TWENTY-SIX.

Because it was Sunday, the police station was quiet, and the office of the Mordkommission extraordinarily so. Very few Inspektoren worked weekends. The few crimes that were committed revolved around drunken fistfights at beer halls rather than premeditated felonies, minor things that could easily be handled by uniformed policemen. So Volker must have been particularly upset to disturb Berg during the traditional Sabbath dinner.

Not only had the Kommissar called him, but also he had summoned two Mordkommission Inspektoren. Rudolf Kalmer was standing against the wall and clicked his heels when Berg entered. Sixty and as thin as asparagus, Kalmer had been a soldier in the Kaiser's army and was disciplined and duty-bound. He was also resentful that he had not been included in Berg's personal triad. Heinrich Messersmit was also nearing sixty. A gray-haired man with sloping shoulders and seven children, he was putting in the hours until his youngest daughter married. He had a small lakeside cabin in the mountains near Austria and was there more than here.

The Kommissar was dapper but looked anything but calm, as evidenced by a clenched jaw. He pointed to the chair across from his desk. Berg sat and looked around the well-appointed office. What was particularly noteworthy was Volker's desktop. It held an electric lamp, a calendar, an ornate inkwell and several pens, a letter opener, a letter hook, and a pen wiper. But it was clear of paperwork except for a lone file, which the Kommissar pushed across the leather surface until it was within Berg's reach.

"Read."

It was a Kriminalakte, a crime folder, dated eight days ago when Berg had been in the middle of his two-week holiday. Inspektoren Kalmer and Messersmit had been assigned to this case, that of a missing woman. She was a thirty-six-year-old Jewish immigrant named Regina Gottlieb. Terrible but not wholly unusual. Immigrants frequently fought among one another, with fists, with knives, sometimes even with contraband guns. Unemployment was high. Men without work had nothing better to do than beat their women. Sometimes they beat them to death, deeply burying the evidence of their misdeeds.

Berg scanned the pages. Her husband had reported her missing the night before the date on the file. He told the police that Regina had gone out to see her employer and hadn't returned. Her husband claimed that this was very worrisome. "What exactly am I looking for? Is her husband a suspect in her disappearance?"

"We questioned him," Kalmer said defensively. "Nothing points in that direction."

"Are there any other missing Jewesses besides this woman?" Berg queried.

"Why do you ask?" Kalmer questioned.

"It's a logical question, Rudolf. Of late, the Jews have been victimized."

"No one else is missing," Messersmit answered, "but several Jews have been murdered."

"Nothing unusual," Kalmer added. "A couple of old Jew shop owners. One was taken from his store and beaten to death. The other one was found in the street, also beaten to death. Also, a religious Jude was stabbed in the neck. He survived, but was unable to identify his assailants. They attacked him from behind."

"Hitler's boys are suspected," Messersmit said.

"Suspected but not arrested," Berg responded.

"Until we can match a specific type of blood for each specific individual, we are at a severe disadvantage in our attempts to find the correct culprit," Volker said.

"They're our cases, Axel," Kalmer stated. "We'll get to the bottom of it."

"Progress is slow," Messersmit said flatly. "The Nazis won't talk to us, but neither will the Jews. If they don't help themselves, what can the police do?"

Berg didn't answer, feeling a knot inside his stomach. Surely they could do better.

"Actually Heinrich is being modest." Volker laid a hand on Messersmit's shoulder. "The case was moving forward. There were a few boys who seemed logical as suspects. Then, my poor nephew met a terrible fate. I decided that it would not have been polite form to question Lothar's friends at his funeral."

Berg said, "But perhaps we can question them now?"

Kalmer glared at him. "Perhaps Heinrich and I can question them now."

"Unfortunately, Axel, we have other things to think about." Volker produced another folder. This one was a Mordakte-a homicide file dated four days ago. He handed it to Berg.

With trepidation, Berg leafed through the file. The deceased had been a young white woman dressed in evening wear. He looked up and locked eyes with Volker. "Another one?"

"Read on."

