"You get all my love."

Abruptly, Britta turned to face him. "Don't insult me."

Berg stared into her angry eyes. "And you . . . don't insult me."

She searched his face for sincerity, but found nothing in his steely orbs. His eyes were locked on hers; his face still as handsome as on the day they married. He was a cheater and a liar, but what of it? He worked steadily, he didn't drink away his earnings, and he had never laid a hand on her in anger. She had the ring, the home, the children, and the security. His whores had nothing.

Slowly, she brushed her lips against those of her husband of sixteen years. She ran her hand down his chest onto his rock-solid abdomen. He hadn't gone fat like so many of his colleagues in the department. She patted his belly. "Very good."

"I'm glad you approve."

They exchanged smiles.

He helped her off with her nightgown.

It was an act filled with passion, though not a word of love was exchanged between them.

THIRTEEN.

In his starched and pressed uniform, the butler was trying to maintain the decorum in keeping with his station. Nevertheless, his practiced bland expression of yesterday had turned into vinegar. It was painful for him to deal with police matters so early in the morning. "Herr Gross is indisposed."

Berg gave a hint of a smile. "I am aware of that, Haslinger. He isn't even here. That means I am here for other reasons. May I come in, please?"

"It is not my place to allow that, Herr Inspektor. I must insist that you come back another time."

The white-headed servant's obstinacy was easily surmountable. "Then you leave me no choice, Haslinger. I shall wait in the lobby in full uniform for all the neighbors to see. Don't blame me when the gossip starts."

"It has already started."

"Then it is a good idea not to add any more fodder, no?"

The butler's sour face darkened. Vanquished, he stepped aside. Berg came into the apartment. "Would you mind if I took off my coat?"

"I wouldn't be getting too comfortable, sir."

"You don't like my company, Haslinger?"

"What I like is of no consequence."

"Not to me." Berg removed his coat and offered it to the butler. "Please?"

Haslinger tapped his foot, then took the coat. "What do you want?"

"Frau Gross had a personal chambermaid. I'd like to talk to her."

"She is busy."

"Then interrupt her. She may have been one of the last people to see Frau Gross alive. After all, her mistress wasn't feeling well when she went to bed. Maybe she brought Frau Gross some tea and a biscuit to relieve her stomach."

"And why would that be important?"

"To establish a time schedule, for one thing. I wouldn't bother if it weren't important."

Haslinger hefted Berg's coat. "Wait here, Inspektor. And I do mean wait here and not in the great room."

The butler snorted, leaving Berg alone with his thoughts. It was unlikely that Frau Gross's chambermaid had served her anything last night. Frau Gross wasn't sick. She'd gone out. Berg had hopes that the maid might know something about the secret man. He stopped his musings when he saw Haslinger approaching. The coat was gone: a good sign that he was being allowed to stay.

"I have arranged for you to meet with Fraulein Astrid Mauer in Frau Gross's withdrawing room. She is understandably upset; therefore, please be brief." He looked at Berg's shoes and sniffed disdainfully. "May I clean those for you, sir?" He glanced at the immaculate white marble floors. "Now?"

"Too kind." Berg removed his shoes and handed them to the butler, who took them with grave trepidation. "Thank you in advance."

Again Haslinger sniffed. "This way, Herr Inspektor."

Berg had expected the young wife's parlor to be dark and heavy and out-of-date Victorian. But of course, that wasn't the image painted of Anna by her brother. The withdrawing room was very much in keeping with the few facts he had gleaned about her-a Kabarett girl who had flirted with Kommunismus. The space was avant-garde and done up in excellent taste.

The silk wallpaper had a sage-green background with hand-painted twigs of cherry blossoms at random intervals. For seating, Frau Gross had chosen a gilt wood-frame and tapestry suite: a love seat, a chair, and an ottoman. The upholstery was a swirl of multihued oranges, greens, and golds, Japanese inspired but French executed. Between two tall mullioned windows sat a bombe palissander-veneered commode inlaid with Macassar ebony flowers and mother-of-pearl blossoms. The artwork on the walls included Cubist interpretations: a figure in gold and greens by Aleksandr Archipenko, a woodcut on Japanese paper by Walter Dexel, a melange of objects by Pablo Picasso, and a red sphere painted on aluminum by Laszlo Moholy-Nagy.

An older woman stood next to the Dexel, teary-eyed but composed. Garbed in a black uniform with a crisp white apron, she appeared to be in her forties with a trim figure but a wrinkled face. Loose skin sat above and below her eyes, and bunched at her mouth. Her ears were quite prominent. Despite her deficits, she cut a handsome image. Her chest was ample, and with a little more rouge and a lot more lipstick and flash, she could have been a Madam.

