Garden of Beasts

reach any conclusions?” Kohl asked.
    “I . . .”
    “Speculation is perfectly acceptable at this stage of an investigation.”
    The young man said, “Robbery did not seem to be the motive?”
    “You are asking me?”
    “No, sir. I’m stating my conclusion. Well, speculation.”
    “Good. Their belongings were on them?”
    “Their money was missing. But jewelry and other effects were not taken. Some of them appeared quite valuable. Though . . .”
    “Go on.”
    “The items were on the victims when they were brought into our morgue. I’m sorry to say the effects have since disappeared.”
    “That does not interest, or surprise, me. Did you findany suggestion that they had enemies? Any of them?”
    “No, sir, at least not regarding the families in Gatow. Quiet, hardworking, apparently decent folk. Jews, yes, but they did not practice their religion. They were, of course, not involved in the Party but they were not dissidents. As for the Polish workers, they had come here from Warsaw only three days before their deaths to plant trees for the Olympics. They were not Communists or agitators that anyone knew.”
    “Any other thoughts?”
    “There were at least two or three killers involved. I noted the footprints, as you instructed me. Both incidents, the same.”
    “The type of weapon used?”
    “No idea, sir. The casings for the shells were gone when I arrived.”
    “Gone?” An epidemic of conscientious murderers, it seemed. “Well, the lead slugs may tell us. Did you recover any in good shape?”
    “I searched the ground carefully. But I couldn’t find any.”
    “The coroner must have recovered some.”
    “I asked him, sir, and he said none were found.”
    “None?”
    “I’m sorry, sir.”
    “My irritation is not directed at you, Gendarme Raul. You are a credit to your profession. And forgive me for disturbing you at home. You have children? I think I hear an infant in the background. Did I awaken him?”
    “Her, sir. But when she is old enough I will tell her of the honor of being awakened from her dreams by such a famed investigator as yourself.”
    “Good day.”
    “Hail Hitler.”
    Kohl dropped the phone in the cradle. He was confused. The facts in the murders suggested an SS, Gestapo or Stormtrooper killing. But had that been the case, Kohl and the gendarme would have been ordered at once to stop the investigation—the way Kripo detectives had been told instantly to cease looking into a recent black-market food case when the investigation found leads to Admiral Raeder of the navy and Walter von Brauchitsch, a senior army officer.
    They weren’t being prevented from pursuing the case but they were encountering foot-dragging. What to make of the ambiguity?
    It was almost as if the killings, whatever the motive, had been dangled before Kohl as a test of his loyalty. Had Commander Meyerhoff called the Kripo at the behest of the SD to see if the inspector would refuse to handle cases involving Jew and Pole killings? Could this be the case?
    But, no, no, that was too paranoid. He was thinking of this only because he’d learned of the SD file on him.
    Kohl could come up with no answers to these questions and so he rose and wandered through the silent halls once more to the Teletype room to learn if another miracle had occurred and his counterparts in America had seen fit to respond to his urgent inquiries.
    •   •   •
    The battered van, hot as an oven inside, pulled up on Wilhelm Square and parked in an alley.
    “How do I address people?” Paul asked.
    “ ‘Sir,’” Webber said. “Always ‘sir.’”
    “There won’t be any women?”
    “Ach, good question, Mr. John Dillinger. Yes, there may be a few. But they will not be in official positions, ofcourse. They’ll be your peers. Secretaries, cleaners, file clerks, typists. They will be single—no married women may work—so you will say ‘Miss.’ And you may flirt a little if you like. That would be appropriate from a workman but they will also understand if you ignore them, wishing only to get your job done as efficiently as possible and get back home to your Sunday meal.”
    “Do I knock on doors or just enter?”
    “Always knock,” Morgan offered. Webber nodded.
    “And I say ‘Hail Hitler’?”
    Webber scoffed. “As often as you like. One has never gone to prison for saying that.”
    “And that salute you do. The arm in the air?”
    “Not necessary,” Morgan said. “Not from a workman.” He