'The Killing of Gentle People', Michel Henri [ebook e reader .TXT] 📗

then dragged my wrecked body out of the front door of the bar and into the boulevard. Turning left, it was a short distance to the first address on the paper. It was the home of SS Commandant Josef Krolle’s daughter, Helga Krolle. Her house was one of three which were positioned as one at the corner of the Fiveways Boulevard intersection. The house l wanted was the one situated on the right hand side of the three. It was painted green and looked neat and spotless, with a small well-kept garden in the front and a name plaque, which read The Krolle Residence.
I waited by a large old oak tree, in view of the house. It was a beautiful old tree, and so l gave the
tree a hug, a long loving hug, taking its great strength into my prematurely old and painful body.
As usual, l was careful not to be seen when viewing the surroundings of one of my retribution
victims. Luckily for me there were no people around. In fact, it was very quiet. So l quickly
checked my Luger pistol inside my old overcoat. After l had screwed the silencer onto the barrel l made sure the gun was loaded, then put the safety catch on. At that point l put two extra bullets in my trouser pocket. I had seen the Gestapo do that when they went out on a killing spree. That finished and l was ready. But the actions l had just taken always made me agitated. Do l or do l not? Should l or should l not? But l had as a boy made my pledge in blood. Each time, my emotions filled me with the fear that l had become an automaton, programmed to keep my promise. Right or wrong mattered not; it had to be done. It was as though l was chosen for this work, because no one else could justify the deed.
It was an act l struggled against time after time. I closed my mind; it was an easy trick to do. Heinz and l had learnt how to do it in the death camp in order to stay alive.
Without haste l walked around the block. It surprised me that at that time of day there were so few

people about, and little or no traffic at the Fiveways Boulevard intersection.
As l came round the corner from the back of the block towards the address l spotted a woman coming out of the Krolle residence. Quickening my footsteps and forgetting the pains in my body, and with the adrenalin pumping in my heart, l walked straight up to the woman just as she reached the beautiful big tree.
Looking into her eyes, l asked the question l had asked so many times. Always with different names, different places and different districts.
“Excuse me, but are you Helga, daughter of Josef Krolle?”
I asked the question giving the impression of being a comrade.
“Yes, sir! How can l help you?” came her response.
I quickly took out my Luger, making sure the safety catch was off, and then pushed the pistol hurriedly into her chest saying:
“Helga, l knew your father at the Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp!”
She gave me a half smile as though she knew what was about to happen. Without hesitation or a sense of guilt l squeezed the trigger and silently killed her. She held onto my arm just for a
moment, then fell to the ground. Her crumpled body lay at the foot of the majestic tree.
Then, as quickly as my wrecked body would allow me, l walked back round the block, then down the boulevard intersection towards the old wine bar.
It took me fifteen minutes to walk the distance to The Dumb Cow. After calming my breathing down l walked into the bar and ordered a large brandy.
“Nice to see you back, sir! Did you enjoy your walk?” asked the barmaid:
“The colour has come back to your features. That’s good! Please sit down, and l will bring your drink over to you.”
I sat down quickly in the window as l had before. My body had come back to life, and was telling me so with the pain it was inflicting on me. While l waited for my drink to arrive l stared out of the window, recounting what l had just done. I went through the whole scenario as l always did, the house, the tree, the woman, the soundless shot, and then the dead woman falling to the ground

under that magnificent old tree.
The shrill sound of a Police car alarm passing by bought me back to reality, as it sped up the boulevard outside the window.
“The Police are about today. Looks like something is going on!” remarked the barmaid as she placed my drink on the table. I turned and saw the flashing lights of a second car speeding by.
“Enjoy your drink, dear! Look, l think you left this note paper on the table when you left for your walk.”
She placed the piece of paper on the table in front of me. I recognised it immediately, and it was indeed mine. Such an important scrap of paper! How could l have left it on the table?
“Thank you very much madam, but l don’t think it’s mine” l replied, taking my drink in both hands and taking a smooth mouth-full.
“Well, tell you what I will do! I’ll place it behind the bar in case anyone asks for it, by the whisky bottle!”
My hand started to shake. I knew l had to get that piece of paper without the barmaid knowing that
it was mine. Not only was the Krolle name and address written on it, but also the name and address of my next assignment.
I took another sip of my brandy, then l turned to look out the window again. Out in the boulevard l saw another Police car with lights flashing driving in the direction of the Fiveways Boulevard Intersection and the Krolle residence. I didn’t really give it a second thought at that moment. I had done what l had come to do; now it was the end of another part of my retribution journey. The brandy was going to my head. It was a nice warm feeling! I just closed my eyes and sat there contemplating life and death, wondering if l really understood which of the two was the best.
For my dear mother and father, l was thinking it was best for them to have gone as quickly as they did. For l had lived through the suffering of the death camp, and from what l had suffered and witnessed it was hell on earth. I would not have wanted my dear parents to have experienced such atrocities.
I heard the barmaid’s footsteps on the wooded floor walking towards my table, so l kept my eyes