"Gruss Gott," she said quietly.

"Guten Tag." Berg bowed his head. "Fraulein Mauer? Inspektor Berg here."

"It is Astrid." She tried out a weak smile. "Please sit, Inspektor. May I offer you something to drink?"

"Thank you, but no." A pause. "If you continue to stand, so will I."

They both sat. Berg chose the settee; the woman rested on the ottoman, her spine straight, her hands in her lap.

"I would like to ask you a few questions, Fraulein Mauer."

The woman waited.

"Herr Gross informed me that his wife took to bed early two nights ago."

"Yes."

"Do you know what time, Fraulein Mauer?"

"Early. No later than nine."

The woman's eyes lowered to her lap as she spoke, a sign that she was being less than honest. Berg nodded. "Nine, you say."

"Yes."

"Herr Gross said around eight."

"Then I'm sure my recollection is wrong."

"Mistaken, Fraulein Mauer, mistaken."

The woman smiled. "Mistaken, then."

"You were Frau Gross's personal maid, yes?" Berg asked.

"Yes."

"And how long have you worked for Frau Gross?"

"From the beginning of the marriage." Her eyes moistened. "I had worked for Frau Gross-the elder Frau Gross-before coming to Herr Anton's home."

"And your relationship with your patron?"

"It is . . ." A pause and a clearing of the throat. "It was very good, I think."

"Tell me your impressions of the young lady."

The chambermaid replied, "Why are you interested in my opinions? They mean nothing."

"Perhaps they mean nothing to certain people, but to me they mean much."

The woman smiled. "I was brought here by Herr Anton Gross. A lovelier man does not exist. I think he has a problem, though-his mother. She became Anna's problem as well. While I have only the utmost respect for the elder Frau Gross, she can be opinionated. That can be hard on a new bride. And when the man is put in the middle-between mother and wife-oh dear, it can be very trying."

"Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law did not get along?"

Astrid's voice dropped to a whisper. "Occasionally words were exchanged. There were problems from the start. Herr Gross is an upstanding citizen, but very conservative. Anna . . . Frau Gross was a liberal. . . ." The voice was even more hushed. "A free spirit. While Herr Gross was tolerant of her youth, Frau Gross was not."

She paused.

"I talk too much." She fidgeted. "You mustn't tell anyone this. I would lose my position for gossiping. It's just that Anna was so dear. . . ."

"Fraulein Mauer, tell me about Frau Gross's friends."

"Call me Astrid."

"Very well, Astrid. Who came to call on Frau Gross?"

"Frau Hultner . . . Frau Grun . . . they live close by."

"These women. They are your mistress's age?"

"Yes, I think. Frau Hultner maybe is a little older."

"Any other friends?"

"Many, but the names escape me right now."

"And men?"

The woman bristled. "Of course not."

Berg let the words resonate. Then he leaned over. "And you're positive of this?"

"Yes!" More fidgeting. "Yes!"

"You were close to Frau Gross, yes?"

"Of course."

"So if Anna had a secret liaison, you would have known?"

"Frau Gross was a proper wife, Inspektor. If I implied otherwise, I am deeply sorry."

"Ah, yes. And if I mistook your words, I am deeply sorry. It's just that whoever did this . . . stole her life from her. This animal should not go unpunished. You agree with this, I'm sure."

"Certainly." Astrid gazed at her lap. "I adored Frau Gross, but that doesn't mean I knew everything about her private life."

"So it is conceivable that she might have had friends that you were unaware of?"

"Of course."

Berg decided to get specific. From his jacket, he pulled out the sketch drawn by him under Gerhart Leit's guidance: pencil lines that featured a man with long, thin features and deep-set eyes. He showed the rendering to Astrid, and immediately she gasped.

"You recognize him, Astrid?" Berg asked.

It was useless for the woman to deny it. Playing very smart, she said nothing.

"Maybe he has been to the house?" Berg suggested.

Silence.

"Come, come. This was your mistress. You owe her your loyalty, even in death. Especially in death."

"I was always her staunchest supporter!" the woman protested. Then tears leaked from her eyes.

"Of course you were," Berg soothed. "You were no doubt the only woman in the world whom Anna could trust with her secrets. Please, Astrid. Tell me about this gentleman."

Her voice was hushed. "It was a while ago . . . two months . . . maybe even more. He called on her twice. The second time I asked Frau Gross who the gentleman was. She told me he was a politician. When I asked his party, she was very vague."

"One of Hitler's boys?"

"Good heavens, no!" Astrid cried. "Just the opposite. A Kommunist. He spoke with an ever-so-slight accent."