Professor Kolb had listed the cause of death as massive hemorrhage. Then Berg's eyes widened. "Her corpse was found in the Englischer Garten?"

The room's silence answered his question. Again, Berg controlled his temper. "Why wasn't I informed immediately?"

"Because the woman turned out to be Regina Gottlieb and she is our case!" Kalmer stated.

"Her death is obviously related to the others," Berg stated.

"You mean related to Marlena Druer," Volker said. "Anna Gross was murdered by her husband."

Don't insult my intelligence. Berg said, "I should have been told about this immediately!"

"The point is, Axel, you're being told about it now." Volker narrowed his eyes. "That is why you are here instead of at home enjoying your family dinner. I'd like you to look into this case and see if this murder is indeed related to the murder of Marlena Druer. It will take the burden off Kalmer and Messersmit so they can proceed with murdered Jews."

Both men's expressions were as puckered as prunes, but neither argued with Volker. The Kommissar was ripping the most intriguing case from their hands. Berg realized the sensitivity of the situation. It was time for humility.

"If that is what you want, sir, I'd appreciate cooperation from Rudolf and Heinrich." Berg turned to his colleagues. "Any help that you can give me would be welcome. May I ask a few questions?"

"Go on," Volker said.

"Did you recognize the victim as Regina Gottlieb?"

"Not at all," Messersmit said. "We had no picture of her to work from."

"So who identified the victim as Regina Gottlieb? The husband?"

Messersmit shook his head no. "We passed a postmortem picture around the area. The Schoennacht family lives very close to where the body was found. It was Frau Julia Schoennacht who identified Regina Gottlieb as her former seamstress."

"Which explains why we didn't associate this body with Regina Gottlieb, the immigrant Jew," Kalmer said. "She wasn't dressed like an immigrant Jew. She was attired in beautiful clothing. Not the kind of dress a poor Jewess would wear."

"But now that we know she's a seamstress, it all makes sense. She could make her own clothing."

"Was she wearing expensive fabric?" Berg asked.

Kalmer frowned. "How would we know anything about women's fabric?"

"Surely you can tell silk from wool," Berg said.

"We didn't take her as a Jewess," Kalmer said stiffly. "Besides, she didn't look at all Jewish. Black hair . . . blue eyes . . . very pale skin."

"Everyone's skin is pale in death."

"You are hilarious, Berg. Perhaps you should be onstage with Karl Valentin. Your leanings are no doubt similar."

"Let's avoid making this a personal issue, Rudolf," Volker chided.

Kalmer said, "I'm just saying that she didn't look like a Polish peasant Jew."

"Even with her head bashed in, you could tell she was beautiful once," Messersmit said.

Berg's ears perked up. He spoke softly, more to himself than anyone else. "The others died of strangulation." He regarded his colleagues. "But this one died of a head wound. Is that what you're telling me?"

His question remained unanswered, interrupted by the arrival of Herr Professor Kolb. He was wearing a lab coat over his suit. His curly gray hair was unruly, and spectacles had slid down on his nose. Leaning on his cane, he took out his pocket watch and squinted. "Good afternoon, meine Herren. I trust I haven't kept you waiting."

Volker regarded the wall clock. It was close to four in the afternoon. "Right on time."

"Yet you have started without me."

"Axel arrived quicker than I thought," Volker said. "His recovery has been nothing short of miraculous."

"A supernatural feat that rivals the Shroud of Turin," Berg said flatly. To Kolb, he said, "You have found something of interest in this woman's death, Herr Professor?"

Kolb laughed. "Why else would I be here?"

"We were just getting into your area of expertise," Messersmit spoke up. "About the latest victim's head wounds, Herr Professor."

Kolb began pacing the floor, thumping loudly with his cane. Since there wasn't much area to pace, he was more or less turning in circles. He pointed a finger at Berg. "Frau Gottlieb was struck in the back of her head. But . . . she also had ligature marks around her throat. Frau Gottlieb was beaten and strangled."

"Lovely," Berg said. "Which came first?"

