"Russian?"

"Maybe. They met in this very room while Herr Gross was at work . . . on a Wednesday in the afternoon . . . when Haslinger was off. They talked of politics and revolution. Frau Gross made me swear that I would not betray her secret to her husband, who was very conservative."

"Are you sure it wasn't only politics that was on their minds, Astrid?"

"Positive. I heard talking from behind the doors. A spirited discussion, not the sounds of infidelity. There was nothing improper about it."

"But you weren't there the entire time."

"No." Astrid blushed. "But there was nothing between them to suggest anything other than politics."

For the first time, Berg considered that Anna's death might have been motivated by something other than sex. "And this man in the sketch . . . he looks like the gentleman who visited Anna?"

"Yes."

"And do you have a name for this man?"

"Frau Gross didn't introduce me."

"But surely he must have announced himself either verbally or with a calling card."

Astrid thought for a moment. "Yes . . . the first time he did bring a card."

"Did Frau Gross keep her calling cards?"

"Some." Astrid rose in one stiff movement. "Give me a moment, bitte."

She came back several minutes later with a stack of calling cards. As Berg flipped through them, he said, "Could you help me identify some of these names?"

"Of course." Astrid stood by his side. "He is Anna's uncle. That one is a cousin, another cousin, a friend, another cousin, an aunt, another cousin, another cousin-"

"She had quite a few male cousins who visited her," Berg remarked.

"Frau Gross was a vivacious woman." Astrid took out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. "She charmed everyone who met her."

Berg recognized a name: Elisabeth Hultner. "This is her friend who lived nearby?"

"Yes."

A visit would be in order. "May I keep the card?"

"Of course."

Berg riffled through the stack until he came upon a name that Astrid could not identify: Robert Schick.

Fraulein Mauer stared at the spelling. "I don't remember him."

Berg said, "Perhaps this is our Russian?"

Astrid stared at the card. "Schick isn't a Russian name."

"No, it isn't. May I keep the card?"

"If you think it will help. Again, I want to remind you that all of Frau Gross's visitors were respectable people."

"And is there any reason to think that this man-Herr Schick-is anything less than a gentleman?"

"I think he must be a gentleman worthy of the highest regard. I just don't remember him." She tapped her forehead. "An old woman."

"I don't think so." Berg smiled at her and pocketed the cards. "I think you remember things very well."

They exchanged glances. She stood up. "I will see you out." She glanced at Berg's feet, and her eyes widened. A smile played on her lips.

"Haslinger was kind enough to clean my boots," Berg said. "I don't think he fancied my footprints on the clean white marble."

"Haslinger is meticulous. I will get them for you."

"Thank you."

She returned five minutes later holding footwear that Berg barely recognized. Astrid said, "Here you are. I hope the job is satisfactory."

"They have never looked so good."

Berg sat down to put them on.

Investigating rich people had its perquisites.

THE WHITE-HAIRED BUTLER turned the calling card over and over. He wasn't tall, but his thinness made him look that way. "Frau Hultner has retired to her chamber."

Berg pushed. "It is important."

The servant glanced at Berg's face, then at his shoes. "One moment."

He closed the door, leaving Berg to wait in the biting cold. He bounced up and down to keep warm. He rubbed his arms. He wrapped his wool scarf around his face. At least the bastard could have invited him inside to wait like a human instead of a horse. When the valet finally came back, it felt as if he had been gone an hour. In fact, it had been just under five minutes.

"You may come in now," he told Berg.

Shivering, Berg stepped across the threshold. "Danke."

"This way." The butler led him into a compact, French-style withdrawing room. The pastel blue room framed oval wall panels depicting idyllic outdoor scenes of nymphs and satyrs. The ornate furniture was thin and delicate, more eighteenth than nineteenth century. A rococo writing desk sat in front of a multipaned window, and a small harpsichord was placed next to a chevalier mirror. Berg chose to sit on a pink divan, the most substantial piece of furniture available to him. His teeth were chattering uncontrollably.

"Would you like some tea, Herr Inspektor?"

"Bitte."

Ten minutes later, a chambermaid brought in steaming-hot tea. It was cold by the time Frau Hultner finally decided to make an appearance. The woman wasn't so much lovely as she was well appointed-lissome and manicured, with chestnut hair cut in a pleasing manner. She wore a forest-green suit trimmed in sable about the collar and cuffs as well as around the hem of the jacket. Her shapely legs were encased in silk stockings, black pumps on her feet. Her skin was pale, although her cheeks were rouged. Her lips had been painted as well. Her eyes were the reason Berg knew something was wrong. The blue orbs were red-rimmed.

