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Bauer nodded and thought for a moment. “Was Herr Hess the one who removed the mirror from Fräulein Raubal’s bedroom?”

“Oh.” Anni’s eyes trailed up to the ceiling. “That was the night bef—”

Georg landed a decisive hand on Anni’s, cutting off his wife mid-sentence. “What mirror?” he asked.

Bauer silently cursed. Outwardly, he opened his hands, as if the answer were obvious, as if his question were not controversial in the least. It was a common tactic of his, to ask an important question out of the blue, hoping for an unscripted response. Which is exactly what he’d been in the process of receiving before Georg’s intervention.

“We know the mirror above Fräulein Raubal’s vanity was moved,” Bauer said. “Herr Hess told me as much.” That was untrue, of course; Hess had told Bauer nothing of substance. “I was just unclear on which person moved it or when. It happened last night, I think you were saying.”

Anni, properly admonished, gathered her hands together.

“If Herr Hess told you, Inspector, then you should ask Herr Hess,” said Georg. “We do not remember a broken mirror.”

“I never said the mirror was broken, Georg.” Another common tactic; give them information but leave something out to see if the witness fills it in. Which Georg just had.

“Well, we do not remember any kind of mirror.”

Anni, head bowed, said, “The Führer is very upset to learn of his niece’s suicide—”

Bauer sprang to his feet, feeling the venom rising within him. “Georg,” he said, “I’d like to speak with you alone.”

A look of uncertainty crossed Georg’s face, but he seemed relieved to be back in charge of the conversation. Clearly the plan had been that he would do the talking.

Bauer led him through the detectives’ room to a different interview room with an identical long wooden table and simple chairs. “Have a seat, Georg.”

Georg took a seat and settled in.

“Just a moment,” said Bauer. “I will be right back.”

Bauer walked back through the detectives’ room, catching the eye of Helldorff, who was busy transcribing his notes to a secretary, and avoiding the looks of Inspector Brecht, who had shrunk in his seat earlier today when the assignment for this murder investigation had been first doled out.

He returned to the room where Anni Winter sat. She looked up at his reentry, confused. “You… wanted to speak to my husband alone?”

“Yes, I do. I will. But I want to talk to you first. Is that okay?”

She didn’t answer. Bauer thought he detected a shiver run through the young woman, as she pulled her shawl over her shoulders once more.

“You called her Geli, is that right?” Bauer said softly, trying to break the ice.

Anni nodded. Fresh tears streamed down her face. She accepted a handkerchief from Bauer and wiped her cheeks. “In the Führer’s presence, she was Fräulein Raubal. But when he was gone, I called her Geli. She always treated me like…” She choked up again, stifled a sob. “Like a friend,” she whispered.

Bauer watched her, waited for his moment. “If something bad had happened to you, she would have stood up for you, wouldn’t she? No matter what.”

“Yes, she would,” said Anni, taking a breath and nodding with more conviction. She looked Bauer in the eyes. “All right. Ask me your questions.”

“You heard them come home last night,” he said, not wasting any time.

“Yes.”

“They argued.”

“Yes.” More tears welled up in her eyes. “My husband and I were in our room. We stayed in there. We didn’t see anything. But we heard.”

“Herr Hitler was still there when the gun—?”

A knock on the door. Ilse, the chief inspector’s assistant. “The chief needs to speak with you right now, Inspector.”

Now? Right at this moment, just as I am breaking through?