“Heydrich was a cold murdering bastard, but he was also a pragmatist. Sometimes he preferred honesty to unswerving loyalty. For one or two people such as myself, it wasn’t so important that they stick to the official party line as that they should do a good job. Especially if those people, like me, had no interest in climbing the SS ladder.”

“Oddly enough, that’s exactly how Otto Ohlendorf described his own relationship with Heydrich,” said Earp. “Jost, too. Heinz Jost? You remember him? He was the man Heydrich appointed to take over from your friend Walter Stahlecker in charge of Task Group A, when he was killed by Estonian partisans.”

“Walter Stahlecker wasn’t ever my friend. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“He was your business partner’s brother, wasn’t he? When you and he were running a private investigation business in Berlin in 1937.”

“Since when has one brother been responsible for another’s actions? Bruno Stahlecker couldn’t have been more different from his brother Walter. He wasn’t even a Nazi.”

“But you met Walter Stahlecker, surely.”

“He came to Bruno’s funeral. In 1938.”

“On any other occasions?”

“Probably. I don’t remember when, exactly.”

“Do you think it was before or after he organized the murder of two hundred and fifty thousand Jews?”

“Well, it wasn’t afterward. And by the way, he was Franz Stahlecker, never Walter. Bruno never called him Walter. But to come back to Heinz Jost for a moment. The man who took over Task Group A when Franz Stahlecker was killed. Would this be the same Heinz Jost who was sentenced to life imprisonment and then paroled from this place a couple of years ago? Is that the man to whom you’re referring?”

“We just prosecute them,” said Silverman. “It’s up to the U.S. high commissioner for Germany who’s released and when.”

“And then last month,” I said. “I hear it was Willy Siebert’s turn to walk out of here. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t he Otto Ohlendorf’s deputy? When those ninety thousand Jews got killed? Ninety thousand, and you people just let him walk out of here. It sounds to me that McCloy wants his head examined.”

“James Conant is high commissioner now,” said Earp.

“Either way, it beats me why you boys bother,” I said. “Less than ten years served for ninety thousand murders? It hardly seems worth it. My math isn’t great, but I think that works out to about a day of time served for every twenty-five murders. I killed some people during the war, it’s true. But by the tally handed down to the likes of Jost and Siebert and that other fellow—Erwin Schulz, in January—hell, I should have been paroled the same day I was arrested.”

“That gives us a number to aim at, anyway,” murmured Earp.