”
“Just a take-away will do fine thank you Gustav! I don’t want to be responsible for your first heart attack. Know what l mean, babz?”
Both Maria and Gustav laughed and kissed each other.
I opened my eyes just a little and could see the two police officers sitting at the bar with their backs to me. I closed my eyes again and thought:
“I have to get that paper from behind the whisky bottle on the bar. Then there is my pistol and its silencer. I need to hide them quickly just in case of a problem.”
Opening my eyes again, l could not see the barmaid, but the two police officers were still playing lovers games with each other. I thought that’s nice to see!
Quickly l took the pistol and silencer from my coat, then slipped them under the seat cushion l was sitting on. At the bar, the two officers were sitting very close to each other, touching and gazing into
each others eyes, oblivious of anyone other than themselves, but there was still no sign of the barmaid. I closed my eyes again, faking sleep, letting my head fall forward but listening carefully to what was being said. Footsteps and the clink of glasses echoed in my ears. Yes, the barmaid had come back into the bar area.
“Would you like another drink?” l heard her say. She was talking to the officers, as no one else had come into the bar.
“What do you think, Maria? Shall you and l get pissed together? What do you think? Could be a lot of fun, you and me, you know, pissed!”
I lifted my head and opened my eyes. The man had his arm around the girl’s shoulder and one hand down the inside of her jacket. She pushed him away, pulling her jacket straight.
“You must be joking, Gustav! The Inspector and Sergeant Gold will be here soon. If they catch us l

will be demoted. Make mine an orange juice, please! Maybe we can get pissed later after our shift has finished.”
“You got it, Maria! Now that is something to look forward to!”
“Well, don’t get carried away, Gustav! I haven’t made my mind up about you yet, and we still have four hours to do on this shift.”
“So what is your order going to be then, children?” asked the barmaid, standing with her hands on her over proportioned hips.
“Two orange juices will do fine, thank you,” mumbled Gustav. “Come on, Maria! Let’s sit in the window. We can watch them when they arrive.”
Then Gustav picked up the drinks and walked with Maria to the table opposite the one l was sitting at in the other window. As they sat down the door of the wine bar opened and another Police officer walked in.
“Hi!” shouted out Gustav. “If it’s not our wonderful Sergeant Becky Gold! What would you like to drink? The drinks are on me.”
“Make mine a simple apple juice, please Gustav. It’ll do me just fine.”
As Gustav walked to the bar in order to get her the apple juice Sergeant Gold walked up to Maria at the table and sat down.
“So, Maria! Has our man-about-town Gustav pulled you for a night of fun, games and what comes after, then?” she asked smiling.
“It’s nothing like that, thank you very much, Sergeant. I don’t know him well enough for that. And if you think l would then you don’t know me very well.”
“Just be warned! That’s all l will say. If you lie down with dogs you get up with fleas. Know what l mean? Who’s the old man with the white hair?”
“No idea, Sergeant! He was here when we came in, fast asleep. I asked the barmaid. He isn’t a local or anything. Just somebody passing through.”
“Ok, Maria. Do you have the notes l asked you to take down at the scene of the crime? Give them to me, please. I need them now.”

Constable Maria Reagan handed over the notebook to the Sergeant.
Sergeant Gold turned towards the bar and shouted to Gustav:
“Gustav! Has the bullet casing gone to the forensic laboratory yet?”
He turned round from chatting the barmaid up. Looking a little shocked he replied “Damn it, Sergeant! No! l forgot! I still have it with me. I’ll take it now. Sorry!”
“Too late! Inspector Mercedes will be here in minutes. All l can say is that you had better find a very good excuse when he gets here.”
Gustav paid for the drinks, and with a wave of the hand to his could-be conquest Maria he tried to disappear out the door and into the boulevard. Unfortunately for Gustav he did not quite make it, because as he was about to step out through the door Inspector Mercedes came barging in and they collided head on.
“So tell me, Gustav Droysen, which is your name, isn’t it? What the hell are you doing in here with my women officers at this time of day?”
“Yes! I’m Inspector Droysen. I’m here checking how everything is going with Sergeant Gold. I’m just going back to the forensics laboratory, and wondered if there was anything else found at the crime scene they needed help with, that’s all. I think you know that Sergeant Gold found a bullet casing at the scene. We need to check if it matches any others we have at the lab.”
“Well don’t go on about it man, get going! It’s more important than your bloody love life. And ring
me back here as soon as you know something.”
The Inspector rudely pushed past Gustav and walked over to the table where the two women officers were sitting.
“Becky; do they serve coffee in this bloody God forsaken place? l need one badly! If they do, make it a large strong one and l do not want a chipped mug, OK!”
The barmaid, who was standing at the bar listening to everything that was going on with the greatest of interest, reacted immediately to the request.
“Yes sir!” she shouted. “How would you like it?”
“Well, an efficient person! That’s unusual!” he muttered sarcastically:

“Black, no sugar. Make it large and strong. I need the fix.”
The barmaid disappeared into the back room to make the coffee. This was the chance l was waiting for. Quietly, l got up from my seat and slowly, not to draw attention to myself, walked across the room, keeping my eyes on the paper behind the whisky bottle on the bar.
The two women Police officers and the Inspector were deep in conversation. As l passed the bar l casually put my hand out and took the paper from behind the whisky bottle, then continuing my journey into the men’s wash room without stopping or hesitating for a moment.
Once inside the washroom l congratulated myself and entered one of the cubicles. Sitting on the closed seat l composed myself for a moment, then looked at the piece of paper my dear friend Heinz Stein had given me at the library.
The name and address of the next person l had to take retribution upon moved me to tears again. I was not crying, but tears fell from my eyes. I read the address repeatedly to memorise it. Then l tore the paper up into the tiniest of fragments and flushed them down the toilet pan. I made my exit from the washroom and was about to leave the Dumb Cow when a thought flashed through my mind. My pistol and the silencer were under the cushion of the chair l had been sitting on in the bar with the police officers.
“My God! l will have to go back in and retrieve them!” I said it aloud.
Shivers went up and down my spine and my wrecked body shuddered. Within a moment my face
was sweating at the thought of having to go back into the bar with the Inspector and the two officers
sitting opposite my table and chair, with the pistol and silencer secreted under the cushion. I took out my handkerchief and wiped my face clean, took a deep breath, and walked slowly back to my table without making eye contact with anyone. Getting to my seat l sat down facing the window, my body turned away from the officers at the other table.
The barmaid had noticed me as l sat down. She brought attention of my presence in the bar to the Inspector by saying in a loud voice:
“Did you have a nice sleep, my dear? Feel better now, do you?”
“Yes, fine! Thank you!”

I took a sip from my drink and closed my eyes again, faking sleep and hoping that she hadn’t brought me any unwanted attention from the officers.
“So did anything unusual happen around here this morning, barmaid? Excuse me! Did you hear me,
barmaid?” questioned the Inspector in a loud voice.
“Barmaid l might be, but my name happens to be Petra, Petra Schilling. It’s over the door if you care to look on the way out. And what’s yours then? And do you have any identification? Or have they done away with that courtesy?”
The barmaid’s tone was one of disrespect and lack of concern for the police force. She stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for an answer to come back from the Inspector.
“Ms Petra Schilling, landlady of The Dumb Cow: l will make a note of that! I am Chief Inspector Victor Mercedes from police headquarters. And yes, l do have identification, and so do these other officers. Once again and for the last time, l ask you, madam: did you see or hear anything unusual in or around this pigsty you call a wine bar this morning?”
“Sorry, Inspector! l didn’t know who you were. And l still haven’t seen any identification or any warrant cards from any of you.”
The two women officers and the Inspector stood up and held their warrant cards up in the air all at the same time.
“Inspector: how could l have know who you were? I am not a mind reader, l’m a barmaid.” She
wiped her face with her apron as she replied:
“Nothing unusual happened. Very quiet. Only the old man sitting over there. He is the only customer I have had all morning. That is until your people came in, and they haven’t spent a lot. Know what l mean, dear?”
The Police Inspector got up from his seat and walked over to my table.
“Have you been here all morning, old man?” he asked me.
I looked closely at the hard deep lines on his angry face.
“I think l know you, Inspector!” l said softly, looking closer at his face. The voice, the tone and the power of it: l knew this man. Yes, l knew this man. I knew him!