"An interesting question," Kolb stated. "I have tried to put myself in the murderer's mind. If I had been him, perhaps I would have tried strangulation first, hmmm?" His eyes became animated. "More personal . . . eye to eye."

"Why would he make killing a personal thing?" Messersmit asked.

"These 'repetitious killers' as I call them-they often make it personal. But that's for another discussion. Let us get back to the scene of the crime."

"Let us indeed," Volker put in.

Kolb nodded. "Suppose that as she was strangled, she put up a fight. Not a light, fragile flower, this one. Two of her fingernails were broken off. The others had skin underneath. She clawed like a tiger."

Berg said, "We should check her husband for scratch marks."

"A good idea, Inspektor; she got that skin from someone's arms and face." Kolb ran his knobby fingers through his wild gray hair. "I think at some point, she might have been strong enough to pull away. But then, if I were the murderer . . . thinking swiftly, I would not want her to get away. I would not want her to scream. I would grab her full and flowing skirt."

He gestured his motions.

"Then I would take my cane-"

"You found a cane?" Berg asked.

"No, I did not. I am assuming some kind of walking stick because the mark in her skull came from a round, hard object. Of course, other implements could have made that mark. But what could have made that mark and have been easily carried?" He shook a finger in the air. "It must have been a cane."

Berg nodded. A handsome walking cane would fit with the killer's image of an aristocrat.

"As she's escaping from my grip," Kolb said, "I grab her clothing. Then all I'd have to do is perform a quick rap behind the head-" He held up his cane and mimicked the motion. "Then, after she fell from the blow, I could finish her off by strangulation. The skirt of her dress was ripped from behind. There's nothing else that explains the evidence quite so succinctly."

Berg gave the supposition some thought. "Was the victim wearing stockings?"

"Alas, her finery was superficial only," Kolb said. "Beneath the lace and silk of the dress were very practical woolen undergarments."

"Any of the pieces missing?"

"Again, a good question, Inspektor. I would expect some article of clothing to be missing." Kolb looked at Messersmit and then at Kalmer.

"We could find only one shoe," Kalmer answered. "How did you know?"

Berg turned to Kolb. "In your professional opinion, Herr Professor, does it look like the victim was slain in the same fashion as Druer and Gross?"

"Anna Gross was murdered by her husband," Volker stated without affect. "So amend your question, Berg. Could Gottlieb's death be likened to Druer's death?"

"Her death is not only similar to Druer's, but almost identical to it," Kolb responded with enthusiasm. "Marlena had very distinct ligature marks around her neck-"

"The chain!" Berg broke in. "Both Marlena and Regina were strangled by a necklace. You could see the pattern in their skin."

"That is correct, Inspektor!" Kolb smiled. "That is very much correct!"

"We didn't find a necklace on Regina Gottlieb," Messersmit remarked.

"Perhaps her husband took it after he killed her." Kalmer smiled. "You know Jews and their gold."

Kolb's face went red with embarrassment. Very dark red. Berg had never thought of Kolb as being Jewish, but his profound blushing made him wonder.

"I don't think so, Kalmer," Berg said.

"But you don't know that for certain, do you, Axel?"

"Why are you assuming it was her husband?"

"Why are you assuming it wasn't? What is it to you anyway? Do you really care what the animals do to each other?"

Messersmit spoke up, interrupting the heated exchange. "Someone should speak to Herr Gottlieb again. He told us that his wife was going to the Schoennachts' to collect wages. Frau Schoennacht was quite insistent that Frau Gottlieb never came to her house that evening and that she didn't owe the Jewess anything."

"Maybe Frau Gottlieb wanted to borrow money and didn't want her husband to know," Kalmer said. "They love money almost as much as they love gold."

Again Kolb turned pink. "And we Germans don't love money?"

"Not like the Jews."

"I recall a great deal of rioting during the Great Inflation."

"We had to eat!" Kalmer insisted.

"It wasn't the Jews who hiked up the prices," Kolb said; "it was the farmers who were anything but Jewish."

"Can we please stick to the topic?" Volker interjected.

The room was quiet. Finally Berg said, "Where do the Schoennachts live?"