closed, faking sleep, as l was not in the right frame of mind to converse with her.
She stopped at my table. Standing there, l could feel her eyes penetrating me as she whispered:
“I hope you’re alright, old man. You do look very tired! I’ll have to look after you like l did my old dad. He liked a brandy! Do you know, you have been our only customer this morning! Lets hope we get busy later on.”
The barmaid stayed another moment, then l heard her heavy footsteps walking back to the bar area.
I opened my eyes just a little to look around. Indeed, she was right. I was the only customer in the wine bar. I closed my heavy eyes once again and within seconds l must have fallen fast asleep.

Place: The Scene of the Latest Killing.
“There you go! It wasn’t a very long drive, was it? Driver, pull over there by that big tree and leave room for another car” ordered Sergeant Gold.
Sergeant Gold and the three constables she had chosen to drive with her to the scene of the crime
sat in the car and waited for their orders.
The local Police had put a cordon around the killing scene so as not to compromise any forensic evidence there might be by the dead body.
Sergeant Gold got out of the car, then turned back to the other officers:
“I want you three to check the house. It’s that green one. Hanz, you go in the front and look around. Don’t mess with forensics! You know what they are like, and they have their job to do. You two take the back garden. Look for anything strange, mark it, but don’t move anything. You got that?”
“What are we supposed to be looking for, Sergeant? Anything specific?”
“Anything! Just anything which is out of place. Now go!” snapped the Sergeant.
“Mark it but don’t move it! Understand?”
Sergeant Gold moved over to the second car that had just arrived:
“You three men check the houses near the victim’s house. Ask questions, lots of questions. Take notes of the answers. I want to see everything you get. I don’t want you telling me things. I want them written down. This is our big chance! I hope you understand me, constables.”

The men got out of the car and proceeded in the direction of the houses.
“You” snapped the Sergeant to the only woman in the car:
“I didn’t see you! Come with me. What’s your name?”
“Trainee Constable Maria Reagan, Sergeant!”
“Ok, Maria. You stay close to me and make notes as we go. Everything needs to be recorded, and you had better call Inspector Mercedes on the car radio and check in. Tell him what you are up to and that l gave the orders.”
Constable Reagan replied in a military loud voice:
“Yes Sir, Sergeant Gold!” then saluted.
“Look, Maria; this assignment is not a career. Just chill a little. Call me Sergeant on duty and Becky off duty, and please call the Inspector “Chief Inspector!”
The Sergeant walked over to talk to the forensic squad. They had just arrived and were unloading
specialist equipment from the back of their unit’s motorised investigation laboratory.
“Good morning, team. I hope you get lucky today!”
One of the forensic team stopped what he was doing, and with a sarcastic tone in his voice said loudly for everyone to hear:
“It’s not luck, Mrs Sergeant! It’s science! Or didn’t they teach you that at the police training academy?”
Sergeant Gold ignored the remark, treating it with the contempt it deserved, and the officer sheepishly got on with his job.
“If someone finds something tangible give me a shout immediately. I would be very grateful, however small it may be.”
Gustav Droysen, the head of the forensics team, leaned out of the car window and asked in a loud voice. “How grateful, Becky? Would that cover a night cap, or maybe breakfast at your place?”
“Perhaps a drink at the wine bar, Gustav. It’s just down the boulevard. It’s called the Dumb Cow. But l want results first. And you call me Sergeant when we are on duty, not Becky or Sarg. Is that clear?”

“Sorry, Becky, l mean Sarg. Damn it, l meant to say Sergeant! It won’t happen again, it’s just that you go to my head and linger like a haunting refrain. Know the song l mean, darling?”
Gustav Droysen then got out of the vehicle and walked off with his staff to comb the area for evidence, and to supervise the bagging and removal of the body of Helga Krolle.
Hanz and his three colleagues returned from the Krolle residence to report their findings to Sergeant Gold, who was talking