“I don’t bloody well care if you know me or not old man! I asked you a simple bloody question. Did you hear me, OR NOT?”
The Inspectors whisper turned into a shout.
“Damn it, old man! l asked you a question. Answer me!”
I shuddered at the tone of his voice. My hands started to shake: Yes, l knew this man very well. It will come back to me. I know this man!
“Yes, Inspector. I came in for a brandy. You see, l wasn’t feeling too good, and a little alcohol can give you back your legs when you are not well. In fact, Inspector, l have just woken up. I must have fallen to sleep. I feel much better now, thank you very much for asking. Yes that was very kind, I’m feeling fine now, thank you”
I mumbled on, thinking that it would change the direction from me to something or someone else. But the silly barmaid, with her loud interfering voice, had to have her penny’s worth and said:
“Well, you did go out for a while! Isn’t that right sir? You came back with the colour in your cheeks, didn’t you? l remember that well.”
“Oh yes, miss that’s right. It’s my mind you know! It plays tricks with me.”
The Inspector stood, legs apart, hands behind his big back. He was a big man, wearing a long thin black leather overcoat. As he stood in front of me my mind raced back to when l was a young man
in the Auschwitz-Birkenau killing camp in Poland. Salty tears ran down my face, l could not stop
them. They just streamed out of my eyes as l looked at this man’s big frame dressed in back leather.
Yes, l was sure l knew this man.
“Come on, old man! What’s wrong with you? Are you ill or something? Can we do anything for you? Maybe we should buy you another brandy?”
He asked the questions with a cruel smirk on his face.
“No thank you! And nothing’s wrong with me. I just thought we had met before; that’s all: Nothing is wrong with me, nothing. Do you hear me?”
The Inspector clenched his big fists and went on:
“When you were out for your walk: think carefully now, old man. Did you see or hear anything

unusual going on out there? Come on! Think old man! You can still think, can’t you? Or is your tiny brain haggled?”
“Out there!” l pointed out of the window the way a doddery old man would.
“No, nothing going on out there. Very few people about, very few cars driving about. So, sorry Inspector! l didn’t see anything at all unusual out there.”
I then stopped talking and started shaking as l suddenly realised:
“My God! I’m sitting on the pistol and silencer!”
Inspector Mercedes bent down and stared into my eyes. I could see his. Deep, dark, and evil, they were hiding his past. Yes l knew this man!
“Did you see anyone near the Fiveways Intersection?”
“Yes, l suppose l might have. Wait; yes, l did! There were a couple of strange looking people hanging around there. Yes that’s right, sir. I did! They were very strange. Yes that’s right! The Fiveways Intersection. Dear me, my mind is so bad! I am so sorry Inspector; please forgive this old man, my mind you know it’s...”
He lifted his leg and stamped his heavy foot on the chair next to mine.
“Look, old man! Tell me about them. Please take your time, because l have all the time in the world.” Then he shouted into my ear “l don’t think! Sergeant Gold come over here and take notes. And l want them word for word. Old man l want every bit of information you have. Do you understand me? And l want it now, not next week. NOW!”
I nodded my head and wiped my nose on the sleeve of my coat.
The Inspector sat back down in the chair, staring at me. I felt so very alone and uncomfortable; but l had been in this situation before. I felt like a child.
Sergeant Gold came over and sat down on the other chair opposite to me.
“Well, the Inspector said take your time, sir. But we need you to start talking now! Ok? My name is Sergeant Becky Gold. I will take down your statement. Then, when we have finished asking you questions, l will read your answers out loud and you will sign them. Do you understand?”
I looked up and, raising my voice for the first time, asked the barmaid:

“May l have another brandy, please?”
The Inspector quickly interjected “Old man. You will have nothing until you have finished your
statement. Not even a glass of water! Do you understand me? Now get started, or else I’ll have you arrested for wasting police time” The Inspector banged his hand on the table, hard.
“Yes, sorry! What did you want to know, because l seem to have forgotten what we were talking about, silly old man that l am.”
Sergeant Gold looked and sounded Jewish to me. This made me feel a little more relaxed. I don’t know why; kindred spirits, l suppose. Or was it more than that? She looked at me with gentleness in her eyes, a kind person full of empathy. Her eyes told me she knew things.
“What is your full name, please, sir?”
“Mr. Abraham Golden, Sergeant. I don’t know what all this fuss is about!”
“Look, Mr. Golden. Think carefully! What did you see at the Fiveways Intersection? Think! Go over it slowly in your mind. All we need are the details, maybe some of the details. What did you see when you were out there? Just think carefully!”
“Well, nothing Sergeant that l can remember, as l said to the Inspector. There were not many people about today, except for those two strange people. They were standing close and were talking together. That’s all l saw, that’s just about it.”
I was trying my hardest to play dumb, really dumb, hoping the police would get fed up questioning me and move away. Then there was the fact that l was sitting on my gun and silencer, so l had to sit
in my seat for as long as l could until they moved away.
“Sergeant, l wasn’t feeling very good, so l came in here for a brandy. That’s all! Then when l had
recuperated, l went out for a short walk around the block. That’s all, that’s it! I didn’t see anything. What was there to see, Sergeant? l don’t understand.”
The Inspector piped up again, looking at me like l was shit on the bottom of his shoe: “So you are telling us you didn’t see anything unusual happening then? Nothing at all. Is that what you are saying, you silly old man?”
I looked up at him. His face was etched into my memory. Soon l would remember!

“Please, Mr. Golden. Or should l call you Abraham?”
The Sergeant paused for a moment before gently touching my wrinkled old hand. “Look, Abraham! Just talk to me! I think you and l will get on just fine!”
“Sergeant Gold, you are very kind. But l do not have anything else to say. All this excitement has made it very difficult for me to think clearly. My head is spinning around. I feel exhausted, question after question; do you see this, do you know that. What is it all about?”
“Look!” said the Inspector, standing up: “Enough of this pussy footing around, get up, Jew! You are Jewish, aren’t you? Take that coat off! Do you hear me? Get up and take that stinking coat off!”
He then gesticulated to Constable Reagan to check me out: She pulled my coat off my shoulders.
“Well!” continued the Inspector: “Our Jewish friend sounds like he’s on something, and it’s not brandy! Take your jacket off old man, NOW!”
I took my jacket off and carefully put it on the chair covering the seat which was concealing my pistol and silencer.
The Constable pushed up my grubby shirt sleeves to check my arms for needle marks. The Constable missed a very important mark on my arm, but went back and checked my arms again.
“Inspector. You need to see this!”
The Inspector turned my arm over roughly, hurting my wrist so he could look at the mark the Constable had found.
“Well old man! We all knows what this is, don’t we, now? That’s your Jewish number, isn’t it? Which holiday camp were you in then? And please don’t lie to me! I will check it out. Was it in Germany? No, l think it must have been Poland. Am l right, old Jew man?”
His hand was squeezing my arm tightly over my Jewish number; l grimaced and tried pulling my arm away. Sergeant Gold saw the pain on my face; l looked up to her pleading for help.
“Inspector Mercedes!” she shouted at him:
“You are hurting Mr. Golden! There is no need for this cruelty. Please let him go! Take your hands of him! Now Inspector, please.”
He released his grip on my arm with a smile on his face and sat down.

