Garden of Beasts

February.”
    Kohl nodded slowly, waiting for more. But, no, this seemed to be the entire volley of bad news.
    The International Criminal Police Commission, founded in Vienna in the twenties, was a cooperative network of police forces throughout the world. They shared information about crime, criminals and law enforcement techniques via publications, telegram and radio. Germany was a member and Kohl had been delighted to learn that, though America was not, representatives from the FBI would be attending the conference, with an eye toward joining.
    Horcher scanned his desktop, upon whose surface Hitler, Göring and Himmler also gazed down from their wooden frames on the wall.
    Kohl took several breaths to steady himself. He said, “It would be an honor.”
    “Honor?” Horcher scowled. Leaning forward, he said softly, “Generous of you.”
    Kohl understood his superior’s scorn. Attendance at the conference would be a waste of time. Because the hue and cry of National Socialism was a self-reliant Germany, an alliance of international law enforcement organizations sharing information was the last thing Hitler wanted. There was a reason that “Gestapo” was an acronym for “ secret state police.”
    Kohl was being sent as a figurehead, merely to keep up appearances. No one higher would dare go—for a National Socialist official to leave the country for two weeks meant he might not find his job awaiting him when he returned. But Kohl, since he was merely a worker bee, with no intent to rise in the Party ranks, could disappear for a fortnight and return with no loss—aside, of course, from the little matter that a dozen cases would be delayed, and rapists and killers might go free.
    Which was not their concern, of course.
    Horcher was relieved at the detective’s reaction. He asked with animation, “When was your last holiday, Willi?”
    “Heidi and I go to Wannsee and the Black Forest frequently.”
    “I mean abroad.”
    “Ah, well . . . some years now. France. And one trip to Brighton in England.”
    “You should take your wife with you to London.”
    The suggestion alone was enough to expiate Horcher’sguilt; after a judicious moment he said to Kohl, “I’m told the ferry and train fares are quite reasonable at that time of year.” Another pause. “Though we will, of course, provide for your travel and accommodations.”
    “Most generous.”
    “Again, I’m sorry you must bear this cross, Willi. But you’ll eat and drink well. British beer is much better than what one hears. And you can see the Tower of London!”
    “Yes, I would enjoy that.”
    “What a treat, the Tower of London,” the chief of inspectors repeated enthusiastically. “Well, good day to you, Willi.”
    “Good day, sir.”
    Through the halls, eerie and gloomy, despite shafts of bright sunlight falling on the oak and marble, Kohl returned to his office, calming slowly from the scare.
    He sat heavily in his chair and glanced at the box of evidence and his notes regarding the Dresden Alley incident.
    Then his eyes slid to a folder sitting next to it. He lifted the telephone receiver and placed a call to the operator in Gatow and asked to be connected to a private residence.
    “Yes?” a young man’s voice answered cautiously, unaccustomed perhaps to calls on Sunday morning.
    “This is Gendarme Raul?” Kohl asked.
    A pause. “Yes.”
    “I am Inspector Willi Kohl.”
    “Ah, yes, Inspector. Hail Hitler. You are telephoning me at home. On a Sunday.”
    Kohl chuckled. “Indeed I am. Forgive the interruption. I’m calling regarding the crime scene report from the shootings in Gatow and the other, the Polish workers.”
    “Forgive me, sir. I am inexperienced. The report, I’m sure, was shoddy compared to what you are used to.Certainly nothing of the quality you yourself could produce. I did the best I could.”
    “You mean the report is completed?”
    Another hesitation, longer than the first. “Yes, sir. And it was submitted to Gendarmerie Commander Meyerhoff.”
    “I see. When was that?”
    “Wednesday last, I believe. Yes. That is correct.”
    “Has he reviewed it?”
    “I noticed a copy on his desk Friday evening, sir. I had also asked that one be sent to you. I’m surprised you haven’t received it yet.”
    “Well, I will follow this matter up with your superior. . . . Tell me, Raul. Were you satisfied with your handling of the crime scene?”
    “I believe I did a thorough job, sir.”
    “Did you