Her voice was throaty. "Gruss Gott."

Immediately, he stood. "Inspektor Axel Berg here."

"Yes, I read your card. More tea?" Without waiting for a response, she rang a bell. "I apologize for keeping you waiting."

"No, Frau Hultner, it is I who must apologize for my intrusion. I wouldn't have come unless I felt it was absolutely necessary."

"It is about Frau Gross? Anna?"

Berg nodded.

"Such a horrible thing. I can't stop thinking . . ." Her eyes filled with tears. "The poor, poor dear." She shook her head. "That could have been anyone. That could have been me!"

Berg regarded her. "Why would you say that?"

The eyes zeroed in on his. "Do you know how many times I have walked through the park?"

"Many, I am sure. But do you walk alone at night?"

Elisabeth gasped. "Anna was alone when it happened?"

"Possibly. I know she wasn't with her husband or brother."

Elisabeth looked the other way.

Berg jumped in. "We think she might have gone to the theater. One of the owners remembers seeing her accompanied by a man."

"Who?" Elisabeth asked anxiously.

"That is precisely why I have intruded on your privacy. I was hoping that you could provide that answer."

Tears began to fall as Elisabeth shook her head. "I can't help you. I'm sorry."

Berg looked at her intently. "Please, Frau Hultner. I know you don't want to besmirch her memory. I know she was your friend. But I ask you to reconsider. It is a moral and legal necessity to punish the wrongdoer, even at the expense of Frau Gross's memory."

"I would tell you if I knew." She looked at him with wet eyes. "But I don't." The chambermaid came in with a fresh, steaming teapot. "Not for me, Isolde." She looked at Berg. "Can I freshen your cup?"

"Danke."

Isolde poured him a new cup. Berg sipped delicately, breathing in the hot, fragrant air. "Perhaps you didn't know a name . . . but maybe you knew that there was someone new in her life?"

"No, Anna was much too private to divulge such intimacy."

"But as a woman . . . you could tell."

At last, she relented. "I suspected."

"I thought so." Berg smiled. "What made you suspicious?"

Elisabeth laughed. "She was happy."

"Ah . . . Her marriage was not a . . . peaceful one?"

Elisabeth sighed and slipped on short gloves. "It wasn't filled with bitter rancor as far as I could tell. Anna was always . . . pleasant. But she suddenly turned lighthearted. Like a young girl instead of a married woman."

"She was a young girl."

"Who was trying very hard to be mature. She took her responsibilities very seriously. That was the Anna I knew in the beginning. Then suddenly . . . it was as if a cloud lifted. Gone was the good wife, replaced by a young girl again. If that wasn't love, then I don't know what love is."

"Maybe it was because she was expecting."

"She was?" Again, Elisabeth gasped. "Oh, that is awful! Poor, poor Anna. Poor Anton. She never said a word." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't talk about this anymore. It is too upsetting. Furthermore, I must go meet my mother. I don't want her to see me in a state. She is old and worries too much."

"One more question if I may?"

"Hurry."

"Have you ever met a gentleman named Robert Schick? He may be Russian."

She thought a moment. "No. Was that Frau Gross's friend?"

"Maybe."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he was Russian. Of late, she began to talk politics . . . to the point of being boring. I'm sorry. I really must leave."

"Thank you for your time. May I walk you to the streetcar or secure you a taxi?"

"I have an automobile, actually. Can I take you to your destination, Inspektor?"

"I am not too far from the station house."

"But it is cold outside. I am happy to take you to the station house . . . as my civic duty." Elisabeth picked up a brown leather purse, extracted a silk scarf, then snapped it shut. She covered her hair and wound the scarf around her chin. "I insist. Let's go."

Berg managed a smile though he was in quite a dilemma: to freeze in the cold or to trust a woman behind the wheel of a motorcar.

"SUCCESS!" Berg announced as he walked into the Mordkommission room at the Ett Strasse station. Georg hadn't arrived, but Ulrich was at his desk, looking very busy. It was more like preoccupied. "Not only do I suspect that Anna Gross was having an affair, I might actually have a name to go with the anonymous face that I drew under Gerhart Leit's direction. Good news, eh?"

"Good news, yes . . ." Ulrich looked up at Berg. "But it hardly takes away the bad news. They've found another body."

"Ach, mein Gott!" Berg choked out. "You can't be serious! Where?"

"Not at the Englischer Garten but close to it. The woman was found on the banks of the Isar in a tangle of brush. Apparently, she was dressed up in an evening gown."

"Just like the first one." Berg sat down, dejected. "I'm . . ."

"Shocked?"