Garden of Beasts

carted suitcases and trunks along the wide sidewalks. Others, in shorts and sleeveless shirts, exercised or ran.
    “Look,” Janssen said enthusiastically, nodding toward a cluster of Japanese or Chinese men. Kohl was surprised to see them in white shirts and flannel trousers and not . . . well, he didn’t know what. Loincloths, perhaps, or embroidered silk robes. Nearby several dark, Middle Easternmen walked together, two of them laughing at what the third had said. Willi Kohl stared like a schoolboy. He would certainly enjoy watching the Games themselves when they began next week but he was also looking forward to seeing people from nearly every country on earth, the only major nations not represented being Spain and Russia.
    The policemen located the American dormitories. In the main building was a reception area. They approached the German army liaison officer. “Lieutenant,” Kohl said, noting the rank on the man’s uniform. He stood immediately and then grew even more attentive when Kohl identified himself and his assistant. “Hail Hitler. You are here on business, sir?”
    “That’s right.” He described the suspect and asked if the officer had seen such a man.
    “No, sir, but there are many hundreds of people in the American dormitories alone. As you can see, the facility is quite large.”
    Kohl nodded. “I need to speak to someone who is with the American team. Some official.”
    “Yes, sir. I will arrange it.”
    Five minutes later he returned with a lanky man in his forties, who identified himself in English as one of the head coaches. He wore white slacks and, although the day was very hot, a white chain-knit sweater vest over his white shirt. Kohl realized that while the reception area had been nearly empty a short time before, now a dozen athletes and others had eased into the room, pretending to have some business there. As he remembered from the army, nothing spread faster than news among men housed together.
    The German officer was willing to interpret but Kohlpreferred to speak directly to those he was interviewing and said in halting English, “Sir, I am being a police inspector with the German criminal police.” He displayed his ID.
    “Is there some problem?”
    “We are not certain yet. But, uhm, we try to find a man we would like to speak to. Perhaps you are knowing him.”
    “It’s quite a serious matter,” Janssen offered with perfect English pronunciation. Kohl had not known he spoke the language so well.
    “Yes, yes,” the inspector continued. “He had seemingly this book he lost.” He held up the guidebook, unfurled the handkerchief around it. “It is given to persons with the Olympic Games, is it?”
    “That’s right. Not just athletes, though, everybody. We’ve given out maybe a thousand or so. And a lot of the other countries give out the English version too, you know.”
    “Yes, but we have located too his hat and it was purchased in New York, New York. So, mostly likely, he is Americaner.”
    “Really?” the coach asked cautiously. “His hat?”
    Kohl continued. “He is being a large man, we are believing, with red, black brown hair.”
    “Black brown?”
    Frustrated at his own lack of foreign vocabulary, Kohl glanced at Janssen, who said, “His hair is dark brown, straight. A reddish tint.”
    “He wears a light gray suit and this hat and tie.” Kohl nodded toward Janssen, who produced the evidence from his case.
    The coach looked at them noncommittally and shrugged. “Maybe it would help if you told us what this was about.”
    Kohl thought again how different life was in America. No German would dare ask why a policeman wished to know something.
    “It is a matter of state security.”
    “State security. Uh-huh. Well, I’d like to help. I sure would. But unless you’ve got something more specific . . .”
    Kohl looked around. “Perhaps some person here might be knowing this man.”
    The coach called, “Any of you boys know who these belong to?”
    They shook their heads or muttered “No” or “Nope.”
    “Perhaps then I am in hopes you are having a . . . yes, yes, a list of peoples who came with you here. And addresses. To see who would be living in New York.”
    “We do but only the members of the team and the coaches. And you’re not suggesting—”
    “No, no.” Kohl believed that the killer was not on the team. The athletes were in the spotlight; it would be unlikely for one of them to slip away from the village unseen