“Well, Mr. Abraham Golden,” said the Inspector as if he was reminiscing about the good old times.
“What camps were you in then, sir; if l may be so bold as to enquire?”
My head went down onto my chest and l spoke softly:
“Auschwitz-Birkenau”
“What did you say old man? Please speak up!” instructed the Inspector.
He leaned forward and was sitting right in my face, and l knew all he wanted was for the other officers to hear what l had to say, adding to my discomposure. So l took a chance of upsetting him.
I move my face closer to his, nose to nose, and shouted out at the top of my voice, straight into the Inspector’s face:
“The Auschwitz-Birkenau killing camp in Poland. And you heard me the first time, didn’t you, you bastard!”
Then l collapsed back onto my chair.
“I think this may have been a good morning for all of us, after all! Team, take this old Jew down to the headquarters.” Then he turned to me again:
“I take it your name is correct. What is it? Can you remember? Quickly!”
“It’s Mr Abraham Golden, and l am proud of it: Do you hear me?”
The young Constable Maria looked into my troubled eyes, saying:
“So you should be” then she whispered into my ear “the Sergeant’s name is Becky Gold” as if to say, “You’ve got a friend!”
Then she helped put my coat back on and made me comfortable.
The Constable put her arm in mine; then gently helped me up from my seat and walked me slowly
out of the wine bar.
The fresh air made me feel better. I stood for a moment and stretched my arms out as if l was welcoming what ever there was to come my way. The Police car door opened and l was helped into the back seat. No one looked or suspected that l had hidden my pistol and silencer under the seat cover of the chair in the window l had been sitting on.
“How long will l be at the Police station, Constable?”

“Look, Abraham! I’m a new generation of Constables. I think you know what l mean, but l’m not allowed to talk with you. I have you in custody, so please do not make things difficult for me at the station. I will not answer your questions. You are a very nice elderly gentleman, so please just relax and we will do fine.”
We sat in the back of the car in silence, and waited for the driver who was still in the bar talking to the Inspector and the barmaid. I didn’t know what was going on in the bar. That made me a little nervous. But all of a sudden the officers came out together, quickly got into the cars, and we were on our way, l assumed to Police Headquarters.

Place: Police Headquarters. Late morning.
Well, l had arrived at the place l least wanted to be at this moment of my life; Police headquarters. The evidence l left in the Dumb Cow wine bar would prove without doubt that l was the killer the police were looking for.
As l walked up the steep steps as best l could, and through the big old wooden doors which had a large crest of Justice hanging over the top, it felt as if it was welcoming the damned. My mind ran backwards. I thought of the brick built archway the doomed trains steamed under when arriving at the death camp ‘Ramp’. Constable Maria Reagan, who was assisting me into the booking room, said in a stern voice:
“Sit over there Mr. Golden. And please don’t move!” She pointed to a chair among many at the side of the booking-in hallway.
“I will get the arresting officer to book you in, Mr. Golden. I won’t be a moment. Just sit there, and please be good.”
I had just sat down on the hard wooden chair when l heard the voice of Inspector Victor Mercedes shouting at the top of his voice:
“Meeting please! My office now, everyone! And l do mean everyone: Now, damn it! I said NOW! Everybody, and l do mean everyone in this bloody station!”

All the officers in the arresting room hurried into his office. I just couldn’t believe my luck; l had
been left on my own! Even the arresting officer at the front desk disappeared into the Inspector’s office. Quietly, but as quickly as l was able, l stood up and looked left then right. Yes. I was on my own! So l walked out of the door Constable Reagan had walked me in, down the steep steps and into the street. I was free! Without thinking about the pain in my body l walked quickly, climbed onto the first tram that came along, paid the minimum fair and then sat down on the first seat available. Indeed, l was free!

Inspector Mercedes Office.
The Inspector was in his usual aggressive and malicious mood.

“Sergeant Gold! Do you have any more details about the parents of the victims? l remember you

told me the team were checking them out. So what the hell has been going on with that situation?

And don’t waffle! Be succinct.”

The Inspector’s office was full of constables and officers who were on duty, and the Sergeant didn’t

want to be embarrassed by the way the Inspector talked to her in front of other members of the

team.

“Shall l check it out now, Inspector?”

The Inspector repeated what the Sergeant said in a very mocking way.

“Shall l check it out now, Inspector? You are a Sergeant and if you want to stay a Sergeant get it

sorted out now. This is the best lead we have had in years, so get on top of it girly, for Christ sake.

I thought we were looking for some kind of serial killing pervert. But who should walk into my

larder! Just a frail old Jew on a mission of sorts.”

The team of constables and officers were standing around the office making notes, or pretending to;

they were trying to look busy, without eye to eye contact with the Inspector.

“I want a large photograph of our suspect, Mr. Abraham Golden.”
The Inspector looked around the office then pointed his finger at the photographer who was a friend of his.
“You, Jon. You take the photograph now. Blow it up and make two hundred and fifty copies. Ten minutes maximum! Go and get it done now, then we can distribute the copies. I want to know of anyone who knows this man. Yes! I also want a large copy on the “Most Wanted” notice board outside this building. Right now, children, back to your stations; got it?”
Jon the photographer left the office in a rush with the other officers. He knew the Inspector well and didn’t want any trouble.
“Right, Sergeant Gold! You are Jewish: correct?”
He waited a moment and Becky just looked at him, not saying a word.
“Have you lost your voice? You are Jewish or you are not Jewish. Which is it then? Surly you know, don’t you, girly? Your name should give you a clue.”
The Inspector was smirking and leering at her at the same time.
“Well, yes I am. But what has that to do with anything?”
“As you are Jewish l need you to be the liaison officer. And as all the victims seem to have been non-Jewish it will take away any stupid bias. I think you know what l’m getting at, don’t you, Sergeant Becky Gold?”
“Yes, l know sir! But what do you want me to start with?”
“Make contact with the last ten victims’ families. At first just talk with them. Get as much background information about their parents as possible. Log all the information into the main computer. I have told your friend, that forensic guy Gustav Droysen, to arrange a special computer program for the team to use. It will be empty and clean. That way we will not have any contaminated information to contend with. It is all new, especially for this Killing of Gentle People
case. So get on with it, Sergeant, be a Sergeant! And don’t mess it up.”
He looked her up and down resting his eyes on her ample breasts saying:
“If this goes well, Becky, we could spend a long night eating, drinking and getting to know each

other better. You would like that!”
Sergeant Becky Gold made her way out of the Inspector’s office. At the door she stopped and looked back at the Inspector, saying:
“Not in your wildest dreams, Inspector! Not in your wildest dreams!”
Becky walked into the computer room, which was full of officers on duty.
“Has anyone seen Inspector Gustav Droysen?” she asked.
“Probably interrogating a hot blond. You know what he’s like, Sergeant Gold. He did take you to dinner and you had drink or two. Well that’s what he told us at the social club. Was it true? Come on, Sergeant! You can trust us, with the running order.”
All the officers in the room laughed. But Becky just ignored the remark and the laughter. She had work to do. At that moment the photographer came into the computer room looking a bit flustered and asked:
“Has anyone seen this Abraham Golden? He’s the suspect, isn’t he? Who booked him in? Because he isn’t in the booking hall.”
Constable Reagan, who was busy putting information into the new computer system, realised what had just been said.
“Shit! I told him to sit out there and not to move,” and pointed out to the seats in the booking hall.
“Well, someone had better go and tell the Inspector that the suspect, Mr. Abraham Golden, has walked out and is nowhere to be seen. Move it, Constable!” said the Sergeant.
All the blood drained from the Constable’s pretty face. She stamped her foot on the concrete floor and shouted “fuck, fuck, fuck” then rushed into Inspector Mercedes’ office without knocking.
“Inspector! Inspector! I am very sorry, but the suspect Abraham, l mean Golden. Look; Abraham Golden has gone missing from the booking hall.”
The Inspector didn’t look up. He just shouted:
“Tell that stupid Jewish Sergeant Becky Gold to get in here! And quick!”


