“Is that your purpose for this meeting? To badger me with senseless questions?” Fritzsch waits for my reply, but my tongue can’t form the question I long to ask, and he narrows his eyes against the rain. “The next words out of your mouth had better be worth my while.”

The question dislodges itself from my throat, so I release a slow breath and concentrate on each word to keep from blurting it out. “Did you kill my family?”

How long I’ve waited to ask that question, to find the confirmation I’ve sought all these years, to get justice for them. But, when my voice catches, Fritzsch snatches his opportunity as easily as he snatched my bishop from the board. The tension in his jaw releases, and he chuckles.

“Do you expect me to remember a few particular prisoners?” He sighs and shakes his head. “Besides, I was Auschwitz’s deputy, not an executioner, remember?”

He’s playing his game, extending control to the center of the board, positioning me exactly where he wants me. The heat racing through my veins won’t be quelled, and I swallow hard.

“Tell me if you killed them.”

“You’ll need to be more specific. You were sent here with parents? Siblings? Grandparents? And none of them were registered?” He crosses his arms and settles back into his chair. “Fascinating. Such a shame I can’t remember.”

“Liar!”

The accusation comes out before I can stop it, then I’m halfway out of my seat and clutching the edges of the table. This is a feeling I recognize all too well, the one that always comes when I teeter on the edge, and if I don’t pull back then there’s no regaining control. With considerable effort, I relax my grip on the table.

Fritzsch acknowledges my outburst with nothing more than a heavy sigh. “Are you going to keep spewing nonsense, or shall we continue?”

As he gestures for me to move my next piece, a small smirk plays around his lips. He knows the truth, I’m sure of it, and he’s going to admit it. I sink into my seat and move my remaining bishop without taking my eyes off him.

“An eyewitness told me everything. Remember that before you answer me again.” I give him a moment to contemplate my words before asking once more. “Did you kill my family?”

“You seem to have made up your mind, so what I say isn’t going to matter.” Fritzsch leans closer to me. “Perhaps you can jog my memory. Why don’t you tell me what you think you know?”

Chapter 17

Auschwitz, 11 January 1942