“Well, if he is, it’s not Argentina,” I said. “Or Uruguay.”

“You’re lucky,” said Klingelhöfer. “To have been to those places. Me, I expect I’ll die here.”

“You must be the only prisoner in Landsberg who believes that, Wally. Everyone else seems to be expecting a parole. They’ve already let go men who, in my opinion, were worse than you.”

“Thanks. Nice of you to say so. But I just hope that if I do die in here, they’ll allow my family to have my body. I wouldn’t want to be buried here in Landsberg. It would mean a lot to them. Nice of you to say so, yes. I mean, I’m not looking to get out. I mean, what would I do? What can any of us do?”

I left Klingelhöfer talking to himself. He did a lot of that in Landsberg. It looked easier than talking to the Americans. Or Biberstein and Haensch. Or Sandberger, who cornered me on the way back to my cell.

“Why do you speak to a bastard like that?” he demanded.

“Why not? I speak to you. Really, I’m not that particular.”

“Funny guy. I heard that about you, Gunther.”

“I don’t see you laughing. Then again, you used to be a judge, didn’t you? Before you went to Estonia? Not many laughs there, either, from what I heard.”

Sandberger had a ruffian’s face, with a jaw like a flat tire and a boxer’s hostile eyes. It was hard to imagine how anyone could have become a lawyer or a judge with a face like that. It was easier to imagine him murdering sixty-five thousand Jews. You didn’t need to be a criminologist to figure out a physiognomy like Sandberger’s.

“I hear the Amis have been giving you a hard time of it,” he said.

“You hear good with those things on the side of your head.”

“So I took the liberty of mentioning you to the evangelical bishop of Württemburg,” he said. “In my last letter to him.”

“As long as there are prisons there will be prayers.”

“There’s a lot more he can do than just pray.”

“A cake would be nice. Lots of cream and fruit, and a Walther P38 filling.”

Sandberger smiled a lopsided smile that wasn’t provoking any second thoughts in my mind about the descent of man.

“He doesn’t do prison breaks,” said Sandberger. “Just letters to influential people here and in America.”

“I wouldn’t want to put him to any trouble,” I said. “Besides, I just came back from America myself. But I certainly didn’t make any friends while I was there.”

“Which part?”

“The southern half. Argentina, mainly. You wouldn’t like Argentina, Martin. It’s hot. Lots of insects. Plenty of Jews. But you’re only allowed to kill the insects.”

“But lots of Germans, too, I hear.”

“No. Just Nazis.”