As the Sergeant walked in and the Constable sneaked out, the Inspector turned on Becky Gold with venom in his voice:
“What is this all about? Am l running the police headquarters’ or a kindergarten? I am told your suspect, an old decrepit Jew, has gone missing! Did he do a magical disappearing act like Harry Houdini? Or did he feel brave and just get up and casually walk out of my bloody Police Station?”
“I, I don’t know! I mean, I’m not sure, sir! I arrested him and read him his rights. Constable Maria Reagan bought him into the station, and told him to sit in the booking hall. She even told him which seat to sit on. Then you called everyone into your office. Now he’s gone, and that’s all l know.”
The Inspector wasn’t happy about that explanation. He got up and waved his arms about, then banged on the table with his fist and started to get nasty.
“So what you are saying, Sergeant Gold? Are you saying this shit is my fault? That I, Chief Inspector Victor Mercedes, with more than 30 years of experience, just let a suspect, who is an old and decrepit Jew, just casually walk out of Police Headquarters, just like that? Is that what you are telling me, Sergeant “Jewish” Gold, of this rustic community?”
“No, Inspector! It was your friend the photographer who found he had gone.”
“So wait! You are now telling me we don’t even have a picture of the suspect. Get me a compo artist, and the rest of you get out on the street and find for him. You, Sergeant, go back to The Dumb Cow or whatever it’s called and start from there. Get some officers to check every room in and outside this building, from the roof down to the cellars. Now get those lazy bastards on the job. I will want a personal chat with you later, girlie!”
The Sergeant got the jobs started, at the same time wondering what the personal chat would be all about. It sent a shiver down her spine.
Gustav Droysen took hold of her arm and stopped her, saying:
‘Becky! You can’t keep letting him talk to you like that! Well, we can’t keep letting him get away with his anti Semitic rants. It’s got to stop.’
‘Look, Gustav. I don’t want to lose my job! I worked hard to get to Sergeant. I don’t want to be
beating the streets again, do l? I have things to do! We will talk later.”

Abraham Golden: Somewhere in the suburb.
I got off the tram at the terminal, walked a couple of blocks, keeping out of the way of shoppers and pedestrians, when l saw this grubby looking greasy spoon café. ‘That will do for me’ l said to myself, and walked in.
Waiting in the doorway, looking at the dining room, l wondered if l should just sit myself down at an empty table when the waitress came over to me and took me by the arm, recognising me as a disabled person, and said into my ear:
“Over here, my dear. You just sit yourself down at this table and l will get you a menu.”
“May l have a cup of coffee before l make my order please?”
“Sorry, dear” she said softly. “We don’t just serve coffee, dear. You have to have a meal.”
“Yes, l want a meal, miss. It’s just that l want my coffee before my meal, that’s all.”
“Ok, sure” came her answer. “How do you want your coffee?”
“Black, no sugar. And strong please, very strong.”
I sat down at the table. The table cloth was whitish plastic. Well, most of it was white. Pepper and salt lay in the middle, with a table number. No napkins, but three bright red plastic flowers. This was a real greasy spoon! There were some local artists’ painting on the walls, covering dirty marks on the big patterned wallpaper that had seen better days. The few painting there were, I’m afraid, not very good. But nice, just to look at. Most of the local diners looked interesting; they were chatting, and seemed to be enjoying their food; and the atmosphere was very conducive. Yes, l was happy to be sitting there.
When the coffee arrived it was like dishwater. But who was l to complain? For someone like me this was as good as it gets. I needed the caffeine in my blood, and needed to stay in the café for as long as possible so as to stay off the streets and to rest my painful body.
“Here, sir, is the menu. What would you like? The daily special is meat stew.”
“Yes!” l said. “Let’s go mad today, miss, and we will have the daily special what ever it is, thank you very much!”


The waitress shouted aloud with a voice that could smash a pint glass:
“One special for table thirteen.”
Then she bent over, wiping the tablecloth down with an old dishrag which had seen better days, and walked back to the kitchen.
Sitting there at the empty table by myself l realised that l was in terrible trouble. For years l had put together my mission for retribution; to inflict as much pain on those monsters who had not only butchered my lovely parents and my innocent little sister but had also killed over six million gentle souls in the most barbaric of ways. This jolt of being arrested had made me realise that l was indeed walking in the footsteps of those monsters myself. It was confirming to my inner soul that l was no better. In fact, l was worse than they were. For l had, in my lifetime, experienced their extreme depravity and understood the pain.
Now l, me, Abraham Golden, was replicating their wickedness in my own way on other gentle souls. Sitting drinking this dreadful coffee, the café full of ordinary gentle people eating, chatting, and drinking: for the first time in my life, alone in this greasy spoon, in my distorted mind l was ashamed of myself and of my friend Heinz Stein. My dear mother and father would not have wanted me to spend my life finding and then killing these gentle people, who’s only fault was being the children or grandchildren of the evil monsters of the killing camps.
Sipping my very poor bitter coffee, my mind ran back over the years that l had been killing in retribution, and tried to count just how many people l had actually killed. As l counted back l realised that l was actually killing myself, something these monsters in the Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp could not do to me. Now at this very moment l knew l had to stop. My mind could not explain to my brain, or vice versa, why l had done this thing for so long. It then dawned on me that
l was actually enjoying this retribution, the killing of gentle people, like the SS officers and the guards at the camps did. Was l getting perverted pleasure, looking into the eyes of those gentle people l killed, and saying to them “l think l knew your father” before pulling the trigger and dropping them dead onto the ground?.


A sharp voice bought me back to sanity once again.
“Your special, sir! I hope you enjoy it!”
The waitress placed the plate of hot food on the table in front of me, then handed me a knife and fork wrapped in a white paper serviette.
“Sorry, but l have to take the money now, please sir.”
She stood there by the table with her hand open waiting for the money.
“That’s alright miss! l quite understand.”
I took my wallet out of my coat and handed her a large denomination note. It was all l had with me. My dear friend, saviour and benefactor had just that morning given it to me. He was earning a living which l was unable to. The brandies and the tram fare had taken my change.
She looked at the note, then with her hand on her hip and a disbelieving look, said:
“Sir, have you got anything smaller than this? We aren’t a hotel, you know! We are just a café, and as you can see a small café. We don’t keep a lot of extra money here.”
I looked again into my wallet then through my coat and trouser:
“Yes, there you are miss.” l had found a smaller note, “Keep the change.”
I thought that would bring a smile to her face. But she merely walked away without as much as ‘thank you’, as if my tip was just a pittance. Well, it may have been. But money was scarce in my pockets, and father always taught me: “to give a little was better than to give nothing at all”.
I guess to her it was nothing.
When l had finished my meal, putting my knife and fork on the plate, l sat back and consoled myself saying: ‘That was actually quite a good meal. Yes! I can say l enjoyed it, very much.’
Sitting alone at my table, looking at the other people eating and chatting to each other, my mind raced around again: What was l to do at this time?
Before l started my revenge killings twenty years ago l spent a long time researching the SS archives with my friend Heinz Stein about the personnel involved at the Auschwitz-Birkenau killing camp in order to maximize the effect of my retribution on those monsters. I thought that killing their children or grandchildren was the way to make them experience what emotional and

psychological as well as physical pain was all about.
Now what happens? l asked myself. Do l continue with my killings of these innocent people, or
finish with this gruesome retribution now? I’m not absolutely sure l believe in heaven. I do believe in hell, as l had lived in it. But heaven, forgiveness, and the Great Architect of the Universe?
I spoke out softly, leaning forward across the table to the empty chair opposite me, not knowing that l was speaking for everyone to hear:
“OK then, big man! What is forgiveness and heaven? Only an Angel could know!”
The empty space across the table answered me:
“But Abraham! l am an Angel! l am your Guardian Angel!”
I leaned forward and continued my conversation with this unseen force as if the Angel! Had taken the seat and was conversing with me.
“Do you know what forgiveness is? Can you explain it to me? If you can reveal it to me now, then l will die in peace, for this forgiveness has driven me to near suicide several times.”
“Abraham! I know everything about you, and your commitments to living so that retribution could be yours. I know these things! You don’t think suicide is dying. In your heart and soul and in my mind, suicide is just killing. You are killing a human being even though that human being is yourself. Do you understand what l am saying to you, Abraham?”
Standing up and facing the chair l said in anger:
“Answer me, for God’s sake! Answer me! If you are my Guardian Angel, answer me!”
The server walked over to my table and put her hand on my shoulder:
“Is something wrong, sir? Can l help you with anything?” Then she whispered:
“Do you know you are upsetting some of our customers? You are talking to yourself out loud. Did you know you were doing that?”
“I’m so sorry! I’m just leaving, miss. Thank you for my meal. I enjoyed it very much. So sorry!”
I got up from my chair and put on my overcoat with a little help from the waitress, then walked out of the café door and into the boulevard and the bright sunshine. Looking around at the trees and the


leaves glittering in the rays of the sun, which was sitting high in the pale blue sky, l realised that l had never really looked at anything this way before. I was always trying to duck and dive to stay alive. Now l was ashamed of the comments l had made to my invisible friend in the café about the
Great Architect of the Universe. I was very deeply ashamed that my tunnel vision had brought me to this place in time.

