The rain fell relentlessly, a somber symphony of despair that echoed through the cobblestone streets of Warschau. The city, once known as Warsaw, had been transformed under the iron grip of the Third Reich. Its name, like its spirit, had been reshaped to fit the new order.
SS Criminal Policeman Gert von Braun stood at the edge of the road, his leather-clad boots sinking into the mud. His breath misted in the cold air as he surveyed the scene before him. The burnt husk of a car lay smoldering, its twisted metal a testament to violence. And there, amidst the charred wreckage, lay the woman.
Von Braun crouched down, carefully examining the corpse. She had been shot twice, her face marred by gunfire. He reached out, gently turning her head. Something felt off about her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
With a grunt, von Braun rose to his feet, his gloved hands balled into fists. The trail had gone cold, and his superiors would not be pleased.
As the rain continued to fall, the city around him remained silent. Umbrellas unfolded in the air, the local civil police making their way through the crowds of people, searching for witnesses.
Von Braun looked up, watching as a dark, swirling fog slowly descended upon the city. It enveloped the buildings, creeping inexorably closer. The head of the light green civil police raised his hand and saluted with his umbrella. "Hi! Führer!"
The fog was thick and wet, clinging to the buildings and streets. It wrapped itself around the civilians, the soldiers, and the policemen, suffocating them with its icy tendrils. "Hi! Führer! What's your name?" The fog swirled around him, the whispers growing louder, the words becoming clearer.
"Werner," the man replied. "And you?"
"I am Gert von Braun, SS Criminal Police." Gert looked at his light green order police uniform. His police rank was the only thing he could make out, and the rest of his outfit was a blur of green.
Werner nodded. "A good name, Gert. I'm sure we'll work well together." The man was tall and thin, with close-cropped hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His uniform was a little threadbare, but it was clean and pressed.
Gert looked up at the man. "I'm sure we will, Werner. Who discovered the body? What time? Did you contact the photographer and pathologist?"
"All taken care of, Gert," the man assured him. "I had the forensic experts take the photographs. You should be able to see them at the station."
"Thank you, The Female corpse's name?"
Anna Kowalska, her name whispered by the wind, her body barely clinging to life. Her once-vibrant eyes stared up at Gert, pleading for salvation. But salvation was a rare commodity in Warschau these days.
Gert knelt beside her, his gloved hands trembling as he checked for a pulse. Her skin was seared, her clothes reduced to tatters. The stench of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air. She was a victim, yet something about her defiance stirred a fire within him.
"Who did this?" Gert's voice was gruff, his German accent slicing through the rain. Anna's lips moved, but no sound emerged.
Werner eyes flickered, and she whispered a single word. "Germans."
Gert's heart skipped a beat, his anger threatening to boil over. "What do you mean? Which Germans?"
"Maybe a racial vendetta, this woman is Polish, the Germans hate the Poles. Maybe a hit squad. The list goes on. We have a war going on." Werner pointed out, gesturing to the carnage around them.
Anna shook her head, her lips twisting into a grimace. Gert clenched his jaw. The racial tension between Germany and Poland had escalated since the war's end. The conquered Poles were treated as second-class citizens, their culture suppressed, their language silenced.
He stood, wiping rain from his face. The SS had taught him to be ruthless, to follow orders without question. But Anna's eyes haunted him. "If it was a racial vendetta, why would she be doused with gasoline and burned to death in the wild?"
Werner shrugged, his gaze darting nervously between the dead woman and Gert. "I'm sure we will discover the reason."
The two men fell silent, their thoughts turning to the investigation ahead. They both knew the stakes, the dangers that lurked in the shadows.
But for now, all they could do was wait.
Gert and the rest of the local civil police began to spread out, interviewing the witnesses. But their investigations led to a dead end. The only person who seemed to have seen anything was a little girl named Katya, and her story was hard to believe.
She claimed that a monster had come out of the fog and killed the woman, a beast with burning eyes and a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. A beast with wings.
"You saw this, Katya?" Gert asked, crouching down in front of the young girl. "What did the monster look like?"
The little girl bit her lip, her eyes wide with fear. "It was dark, and the fog was thick. But I saw its eyes, and they were so bright, like two burning suns."
"Car lights." Werner cut in. "Probably an American."
Gert held up his hand, silencing the man. He turned back to the girl. "Tell me more about the monster. What did it look like?"
"It was tall, with broad shoulders. It had sharp claws, and a mouth full of teeth."
"Like a wolf?"
"No. Like a..." the girl trailed off, her eyes widening. "A vampire. It was a vampire."
The two policemen exchanged a glance, and Werner let out a snort of derision. Gert narrowed his eyes.
——
Pathologist and photographer ride in a Volkswagen Beetle. A light blue car, the light green uniform of the local civil police is the only thing visible. The camera is a Leica M2, the typewriter is a German Heeren typewriter.
"We should get a statement from the little girl." said Werner, "So this case belongs to you or to us?"
"I will investigate the case. It is my job. I was assigned to the case by the Chief." said Gert, "I will need to get statements from everyone involved, including the little girl. The transcript of the confession of the little girl and her parents belongs to you. This will be sent to the court later."
"We should get a statement from the little girl and her family," Werner suggested. "You need to take a picture of the body and send it to the morgue."
"That will be done," Gert promised.
