Page 44

“You have to understand,” Maurice pleaded. “Geli, when she met the Führer, was an impressionable young girl. And he was already a celebrity in Munich. She was flattered by his attention. She enjoyed it. She was taken in by it—”

“I understand, Emil. I understand you cared about this girl, and you don’t want her memory tarnished. But this isn’t a reflection on her. None of this is her fault. This is all about an older man preying on her. Nothing more.”

Maurice, wiping tears from his eyes, appreciated that comment. “I will tell you once what they did together but then never again. So pay attention.”

Bauer nodded, held his breath. He caught the eye of Peter Helldorff, and silently communicated the importance of this moment.

“He would make her undress while he lay on the floor. Once naked, she would… she would squat down over his face so he could get a good, up-close view, while he… pleasured himself. And when he began to reach the height of excitement, that’s when he… he would demand that she urinate on him.

“Apparently this brought him maximum pleasure.” Maurice pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. Bauer gave him space, not wanting to rush, but also not wanting to wait too long. Once the dam burst, you let everything flow through. He’d been close to that with Anni Winter before he was interrupted. He couldn’t let that happen again. “And Geli—”

“Geli never liked it,” said Maurice, smoke billowing from his nose. “But at first, she tolerated it. She was flattered. He told her he’d never done that with anyone else, that she was special. But the longer it went on, the more he restricted her movements and put controls on her life—” Maurice put his hands in the air. “She found it revolting. Degrading. Humiliating. Disgusting.”

“What else?”

“He liked to be punished,” said Maurice. “He would lie on the floor and condemn himself as unworthy. He would beg and grovel to be kicked, to be punished.”

“Kicked?”

“Apparently this caused him great… arousal, too.” He shook his head. “The man is sick.”

But not stupid, Bauer thought. This would be yet another motive for Geli’s murder. Not only was Hitler losing his suffocating grasp on her, not only was he suffering her personal rejection, but she knew things that could put a stake through the heart of his meteoric political rise. He wouldn’t have been able to just let her walk out.

“Who else can corroborate this? Here.” Bauer handed Maurice a pen and small notepad. “Write down the names of other people who know these things.”

Maurice opened the side door and tossed his cigarette. Then he took the pen and paper and started writing. “I can’t be sure of all these people. But these are the people she might have confided in, besides me.”

They remained in silence while Maurice scribbled down names. When he was finished, he handed back the notepad. “I trust there are no more questions?”

“I have one,” said Helldorff from the front seat. “If you think this man is such a monster, why do you still follow him?”

Bauer winced. He’d been trying to handle Maurice with kid gloves. But it was a valid question. And he sensed that he’d gotten all he could from the man.

Emil Maurice buttoned his coat, preparing to leave. “At first, a decade ago, he inspired me. He showed strength. Our government was so weak, and he showed resolve, courage. I believed in his version of a proud and mighty Germany. I believed in him. I went to prison for him. I would have done anything for him. But now…” His voice broke. He took a moment, wiping his mouth, before raising his hands. “I’ve cast my lot with him. I have a position. I have respect. If I leave NSDAP, I will not be safe here. I will have to leave the country. And I do not want to leave. So you tell me: Where else will I go now?”

Maurice opened the car door.

“There’s a word for that,” said Bauer. “That word is cowardice. You have the power to help stop this man, but you do nothing.”

Maurice gave Bauer a long look. Then he slowly nodded. He pushed himself out the door but paused in the effort, then slowly sank back into the seat.

“All right, Bauer,” he said. “You want proof. I know where you can find it.”

29

Present Day

Munich

AFTER LEAVING MONICA BAUER, Thomas Bauer’s great-granddaughter, I give myself a pep talk. It was just a random purse snatching, I tell myself again, before I reread the directions she gave me, draw a deep breath, and start my journey.

I pass Marienplatz, a square block of a plaza best known for its glockenspiel, the giant mechanical clock in the Gothic town hall building that puts on a show at least twice a day for the tourists, a fifteen-minute display of life-sized figurines parading and dancing and jousting on horseback as the bells chime.

I reach Residenzstraße and stop at Spatenhaus, the granite multi-story restaurant near Max-Joseph Plaza where Hitler used to dine with Geli before the opera. My instructions are to go inside and have lunch. I eat in the more casual ground-level dining room, decorated with fresh flowers and a frescoed ceiling.

An hour later, I leave the restaurant and continue past the infamous Viscardigasse without even glancing down the alley. Though my instructions don’t include it, I stop as I approach the Odeonsplatz, to touch the noses of each of the four bronze lions guarding the entrance of the Alte Residenz for good luck—though I’ve heard locals feel that touching all four is greedy. Still, after my experience with the purse snatcher, I’m looking for all the good fortune I can get.

This spot on Residenzstraße is the location of the standoff during the Beer Hall Putsch between the Bavarian State Police and Hitler and his supporters. I stand on the manhole in the middle of the street where Hitler’s second-in-command, Hermann Göring, was shot in the groin. (Maybe he’d forgotten to rub the lions’ noses.) He somehow managed to survive and escape to Sweden, where two significant things happened: he met the baroness he would later marry, and he became addicted to morphine.