Son of Heinz Stein
I walked about twenty paces from the café when a young man came up behind me and touched me on my shoulder.
“Sir, can l speak to you for a moment?” he asked.
“No! Go away please! I don’t want to talk to you!” l answered, and carried on walking.
“I do not know you, and at this moment l need to be alone with my thoughts. I have many things on my mind, so please leave me. Go away!”
“No, sir, l cannot do that! l know who you are, and you need my help.”
Stopping in my tracks, l thought: Another Guardian Angel.
I turned to face the boy. Lifting my face upwards l could see this handsome young man properly. Neither of us said a word. We just looked at each other. It was like a game of chess, both wondering who would make the first move. The young man moved closer to me, much closer. He was facing me, and put both his hands on my shoulders. This time he leaned to one side whispered into my ear.
“Your mother, father and your sister were murdered at the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp. Yes, and your name is Mr. Abraham Golden. Your friend’s name is Heinz Stein?” I looked puzzled. “You made a death pact to help each other to stay alive in the camp. Heinz Stein now works at the Central Library. You both survived the Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp. Now, does retribution mean anything to you, Mr. Golden?”
I looked past the young man over his broad shoulders, staring for a moment into space. And in that space l could see my dear mother, father, and sister.
“Survived? What are you talking about? You know nothing of me and l know nothing of you!

So please leave me to my thoughts; just please go away.”
Reconsidering my words, l looked once again at his handsome face. I stared into his dark brown eyes, and, lifting my shaking hand l touched his lovely young face with my wizened fingers. He
didn’t move, standing motionless in front of me, barring my way.
l asked: “You are just a boy! How do you think a boy could help Abraham Golden, an old heart- broken man with an old broken body? Do tell me!”
“Mr. Golden: my father is your friend Heinz Stein!” I looked shocked.
“As you know, he works at the Central Library for the local government. I know all about the names and addresses of families involved at the Auschwitz-Birkenau killing camp. Shall l go on, sir? Like saying the word, retribution?”
“No! Stop there, dear boy. Just walk with me a little way, if you please.”
We started to walk together, the boy kindly holding my shaking arm.
“Young man: l am a little confused. You see l was under the impression that no one other than your father Heinz and myself knew anything about the retribution we had planned.”
“That’s true, Mr. Golden, you were. But last night l found my father crying in his bedroom. He was completely inconsolable. He completely broke down and told me everything. Yes! I knew a long time ago about your friendship, and how you survived the death camp. But, alas, l knew nothing about this dreadful retribution obsession. Father said it is time to stop the killing of gentle people before the Devil takes you both to the depths of hell-fire. Then there will be no turning back, Mr. Golden. He will own you, body and soul. You will both be no better than those monsters from the camp. It has gone too far, do you understand? You have gone over the bridge. It must stop now, at this very moment. It’s not difficult to destroy life, Mr. Golden. You have been a witness to that. But please remember that when it’s destroyed there is no way to repair it. Both you and my father are better than this!”
The boy held my shoulders in a vice like grip. He looked into my eyes, and again whispered into my ear. “Mr. Abraham Golden is now a person, not a number! Do you hear me? You are a real person! You are no longer just a number.”

He shook my shoulders as though he was talking to a son of his own.
“The police came to see my father. That killer of Jews, Inspector Mercedes questioned him about the names and addresses of those people he helped you to find so that you could kill them, making them suffer as you did. The police are not pointing the finger at him for the killings. But for me, my
father is just as much to blame as you are.”
For a moment l looked at the boy. No! l was looking at a fully grown up man.
“Have you any idea of what went on inside that camp? In any of the camps? Have you? No! you do
not have the slightest idea! You can’t have unless you were actually there to witness the butchery. Watching gentle people who were trying to stay alive being butchered and kicked to death for fun. So don’t stand there in my way and try to make me think you do! Is that clear?”
My hands were shaking, and l was sweating as if l had just done ten rounds with a heavy-weight. My heart was pumping in my chest, and the sound echoed in my head. Tingles ran round my chest and down my arms. I took hold of the young man, gripping his arm to stop myself from collapsing onto the pavement. I knew l was having a panic attack.
The young man held me as if l was a delicate work of art. He was strong but gentle in his touch. He took a clean handkerchief out of his pocket and dried my eyes, and for a moment he held me in his arms like my father did.
“Sir! I have no advice to give you. How could l? Today we live in a different era. It’s now a different world. But you and my father will be found out by the police, and it will come to a horrifying end. You will both be punished unsympathetically. No good can come from this retribution. Mr. Golden, everything you say is true. I could have no idea about what really went on in the camps. No one alive today, my age, has the slightest idea. We have to rely on the historical stories. But this scuffle, confused fight, this retribution you are taking is also horrendous, and you have to stop this now.”
I half shouted at him again, shaking myself free from his gentle grip.
“You do not understand those animals who were running the camps. Those were not ordinary


people! they were the personification of evil. They were the disciples of the Devil, and they prized it. They loved doing what they did.”
I straightened myself up: l knew the young man was right.
“Look, l need to get back to the Dumb Cow wine bar. It is near the Fiveways Intersection. Can you spare the time to help me get there? Please say yes! I promise with your help l will put a stop to all this, and keep your father in the clear: Will you help me do this, please?”
The young man looked at me with compassion, but with suspicion in his eyes.
“Yes Mr. Golden! l will help you do this thing. But don’t let the Rabbi know, or my father. Come on! Let’s go get on with it.”
He kindly took my arm and we headed slowly for the tram stop, neither of us saying another word, l think we were out of things to say, for that moment.

Inspector Mercedes’ Office: the same afternoon.
Inspector Victor Mercedes stared at Sergeant Becky Gold, who was sitting opposite him. He looked, stared and lusted like an old pervert at a massage parlour who was fixing his gaze onto his next young sex victim.
The Sergeant moved and crossed her legs nervously.
“Well, have you had a good look, Inspector? I have worked here for two years and l would have thought you knew what l looked like by now, with those x-ray eyes of yours.”
“Don’t talk clever with me, Sergeant Gold! Or should l call you Sergeant Innocent? That is if you want to stay a Sergeant; understand me? I am told there isn’t an officer in this team you haven’t fucked or hasn’t fucked you, you little whore. So what’s wrong with me then? Don’t you want to try it with a real man?”
He got up, then without taking his eyes of Becky Gold’s breasts walked over to the ever open office door, closed and locked it.
“You, Sergeant Innocent, have been teasing me like you tease all men! Well, l have been looking at
the meat long enough.”

He then shouted out loud:
“Your sex teasing time is up, Jewish whore! I want it now. Do you hear me Jewish whore? I want you right now!”
He lunged forward, grabbing her bare arm in a vice like grip, and with the other hand pulled her blouse open to reveal her beautiful breasts and lily white skin. This view of her body made him even more audacious.
“Yes! Yes!” he shouted out. Then he hit her in the face, knocking her against the office door. The Sergeant turned quickly and unlocked the door.
“What did you call me?” she shouted back at him, “What did you call me?”
“Nothing!” replied the Inspector. “And that’s exactly what you are, nothing!”
“Well, that nothing sounded very much like an Ant-Semitic statement to me, Inspector! So tell me, what do you want to do to me then?”
Becky leaned back against the door seductively, ready for what was about to happen.
“What ever it is, make it quick, Inspector! l need to get back to work.”
Becky smiled at the Inspector seductively, as she could hear the officers listening to every word outside the office door.
The Inspector lunged forward at her, towering over her small frame and groping at her ample breasts. Then, loosing control of his senses, he shouted out loud in a very angry voice, into her pretty face:
“Don’t talk to me like that, you dirty filthy Jewish whore!”
At this point Inspector Gustav Droysen, head of forensics, pushed open the office door and walked in with two armed constables.
“Any trouble in here Inspector? Do you need our help with anything?”
Becky Gold was flushed and half disrobed, she covered her body as quickly as possible. Inspector Mercedes turned on Droysen:
“Get out of my office, and take those two idiots with you! This has nothing to do with forensics or with you. So get out! And shut the bloody door.”

