A Murder in Auschwitz by J.C. Stephenson Read Free Book Online Page A

reasonable size crumb of black bread which had stuck to the underside of the lip of his bowl.
    Once he was certain that every single morsel of food had been consumed, he then made his way to the back of the mess hut and dropped his empty plate and cup into a pile of dirty crockery as he had seen the other prisoners do and started to make his way back to the only place he could imagine going in this hot dismal place, hut seventy-two.
     
     
     
     
     
     

Berlin, 18th November 1929
     
     
    KURT Deschler took his time before asking Dieter Färber his first question. “Herr Färber, it must have been a terrible shock finding your parents in their home in that manner.”
    Färber agreed that it had been terrible, and that it was something which would stay with him for the rest of his life. Deschler declared his deepest sympathy for him and continued with his questions.
    “You lived with your parents, Herr Färber?”
    “Yes.”
    Deschler frowned and pointed to one of Meyer’s piles of papers, which Meyer diligently handed to Deschler.
    “But I have it here,” said Deschler, pointing to the top paper, “that you were married two and a half years ago. Is this not the case?”
    Färber looked confused and, in an embarrassed voice, admitted that he was married but that his wife had left him.
    “What is your profession, Herr Färber?”
    “I work in the meat factory, bringing in the carcasses from the wagons.”
    Deschler nodded.
    “That would explain your powerful frame, Herr Färber.”
    “You need to be strong to carry in that meat.”
    “Your father was also of a strong build, was he not? Being in the same trade,” asked Deschler.
    “That is correct,” replied Färber. “Even though he was twenty years my senior, he was a very fit and strong man.”
    “So it would have taken a particularly strong man to have been able to...” Deschler made a show of searching for the correct words. “Disable him?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “Perhaps not someone with a withered arm?”
    “We have already heard from you about that dreadful moment in your parents' house, and I do not wish for you to have to relive it, but can you explain to me when you saw the defendant?”
    Färber looked up to the vaulted ceiling and closed his eyes in thought.
    “It was as I was about to leave the house. He was at the front door, opening it to escape. I tried to shout but I am ashamed to say that nothing came out.”
    “Did the defendant see you?”
    “I don’t think so, but he left very quickly.”
    Deschler pointed to one of Meyer’s piles of papers. Meyer handed it over. Deschler picked one paper out and handed the rest back to Meyer.
    “I have here the description of the defendant that you gave the police. Let me read this to you. ‘A Gypsy with black hair, pulled back into a ponytail. A black moustache, bushy eyebrows above brown eyes, a long nose, pierced ears and swarthy skin. He wore a black leather waistcoat, a patterned kerchief around his neck, a red shirt and black trousers’.”
    Deschler handed the paper back to Meyer.
    “That is a very convincing description of Herr Weide, don’t you think, Herr Färber?”
    “Yes, it is. It is what I saw.”
    “But you didn’t mention Herr Weide’s withered arm.”
    “I didn’t notice it at the time. He was escaping through the door. It was all so fast.”
    “Can I ask you, how did you know he was a Gypsy?”
    Färber looked over at the jury and back to Deschler again.
    “Well, I suppose I just guessed. He looked like a Gypsy.”
    “Yes Herr Färber, your description is an excellent one of a Gypsy. Actually, a very typical description of a very typical Gypsy. How did you know he had a moustache and brown eyes?”
    Färber looked puzzled.
    “I am sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.”
    Deschler’s smile had entirely gone now.
    “How did you know what Herr Weide’s facial features were when you were not even certain if he had seen you? Herr Weide would have to be