“I didn’t know you were cozy with that queer, Bernie.”

“For the last six days I’ve been his houseguest at the police praesidium in Potsdam. I’d like to repay his hospitality, if I can.”

“They say he’s still holding on to some of Hanussen’s dirt, as an insurance policy against arrest. The films he shot on that boat of his. The Ursel. I’ve also heard that some of the dirt comes from underneath some very important fingernails.”

“Like whose, for instance?”

“Ever ask yourself how he managed to get on that Olympic committee? It’s not his love of riding, I can tell you that much.”

“Von Tschammer und Osten?”

“Small fry. No, it was Goebbels who got him the job.”

“But he was the one who broke Hanussen.”

“And it was Goebbels who saved von Helldorf. But for Joey, von Helldorf would have been shot alongside his warm friend, Ernst Röhm, when Hitler settled the SA’s hash. In other words, von Helldorf is still connected. So I’ll help you get him, if you can. But you’ll have to find someone else to put the stake through his heart.”

“All right. I’ll leave your name out of it.”

“What do you need from me?”

“The case file on Heinrich Rubusch. I’d like to check a few things out. Go and see the fellow’s widow, in Würzburg.”

“Würzburg?”

“It’s near Regensburg, I believe.”

“I know where the hell it is. I’m just trying to remember why I know where the hell it is.” Liebermann von Sonnenberg flicked a switch on his desk intercom to speak to his secretary. “Ida? Why does Würzburg mean something to me?”

“You had a request from the Gestapo in Würzburg,” said a woman’s voice. “In your capacity as Interpol liaison officer. Requesting that you contact the FBI in America about a suspect living here in Germany.”

“And did I?”

“Yes. We sent them what we got from the FBI a week or so ago.”

“Wait a minute, Erich,” I said. “I’m beginning to think this bone might make a lot more than just soup. Ida? This is Bernie Gunther. Can you remember the name of that suspect the Gestapo in Würzburg wanted to know about?”

“Wait a minute. I think I still have the Gestapo’s letter in my tray. I haven’t filed it yet. Yes, here we are. The suspect’s name is Max Reles.”

Von Sonnenberg flicked off the intercom and nodded. “You’re smiling like that name means something, Bernie,” he observed.

“Max Reles is a guest at the Adlon and a good friend of the count’s.”

“Is that so?” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s just a small world.”