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Müller went to her and grabbed her shoulders and put his face close to hers.
“It would be very dangerous for you, my girl, to lie about von Fulmar’s relationship to your father,” he said.
Gisella was now shaking.
“I swear before Christ he never met him,” she said.
“He was your lover and he never even met your father? Why not?”
“Because I didn’t want him involved,” she said.
“When was the last time you heard from Fulmar?”
“I’ve been over this again and again and again. I don’t know where he went, and he never told me he was going.”
“And you have not had any contact with him since May of 1940?”
“No. I swear, I don’t know anything about him. My God, why won’t you believe me?”
Müller let her go, walked to his tunic, and took out a package of cigarettes. He handed her one and lit it, then lit another for himself.
“Gisella,” he said, almost in a fatherly tone,“I want you to consider your answer very carefully before you give it. If you should be contacted in any way by Eric von Fulmar, in any way at all, would you promptly notify Hauptsturmführer Peis?”
She took a deep breath.
“Yes, of course I would,” she said,“if that is what is desired of me.”
"I don’t believe you,” Müller said matter-of-factly.
She looked at him in horror.
“Peis would. I don’t. Which is a good thing for you.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said helplessly.
“Eric von Fulmar is now an officer in the United States Army,” Müller said. “He sent a postcard, postmarked Bad Ems, to a mutual friend, asking that his regards be given to your father—”
“I tell you,” she said desperately, interrupting him,“he doesn’t know my father!”
And then the implications of what he had said sank in. He didn’t sound as if he were a security officer looking for a spy or a spy’s accomplices. Gisella stared at Müller in utter confusion.
“—and I want to know what he meant by that,” Müller finished.
“He didn’t know my father,” she wailed. “He doesn’t know my father.”
"Fulmar sent his regards,” Müller said flatly. “We have to find out what the hell he meant by it. My life, and now yours, Gisella, may damned well hang on that.”
“I don’t understand—” she began, and he shut her off.
“Yes, you do.” he said. “You’re a very intelligent young woman.”
“Has this anything to do with Reichsminister Speer?” Gisella asked. She saw immediately in his eyes that the question confused him. “I don’t know,” he said. “If you’re asking if I am mak
ing inquiries on behalf of Speer, no. Quite the opposite, Gisella.”
She looked at him curiously, and he nodded his head to confirm her suspicions.
“I want you to ask your father, right out, if he can think of any reason why Fulmar would send him his regards,” Müller said. “Do you understand? If he can’t think of anything, have him guess. Whatever he tells you, you tell me. I’ll decide whether it’s important or not.”