Gustav Droysen did not move. Neither did the two armed constables.
“This is a bad moment for you, Inspector Mercedes, a very bad moment!”
“Did you hear me, Droysen? l said get out! Just fuck off!”
“Yes, l heard you, Inspector. But more important, we, these two officers and myself heard you call our colleague, Sergeant Becky Gold, a Jewish whore. That’s what the three of us heard, and so did some of the officers in the booking hall. You have crossed the line this time, Inspector, and l am placing you under arrest. I am about to read you your rights. Understand, sir?”
Gustav turned to his friend and colleague Becky Gold:
“Are you alright, Sergeant Becky Gold? Did Chief Inspector Victor Mercedes hurt you?” Droysen was careful to talk clearly, making sure it was correct.
“No, I’m fine! It’s just my nose and the blood. You came just in time! l thought he was going to kill me after he had raped me.”
The Inspector was now red in the face and about to burst a blood vessel.
“Get out of my office, all of you! Can you hear me? Get out of my office! Just get the hell out of here. I am Chief Inspector Victor Mercedes, and l am in charge of everything that goes on in this building. Do you understand? I am the top man around here. You two officers; arrest Gustav Droysen and Sergeant Becky Gold. They are interfering with an official investigation. Take them down stairs and keep them in the holding cages until l come down to interview them. Do it now immediately!”
Both officers who had charged into the office with Gustav stood looking at the Inspector as if he had gone completely insane.
“Did you two hear my commands, imbeciles? Or is it your wish to be suspended without pay for an undetermined time? Come on! You can choose!”
Gustav quickly took a pair of handcuffs from the back of his belt and slipped them onto the wrists
of the Inspector before he had time to react; his overactive mind was in another place.
“Inspector you are now officially under arrest. Do you understand? We will let Internal Investigations decide what will happen to you. Do you understand what l’m saying, sir?

Inspector Mercedes turned on Droysen:
“I will kill you for this, you Jew-lover! Don’t forget who l am, and who l was during the war. Understand what I’m saying Droysen; you are a dead man! The Third....” he stopped saying the words. “Anyway, we never forget our friends or our enemies. I hope you understand that, you are now a walking dead man.”
The two constables were looking a little bemused at everything that was being said and at what had just happened.
“Please take the Inspector down the stairs to the booking cages. And please treat him with respect. We don’t want him complaining about his treatment at our hands. This is not a death camp! I think we need to get the doctor for you, Becky, and a psychiatric nurse for the Inspector. Someone do that now, please! I am not in charge. But it is urgent, people!”
The Inspector said nothing more. With his head down he slowly walked with the officers through
the booking hall and down the old stone steps to the wire cages used normally for the more violent prisoners and drunks wanting to fight everyone.

The Dumb Cow Wine Bar.
The tram journey didn’t take too long. On the way l tried to tell the young man more details about the relationship between his father and myself, hoping he would at least understand our lives at the death camp and our motives for our actions.
After we got off the tram it was only a short walk before we arrived at the Dumb Cow. I stood for a moment outside the front door, the young man holding my hand as if l was a child.
“What do you want me to do now, Mr. Golden? Do we both go in? Or do l leave you now on your own?”
I pulled my shaking hand out of the young man’s firm grip and moved a pace or two back from the door.
“Look, Master Stein: I have killed my last retribution victim. I promise you it’s all over now! As God is my judge it is over. But l have to go into the wine bar. My gun and its silencer; they are

under the seat l was sitting on when l was arrested and taken to the Police headquarters. I have to retrieve them now if l am going to be able to keep your father out of this mess l have made. So will you help me, this last time?”
“You lead, Mr. Golden! l will follow!”
We both walked into the Dumb Cow. Without looking at the bar l led the way to the table and sat on the chair l used the last time l was in the bar. Yes! l felt the form of the gun and the silencer, and then out of the corner of my eye l spotted a police officer sitting at the bar chatting with the barmaid. The officer was taking notes.
My hands started to shake again and my face started to sweat.
“Do you want a drink?” the young man whispered.
I whispered back, “Yes please! Can l have a brandy? A large one. I have money if you need it.”
As the young man walked to the bar l felt under the cushion, took the pistol out, and pushed it
down my long sock. Then l took out my handkerchief and tied it tightly round my ankle, keeping the gun safely in its place. I then did the same with the silencer, putting that into the other sock. No sooner had l done that the barmaid looked up and in a loud voice said:
“That’s the old man sitting there! Yes, that’s him alright. See his white hair!”
She then stood up and pointed towards me, and the officer approached my table. At the same time the young man came back with the brandy and handed it to me. I took a deep breath and gulped it down in one take, then breathed out.
“When you have finished, sir, l would like a word,” said the officer.
The young man turned from me and started to walk away.
“Just a moment, son. Is this your father?” The boy just shook his head.
“We believe that you are Mr. Abraham Golden. Is that true sir? You were taken into custody in this very wine bar a couple of hours ago and taken to police headquarters. Is that correct, sir?”
“Yes, officer. I am Abraham Golden. But this person is not my son nor in fact a member of my family. He kindly helped me from the tram at the Fiveways Intersection. I do not have a family any more, there is only me.”

“Is that correct, son?”
“Yes sir! l have never met this man before. I met him on the tram. We spoke, and then l helped him to this wine bar. I asked him if he wanted a drink because he looked old and frail. That’s all. But I really don’t know him.”
“That’s sounds fine, son! Sit over there and l will write a short report for you to sign; then you can go on your way. You, Mr. Golden, will have to come back to headquarters with me. And please don’t try running away again! The paper work takes so much time to get through.”
“I promise you, officer.” l replied then added: “would it be possible to get another drink?”
“That’s a no, sir! We need you to have a clear head. There are lots of interesting questions you will need to answer! Come on. Let’s go.”
I took my time standing up in order for my shaking, which was normal, to be a little more conspicuous, just for sympathy.
“You can take your time, Mr. Golden, but you will not get away this time. Be assured of that!”
Pulling my hands behind my back he clamped handcuffs on my wrists.
“I think the Inspector is looking forward to questioning you himself personally.” Then he whispered, “Mercedes doesn’t like Jews!”
He took my arm, then lifted me out of the chair and push-walked with me to the front door of the Dumb Cow.
In one sock l had the pistol, in the other l had the silencer. I shuffled along, taking my time to get through the table and chairs; we shuffled past Master Stein, whom I did not acknowledge. The officer just ignored him. I suppose he didn’t want to do the paper work.
Getting into the Police car was very difficult. Again l took my time, and got into the back seat. The officer sat down by my side and the driver started on his way to the headquarters.
On the journey my mind wondered about my friend Heinz Stein who had assisted me on my mission of retribution, and how we had helped each other stay alive in the death camp. He saved me many times from the monsters, and now l needed to save him from the police. But at the moment l didn’t know how l was going to accomplish it, or even how to go about it. But save him l must!

We arrived at the headquarters and the driver pulled up sharp. He had been driving very fast, with the lights flashing and that terrible alarm sound playing as loud as possible. It was telling everyone who could hear it that l have caught Mr. Abraham Golden. The officer in the back of the car with me turned to face me, saying:
“Don’t move this time, Mr. Golden. Driver, you stay in the car with him!”
Three other officers ran down the stone steps to meet me, standing on guard at the back door of the car. I quickly checked my socks by slowly bending down in a natural movement. Just as l had checked that everything was in order the driver turned round and asked:
“Ok. What are you up to, Mr. Golden?”
“Nothing, driver! l just have a pain in my belly, that’s all.”
“Well, just sit still and don’t move a muscle. Do you hear me? Just don’t move!”
One of the officers standing guard opened the car door and grabbed me:
“Get out of the car, Golden! And don’t take your time about it. You moved fast enough last time we
had you, didn’t you now? So move it, get out!”
He pulled on my arm, twisting it as he pulled me roughly out of the car. My shaking body didn’t let me down. I stood tall, and walked step by step up the old concrete steps, through the big wooden doors and into the booking hall.
Officers were running back and forth, as if something important other than the capture of Mr. Abraham Golden were going on.
Sergeant Gold came over to me: She didn’t look very happy. Her nose was bruised and bloody, and
l could see she had been crying.
“No more favours for you, Mr. Golden! Please do not talk. And don’t try to get away this time: Is that clear, did you hear me?”
“Sorry, Sergeant! I didn’t want to cause you any trouble.”
I put my sympathy face on, but she didn’t react. Instead she pulled me into another office, took my handcuffs off then pushed me down into a chair. She then twisted my arms around the back of the chair where she put the handcuffs back on my wrists, with the rung of the chair between them.

