Roots of Evil(138)

A smile lit Alice’s face. ‘Oh yes, dear Erich,’ she said, and for a moment the smile deepened into mischief. ‘Such a volatile man. But so immensely talented that I forgave him the tantrums and the temperaments. Yes, we made a film together, and it was fairly successful, but—’ She paused, and then said, ‘But somehow, you know, none of it was quite the same as it had been in the old days. And all the time I was trying to find Alraune. Eventually I found him because of an item in a German newspaper.’ She glanced at Michael, who spread his hands as if saying what the hell, tell them everything.

‘The article was a report of the death of a former German officer at Auschwitz,’ said Alice. ‘It had some news value because there was a suspicion that the man’s young nephew had killed him. I didn’t know, not for sure, that it was Alraune – the surname given was an ordinary enough German name. Stultz. But that had been the name of the young officer, and the facts seemed to me to fit and the place was right – a small town in Northern Germany, quite near to the Czech border. And the details of the man’s death…’ She paused, and then said, again, ‘I thought it might be Alraune and Ilena thought so as well. And so, since Conrad was away touring, and since Alraune was my concern anyway, Ilena’s brother managed to get us tickets for the journey and we travelled to the town named in the newspaper.’



‘It’s a smaller place than I was expecting,’ Ilena said, as the train drew into the little German railway station and they got out. ‘But that should make the search easier. What now, Lu? Do we try to hire a car, or what?’

‘Certainly we get a car,’ said Alice with decision. ‘We can’t just walk the streets looking for an unknown address.’

‘What a good thing there’s money in the bank,’ said Ilena drily. ‘And what a good thing that we’ve at least got a name to go on.’

‘Reinard Stultz,’ said Alice. And although she had been trying to shut her mind to the night of Alraune’s conception, the young officer’s gesture in reaching out to touch her face had stayed with her. She could not remember the colour of his hair or the shape of his features, but she could remember that brief moment of comfort he had given her in the midst of the pain and fear. If he was indeed Alraune’s father, then Alraune might not have such a bad heritage after all.

They found the house by the simple method of driving to the offices of the local newspaper, and openly asking for the address. Alice was keeping the baroness’s name quiet, but she was not keeping the baroness’s arrogance quiet. Within minutes the clerk, awed by this imperious female’s manner, supplied the address in full, and became voluble as to the details of the attack. No one had believed that such a small child could have been so violent, he said. And so no official action had been taken. The boy was still in the house, in the care of the house-maid, and no one quite knew what to do about him.

Alice said, ‘We are relatives of the child’s mother. You can tell us what happened.’


The clerk hesitated, but he enjoyed a gossip as much as the next man, and he did not really mind retelling the story that had provided such good headlines for his newspaper. There had been, they were to understand, some small infraction of a rule. Perhaps homework had not been done for the next day’s school. Perhaps a bedroom had not been tidied properly or a house task not performed. And so there had been chastisement. A small smacking of the bottom, or the withholding of pudding after the evening meal perhaps. Certainly it would have been nothing large, for Herr Stultz was known to be a kindly man. Ah yes, once a Nazi, everyone knew that, and it was not a thing for pride. But that was in the past, and Herr Stultz was a man of warmth, always ready to contribute to charity and to give of his time for others. And so proud of his small nephew who had been orphaned in the war. The two of them had often been seen in the little town, said the clerk, the good Herr buying toys for the child, the two of them chattering away together. Uncle and nephew, so good to see.

But the small chastisement, whatever it had been, had created a violent rage. Ungovernable fury. And there had been some form of skewer lying to hand – perhaps meat skewers, the clerk was not too sure of the details. What he was sure of – what everyone living here was sure of – was that the boy had snatched the skewer up and driven it straight into Herr Stultz’s face.

‘The eyes,’ said Alice, almost to herself. ‘The boy stabbed Reinard Stultz’s eyes.’

Ah yes, it had been so, said the clerk. Shocking.

Fifteen minutes later Alice and Ilena had reached the house and requested admittance. Within half an hour they were driving back to the railway station, with Alraune.



‘No one questioned us,’ said Alice to the four people listening to her. ‘No one tried to stop us. We just walked into the house, and found him. He was in the kitchen, drinking soup that the girl had made for him. We simply said we were his mother’s family, come to take him away, and we took him.’

‘Did he know you?’ asked Lucy. ‘I mean – did he recognize you?’

‘Not immediately, I don’t think. Auschwitz was three years behind him, and he was still very young. But after a while he did recognize me, and he smiled and allowed me to hug him. But he was a detached child – there was always the feeling that he performed any act of affection purely because it was expected of him.’