Page 27
“Father, I will be blunt. Like any man of great stature and power, especially one all but certain to be the next president of Germany, the Führer has many political enemies. We believe that one of these enemies killed poor Geli in the home they shared for the express purpose of injuring him politically. Embarrassing him. And likewise allowing them to smear him with innuendo. I trust you’ve read many newspaper accounts.”
“I have, I have.”
“All with smears against the Führer. Suggesting an improper relationship and the like. Perhaps even implicating him personally in the murder. Which of course is ludicrous. The media is playing directly into their hands. Giving them the very result they desired.”
“I would agree that the accounts have been… unflattering, yes.”
“Just so. They are engaging in the most vile of political axioms—if you say something enough times, no matter how ridiculous, people will start to believe it.” Goebbels struggled to keep a straight face while quoting his personal motto for propaganda but assigning it to Hitler’s enemies instead.
The priest let out a small chuckle. But then he grew quiet. “My understanding, though, is that Herr Hitler’s political party has embraced the suicide theory. Something about unresolved artistic—I cannot remember the exact phrase—”
“Father, rest assured, we do not believe for one moment that Fräulein Raubal took her life. But right now, we are lying low, if you will. We are trying to unveil the true killer. But the Weimar government is against us. Why, did you see that the Munich Police were kicked off the case? That the Bavarian minister of justice took over the investigation? That is highly, highly unusual. So we must work under the cover of secrecy. We must act without anyone knowing we are doing so. We will bring the killer to justice, but we have to do so without drawing attention.”
Propaganda was propaganda, whether conveyed to the masses or to a naive, somewhat sympathetic man of the cloth. Goebbels and his associates had orchestrated every last bit of the cover-up, but here he was, standing before a priest, blaming it all on unknown “political enemies” within the Weimar government.
Father Pant stopped and turned to Goebbels. “You are Catholic, my son?”
“I am, Father.”
“I have your word that Fräulein Raubal did not take her life?”
Goebbels made the sign of the cross. “You have my solemn vow,” he said.
Father Pant looked him over, wet his lips.
“And if I may,” Goebbels added, “it would absolutely break Angela’s heart if she could not bury her daughter here, with you, her beloved priest, presiding.”
Goebbels bowed his head. He didn’t need to hear the father’s answer. He already knew it.
The justice minister had already shut down the investigation into Geli Raubal’s death. In just hours, they would bury her body. Yes, there would still be stray news stories, but the trail would go cold.
The worst was over.
15
Present Day
Viktualienmarkt
Munich
“WIE BITTE,” I SAY to the young woman I accidentally bump into in the farmer’s market.
Munich’s largest market in the heart of Altstadt—literally “old town”—spans from Petersplatz to Frauenstraße. Vendors sell fresh fruits and vegetables, spices and flowers, cheeses and sausages from wooden bins under tented stalls, with separate pavilions for fish, fowl, and other meats, and bakery items, to say nothing of the beer tents.
“Professor Robbins?”
I’m seated at an old-fashioned wood picnic table near the tents, snacking on a plate of sausage, when I spot a girl wearing a white puffy coat and stocking cap.
“Monica?”
We have spoken by phone but this is our first meeting. Monica looks almost cherubically youthful, younger than the grad student I know her to be. Like me, she’s also from Chicago, but has been living in Munich this past year, studying at LMU—Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität München.
I offer to buy her a cup of cider.
“Oh, thanks, that’s so kind of you. It’s nice to see you in person,” Monica says, sitting down. Her curls sneak out from under her cap, but it’s her lively and probing eyes that give away her lineage as the great-granddaughter of Thomas Bauer, whom I’ve come to feel I know so well from reading his diaries.
“Are you enjoying Munich? I assume you’ve been here before?”