The two men fell silent again as the Volkswagen Beetle made its way through the crowded streets of Warschau. The rain continued to fall, the sky overhead a gray blanket of clouds.
After returning to the police station, Gert and the pathologist carried the body bag to the morgue, hell, as he preferred to call it. It was cold and sterile, a place where death held sway.
The pathologist pulled the body out of the bag, his hands deftly moving across the dead woman's scorched flesh. "She was killed by a fire. There are burn marks on her clothes, and her skin is severely damaged."
Gert leaned in, his eyes roving over the woman's remains. He had seen death many times before, but this was different. "Death time?"
"Not long ago. Probably last night."
Gert nodded, his mind racing. This was no ordinary crime. It was a deliberate act of brutality. A message, perhaps. "How long will the autopsy take?"
"Two hours," the pathologist replied. "I'll send the results to the court."
Gert's mind was already elsewhere, his gaze fixed on the door leading to the evidence room. And it's best not to stay in hell watching these two hours.
As Gert made his way to the evidence room, his mind was full of questions. Who was Anna Kowalska? Why had she been killed? And what connection did she have to the mysterious figure described by the little girl?
——
Gert entered the evidence room, the musty smell of old paper and leather filling his nostrils. The shelves were lined with files and folders, the names and dates written in neat, precise handwriting. He scanned the labels, searching for the name of the dead woman.
"Ah, here it is," he muttered, pulling out the file. It was surprisingly thin, containing only a few pages of information.
Gert skimmed through the pages, his brow furrowed. Anna Kowalska was a 26-year-old Polish citizen. She had worked as a nurse at a hospital in Warschau, and was the mother of a young daughter. She was described as being quiet and reserved, with no known enemies.
Gert flipped to the last page, his heart skipping a beat as he read the final line. _"The victim's body was discovered on 23 September 1956, on the outskirts of the city. The cause of death was determined to be strangulation."_
"Strangulation?" Gert repeated, his mind reeling. He had seen the damage inflicted by fire. How could a fire and a strangulation be related? "What happened? If she died by hanging in 1956, who is this body now?"
He sat down heavily, his thoughts spinning. If the woman was killed Four years ago, how did her body end up here? And why was it set on fire?
"There is something here."
"What?" Werner asked, turning away from the typewriter.
"I said there is something wrong with the autopsy report. The victim was hanged and died on 23 September 1956, so the new body should have been identified as an unknown woman. It was a common practice after the war."
"But it is the same body."
"Exactly, and that is not possible." Gert sat for a moment, trying to make sense of it all. His gaze landed on the camera sitting on the table. "Photographs!"
"What photographs?"
"The pathologist's photographs. They will tell us what happened."
Werner grabbed the folder from the shelf and hurried over to the darkroom. Gert followed, his heart pounding in anticipation. The room was dimly lit, the walls covered with photographic chemicals.
"We need to develop the film," Werner said, his voice low. "I don't understand why the file on the female corpse shows that she died four years ago?"
"It is not a problem," said Gert. "Just develop the photos, and we will know everything."
Gert and Werner carefully removed the film from the camera and placed it in the developing tank. As the chemical bath did its work, the images began to appear on the glossy paper.
"They look the same as the last photos," said Werner, "But what the hell is that?"
"What is what?" Gert asked, looking at the images. "Although the face of the female corpse was destroyed, it was similar to the photo of Anna Kowalska in the archives."
"Yes," Werner agreed. "This is very strange."
Gert's heart was in his throat. Something was very wrong, and he was beginning to suspect that the answer lay in the photographs. "Is there an error in the file? Or something? It should be normal for the files to be chaotic in the years after the war?"
"Maybe," Werner murmured. "But still, this is weird. I will try to find out."
Gert and Werner took the photographs to the Chief Inspector. The chief's office was a small, cramped space, the walls lined with bookshelves. He was an elderly man, his eyes hooded, his manner reserved.
"Gentlemen, what brings you here?" The Chief asked.
"Sir, the new corpse is not the new corpse."
"Explain yourself, Von Braun."
"The victim was hanged in 1956 and buried as an unidentified corpse, but her body was found again this morning. I think the files are wrong."
The Chief leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Are you saying that the dead woman is actually a ghost? How is that possible?"
"I don't know, Sir," Gert admitted. "Maybe there is an error in the file, but the file shows that she was hanged in 1956. If the female corpse this morning is the Polish woman in the file..."
"Then it is a ghost." The Chief finished, his tone grim.
"It is a possibility, Sir," Gert replied, his mind reeling. "Perhaps, she was not hanged? But why?"
"Von Braun. This is a strange case. But it's not important now. We have received a new task. All criminal police have to be dispatched. The Polish woman's case is handed over to the civilian police."
"I can't, Sir." Gert argued. "The case is not solved."
"That's an order, Von Braun."
"But, Sir...I think I should stay on this case. It's too important."
"Important or not, you will go. We received orders from London and Germania, There is an organization called the Greater Deutschland-Polnischen Trade Promotion Association that is engaged in population crimes. The British government is also engaged in this investigation. So this case has become a top secret."
"I see." Gert stood and saluted.
Gert left the office, his thoughts swirling. He knew that he had to go to London and Germania, but his heart told him to stay. He had to solve this case, and he had a feeling that the truth lay in the past.