“Mr. Golden, move an inch and l will have your legs cuffed to the legs of the chair. As old as you are, l will do it. So sit and keep quiet!”
I thought to myself: “just like the guards in the camp!” Closing my eyes, l let my head fall down onto my chest. I heard her steps walking away from me, then a loud slamming of an office door as she left me alone.
After a few moments l looked up in order to get my bearing and the layout of the office l was in. Suddenly the door opened, much too quickly for me to get my head down again. So l just looked straight at the person.
“My name is Inspector Gustav Droysen. I am in charge of forensics. Your name is Mr. Abraham Golden. Those are two true facts. Is that correct?”
I lowered my head again and closed my eyes, waiting for the onslaught to begin. My body had started to shake again. This time l was physically sick down the front of my over coat and onto the wooden floor.
“Oh God!” shouted Gustav Droysen, and stormed out of the room. It was only a few moments before an elderly woman orderly came in to clean up the floor. Lifting my head l asked:
“Please could you clean me as well? I’m sorry about this! Can you clean my coat, as I think I’ve come down with a combination of brandy and excitement.”
“Don’t worry about it, my dear! I’ll have you cleaned up in no time at all.”
Sure enough, after she had cleaned the floor she cleaned my coat and face. Then as she was on her
way out of the office, she commented:
“These bastards don’t know how lucky they are, do they!” Then she left.
Two different officers came into the office; to say they were big was an understatement. One man un-cuffed me, then both men manhandled me onto my feet and sort of dragged me into the hallway, stopping for a moment to talk to the desk Sergeant:
“Where do you want us to put this joker, Sergeant? Me and my partner here are supposed to be on our break; you know!”
The reply came quick and abrupt:

“Downstairs, and put him in the empty cage next to his highness.”
I wondered, as l was being pulled and pushed by these two gorillas down the stone steps into the basement, who was the person they referred to as his highness.
They threw me down the last few steps onto the concrete floor face down. My nose hit the floor and started to bleed, blood flowing everywhere.
I didn’t have a handkerchief as it was tied round my ankle, keeping my pistol safely in place.
“Don’t touch him or get his blood on you! Get some rubber gloves for protection,” said one of the officers. “You don’t want any of his blood on your skin!”
Trying to move and get my old body up onto my feet, one officer who was guarding me pushed me down on my back, shouting at me:
“No you don’t! Just you stay where you are!” Don’t move, old man! They tell me you are the killer of the gentle people! Well, you sure are a sorry case now, aren’t you? A killer of how many people? Is it fifty German people, you Jewish bastard?”
My body was still shaking from the fall onto the concrete floor, and although still loosing blood.
I managed to shout out:
“You know nothing about it or me! So shut up!”
I felt a kick in my ribs and it doubled me up with pain. Then l felt another. My thoughts flashed back to the killing camp and the many beatings l took, and l mumbled aloud:
“You people will never change. You are all bastards!”
“What did you call me?” shouted the officer.
Just at that moment the other officer arrived back with a bucket of cold water and the rubber gloves. He put the gloves on for the protection of himself, then wiped my face down, getting as much blood off me as he could. He then threw the rest of the cold water onto my face: This shocked me and made me gasp for air.
As l got my breath back the officers picked me up like a rag doll and threw me into the empty cage, slamming the gate and locking it behind me.
The two officers walked back up the stone steps, laughing about something which they thought was

very, very, funny.
Slowly and carefully, because of the pain l was in, l got to my feet, and moved myself into a sitting position on a very old well worn wooden bench fixed to the back of the open meshed cage.
l looked around at my new surroundings. There was another person in the cage next to mine. A large man in a very distressed state, sitting with his face in his hands, mumbling to himself incoherently.
I bent down and felt for my pistol then my silencer. They were both safe and secure.
Taking them out of their hiding places l fixed the silencer onto the pistol and pushed them back into my trouser belt, then pulled my jacket together in order to hide them so they could not be seen. I sat back and waited.
My eyes scanned the cell. It had a strange feeling about it, and both the walls and the ceiling were covered in large white tiles.
There was just one small window opening. This was secured with metal bars. My mind flashed back years, to the moment l pulled myself up to look through the little window in the killing camp to watch my dear mother and father fall to the ground, gassed to death. Looking at the window made tears come to my eyes again.
It must have been an hour or more before anyone came down the stone steps to see me. It was
Sergeant Becky Gold. She stopped at the bottom of the steps and just looked at my old face for moment.
“Mr. Golden, would you like a cup of tea or maybe a coffee?”
I nodded my head and replied; “Yes please, Sergeant Gold. Coffee, black, and no sugar.”
She then looked over to the person in the adjacent cage and said:
“Inspector Mercedes, would you like a tea or a coffee?”
Head still in his hands, he said with anger in his voice:
“Fucking Bitch! You know l only drink coffee, black, and no sugar. Make it bloody strong! You will pay for this! Mark my words Sergeant Gold. Your days in the fucking police force are over!” Then louder “Do you hear me you Jewish whore?”

The Sergeant made no comment. She just turned and walked back up the steps, her shoe heels clicking as she went.
My head automatically turned towards the big man in the next cage. I knew this man! Oh yes! I knew this Inspector Mercedes! He was in the Dumb Cow wine bar and questioned me. I remember saying to him: “l know you” But more than that, l knew him well! This was the monster SS Commandant that Heinz and l worked for as his personal slaves in the Auschwitz-Birkenau killing camp in Poland. Yes; Heinz and l, between kicks in the belly, fingers broken, boiling coffee thrown in our faces and a thousand other injuries, including castration personally performed with no anaesthetics by the infamous Dr. Jose Mengele (Dr. Death) .
Yes; we sorted and counted the money which he stole from the gentle people before he sent them down to the gas chambers. Heinz and l were his private property in his office. Not only counting and sorting gold, silver and cash, but also having to endure his anger and beatings, day after day, week in, week out, when he didn’t feel well and needed to strike out because of his Anti-Semitic philosophy.
It was in that office during our first days that Heinz and l made a blood promise to keep each other alive, looking after each other until retribution would be ours.
I stared at him through the wire cage. He looked every bit the monster he truly was. He didn’t look my way, but l kept my gaze on his back without my body shaking and without blinking my eyes. At last l was a whole person!
Just then, a strange thing happened. Was it an apparition? The afternoon sun looked through the small window, and the shadow of the metal security bars on his big frame make it appear that he was wearing one of the striped inmate’s suites that was worn in the killing camp.
The noise from the Sergeant’s shoes on the stone steps got louder and louder as she returned with the coffee. This time she was not alone.
The Sergeant had the two brick-built constables with her; one came to my cage, opened the gate, and gave me my pot of coffee and a mug. It did smell good; the guard put it on a small table anchored to the corner of the cage.

“Thank you very much! This is very kind of you after all the trouble l have given you. I didn’t think l would be treated with so much respect, but thank you all. This is so considerate of you. Thank you Sergeant Gold.”
The monster Commandant in the next cage stood up and started to shout and wave his arms about, gripping the bars of his cage and shaking it like a large angry Silver Back.
“What the fucking hell is going on here, Sergeant bloody Gold? I’m the Inspector in charge of this fucking police station, and you keep me waiting and serve this fucking old Jew first! Where’s my fucking coffee?”
Both the big guards went to his cage gate and unlocked it. As they did so the Inspector rushed them both trying his best to get past them. He was big, but no match for these two brick-built constables. They pushed him back, and he landed on his back on the concrete floor. The officers put his coffee pot on the floor, turned quickly, and left the cage. They locked the gate and made sure it was secure. Getting to his feet, the Inspector took the coffee pot and threw it in the direction of Sergeant Gold. The pot hit the cage but the hot coffee splashed across her lovely face.
“You Jewish bitch! Just remember l still have friends in the Nazi party! You will pay for this and so
will your Jewish family, mark my words!”
The two guards rushed to the cage in order to deal with the Inspector, but the Sergeant interjected
saying: “Leave it! His reign of hate is over and he knows it. He’s just acting out.”
Sergeant Gold looked at me for what seemed an age. She smiled a sympathetic smile. She knew what l was all about.
Then the Sergeant and the two officers left, leaving the mess the monster made where it fell on the
floor, and disappeared up the stone steps and away.
My body started to shake again. That shouting match had confirmed to me that this Inspector was
truly the monster SS Commandant from the killing camp in Poland, Auschwitz-Birkenau.
I knew this man! It was coming back in abundance.
Finishing my coffee, l sat down on the wooden bench and put my hand onto the gun butt in my belt.
Then l stood tall and calm, turning my body to face the monster of the killing camp.

“I know you, Inspector! Or should l refer to you as SS Commandant Victor Mercedes of the
Auschwitz-Birkenau killing camp in Poland?”
The monster turned to face me, his face twisted out of shape with hate.
“I was your personal slave, along with my friend Heinz Stein. We sorted the money for you, the
money you stole from those gentle people, the bits of gold from their teeth, the little personal
treasures secreted in their clothing. And the cash, loads of cash.”
He shook his head vigorously.
“You don’t remember because you don’t want to remember, do you? But your time has come today
SS Commandant! As l am your personal executioner!”
My body started to shake again. My arms and hands were moving on their own. The pain was
terrible, but the memories in my mind were more painful than the pain in my broken old body.
The Commandant rushed to the side of the cage, trying to get at me. His eyes and face were red with rage; gripping the wire cage with his big hands, his knuckles turned white as he shook the bars. I thanked God that the wires were keeping us apart.
Then l said “Patience, SS Commandant Victor Mercedes! Your moment is very near now! And do you know what? A Jew is about to put you down, slowly and very excruciatingly!”
I said it in a very passive tone. Then l took the pistol, fitted with its silencer, from inside my belt so
that he could get a clear sighting of it.
My body had stopped shaking and l was calm and still. I stood up straight, straighter than l had in
all the years when l had been taking my retribution.
“This, Commandant, is the time and place my retribution ends! Both my friend at the library Heinz
Stein and l will be safe. No one knows of our association with the killing of gentle people. Heinz
and his family will be safe and alive and l, Abraham Golden: Well, l will be with my beloved
family. You! Yes, you! You blood-spattered ogre, you will putrefy in the tormenting fire of eternal
damnation. But before you go l would like you to experience just a little of the horrendous pain
you arranged and dished out yourself to the gentle inmates of the Auschwitz-Birkenau killing
camp.”

Lifting the gun with the silencer to shoulder level, with no pain in my body, l stood as solid as a
rock. I felt no fear. I was excited! I shot him in the shoulder blade. I heard the bone shatter; it was a
wonderful sound! He screamed out loud like a baby: “Help! Help me! Someone help me!”
Sergeant Gold had ordered the guard to shut and lock the door at the top of the stairs in order to
keep the ranting and ravings of their frenetic Inspector from spoiling their evening dinner break.
SS. Commandant Victor Mercedes looked at me in disbelief from his kneeling position on the
concrete floor. His mouth had dropped open.
“I was only obeying orders! Do you hear me? Orders!”
I lifted the gun again. I was not shaking at all and my hand was still, and he could see it. He could
see where l was aiming the next shot. Slowly l took careful aim and the bullet hit his other shoulder
blade, and once again l heard the bone shatter. ‘Dr. Mengele was quite right’ This time, leaning
closer to him and smiling into his distorted face, l shot both his hip joints. He was now lying on his
back, crying and sobbing for help, and repeating: “I was only following orders, that’s all!”
Taking careful aim, l hit him with a bullet in the left knee joint. That made a terrible noise. Then l
made a cracking noise by hitting his left ankle, creating pain l hope would last him all his life.
I had learned from the death camp doctor, Jose Mengele, that shattered bones never completely
heal. Standing over my prey like a vulture, l sensed he thought his punishments were now over.
I said in a soft and very caring voice:
“So sorry, Commandant! I forgot your right leg! I do apologise!”
Lifting the gun once again, l pointed it at my target. He mouthed something which resembled
‘Jewish Bastard’ The bullet shattered his right knee cap, then another bullet splintered the bone in
his right ankle.
Then, quite exhausted, l sat down on the wooden bench, looking at the Monster who had been
determined that he had the right to persecute and abuse innocent children, women and men with his
gruesome crimes.
“Well, it’s goodbye from me,” l said, “one of the gentle folk! And hello to him who will be your
next keeper for all time: The Devil!”

I took a moment to congratulate myself on the gentle way l had delivered the justice l had just meted out, then thought to myself:
Well, if he doesn’t die from loss of blood and from shock and pain, my work will at least give him reasons to remember how lucky he was.
Every time he moves it will be pain, pain, pain for the rest of his impossible life. Or just maybe, this big man will have to live with his pain, stuffed into a wheel chair for the rest of his life. Neither way sounded good enough to me.
Standing again up straight, tall and young, l laughed over my prey. Yes! For the first time since
entering Auschwitz-Birkenau killing camp l laughed out loud! It was a wicked, curdling laugh
which echoed around the white tiled cell walls. Nothing like the cries from the victims, in the gas
chamber! No! Theirs were gentle cries from broken hearts. And mine was a cry from the heart and
soul of my very being; an uncontrollable cry to tell the world that once again David had taken down
Goliath.
Then, with tears of happiness freely running down my face, l acknowledged to myself that the days of retribution were at last over and done with.
No one would ever know that my dearest friend Heinz Stein had been involved with the killings of
gentle people. He and his family would be safe from harm.
I sat on the bench, took the last two bullets from my trouser pocket, and placed them into the
Luger. This was the trick the Nazi guards told me about. They said. “Just in case!” I now know
what that statement meant!
To guarantee that my dearest friend Heinz and his family would be safe forever l put the pistol to
SS Commandant Victor Mercedes’ head and blew his brains out.

The End.
My eyes dried. At first l thought l was seeing an apparition. But standing there outside my
Cage were my family.
My dearest mother, my father and my little sister.

“No, it just cannot be!” l shouted aloud.
“But it is!” said the voice of my invisible Guardian Angel to whom l had been talking in the café at lunch time. The beautiful voice was the same.
I quickly put my hands over my eyes and then very, very, slowly opened my fingers one at a time,
and like an excited child l peeped through the small gaps. Yes, they were standing there in front of
me; my dearest parents, mother and father; and my little sister.
They stood smiling and radiant, with their arms out stretched towards me, waiting to welcome me
back into the bosom of their underlying love.
Looking at my family l could see that they hadn’t changed. They were the same now as l
remembered them in my home as a child.
They were happy; it was all over them. They smiled at me with love, the love l remembered and
never forgot during my tormented lifetime.
My family were not a figment of some distorted imagination; they were real!
The voice continued:
“Abraham! This is your family! They have come to take you to a much kinder world than you have
so far experienced. Go with them when you are ready!
There was my family, standing in front of my cage, arms out stretched, beckoning me to come to
them. They smiled at me and l willingly smiled back.
I was going to be with my family. We would be as one again! Finally my nightmare was over!
I held my body straight, then lifted the pistol with the one last bullet in the chamber. Putting the end
of the silencer happily into my mouth and resting it on my rough tongue, half smiling, l ……….


The world said…


“Never Again”


Six Million Times too Late


“This Must Not Become a Distant Memory”


All articles by Michel Henri are copyright ©Michel Henri and should not be reproduced without the author's prior written consent.


Rejoice

In The

Child

Who Holds

Your

Hand
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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 09.04.2010

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