“Goody.”

“Don’t get cranky. The papers are on the dining-room table. I’ve done homework for you.”

“Like what?”

“I got you a map.”

“It’s a start.” He washed his hands in the kitchen sink and splashed water on his face. He glanced at the coffeepot. “I’ll need fortification.”

“I will make coffee.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead. “First you have to deal with Cindy. Then Hannah. Now me. And this is supposed to be your day off. I’m not without sympathy.”

Decker slipped his hands around her waist, her hair smelling of garlic powder and soy sauce. “All I want is a little appreciation. Having gotten it, I will be happy to help you out.”

“Thank you.”

He kissed her soft lips, then sat down at the dining-room table. Rina had laid it all out for him-a neat little stack of papers in a folder, an empty notepad, a pen, a pencil, and a good street map of Munich. In all honesty, he was happy to be occupied. His mind abhorred a vacuum because that meant that sooner or later it would fill with images he’d rather forget.

He picked up the folder and opened it.

Regina Gottlieb’s body was found in a tangle of foliage inside the Englischer Garten-a long stretch of parkland that ran parallel to the Isar River but was separated from it by several city streets. From the map, it looked like the two areas intersected in the northern neighborhood of Schwabing. But then the garden ended and the Isar broke away.

Decker sat back, visualizing his morning jog through the parklands that abutted the Isar-a hint of the indigenous Bavarian wilderness-the area so long that it went under city streets. The cement pillars that supported the roadways above had been stamped with graffiti that was-not surprisingly-written in German, the same crude epithets as in America no doubt. He recalled his body washed with numbness as his face hit the frigid air at six in the morning. Jet lag had been playing games with his diurnal clock, and at that hour it was still black outside, dawn at least an hour away. It was dangerous for him to be out so early, but he took a perverse pleasure in flirting with peril, daring anyone to try to mug him. The leafless trees had dripped gelid moisture, the ground wet and muddy in spots, filled with detritus from the nighttime Munich rains. The air reeked of moss, mold, and rotting flora. The Isar was roiling after the storm, bubbling over with water and spray, boisterously shouting as it rolled over rocks and boulders that lined the riverbed.

Toward the end of his jog, a gray light shrouded the city. Decker’s mind flashed back to the upscale neighborhoods on either side of the river. All around had been imposing stone buildings constructed with perfect proportions and mindful of detail.

He wished he had paid more attention to his surroundings. The trip was lacking the sharp, defined angles of clear retrospection, like reading the paper in bad light. Although he had passed many landmarks, he had no idea where they were in relation to one another. Then again, how was he to know that his sight-seeing might be crucial in solving this long-buried, unsolved case?

Looking at the city as a whole entity-not just a road map to chart where the hell they were in relationship to the hotel-Decker discovered that the Englischer Garten was located in Munich’s northeast corner. He and Rina had stayed at a hotel on Maximilianstrasse, a thoroughfare that housed great restaurants, five-star hotels, and most of the designer boutiques. When he was there, the distance between the hotel and the garden didn’t seem very far at all. On the map, it looked much more distant.

Rina had also provided him with a detailed map of the garden, vast with long stretches of lawn and lakes and lots of walking paths. The rebuilt Chinese Tower lay in the center, a bronze-colored, spire-shaped piece of architecture that approximated a pagoda. Next door was one of the many Munichbiergartens,a summer gathering spot filled with tables and chairs, where people sat around, drank beer, and enjoyed the open space. The concession stands were closed in the wintertime, naturally.

The garden also contained Munich’s Cricket Grounds, and along the northern perimeter, there was an area called Aumeister, which featured an early-nineteenth-century hunting lodge. Those landmarks failed to jar loose any recollections. What he viscerally remembered was empty copses of trees in steel-cold air, wetness, and the smell of decay.

It was probably his mood.

Rina came in with a cup of coffee and set the mug in front of him. “Anything?”

He glanced at his watch. “I’ve been here for four minutes.”

“I expect miracles.”

“Wait in line.” He sipped coffee. “Wow, this is good. Thanks.”

Rina sat down and placed her hand over his. “Take your time. Seriously.”

“I’m trying to picture the geography. The Englischer Garten is big. Your grandmother was dumped in the northern end. So that brings several questions to mind.”

He picked up a pencil and wrote on the notepad. “First, what was she doing there? From the guide books and my own pitiful memories, that area is and was very ritzy. Your omah wasn’t aristocracy. She wasn’t even petite bourgeoisie. She didn’t go on daily strolls through the park, twirling her parasol in a silk-embroidered gown. Your grandmother was a poor Jewish woman. She probably worked from the moment she woke up until she went to sleep. What was she doing in the area?”

“Maybe she wasn’t in the area. Maybe she was just dumped there because the park was big and a good place to hide bodies.”

“So then the murder wasn’t a random killing. Someonebroughther over there with the specific purpose of killing her or at the very least, dumping her there. Now these other two women-Marlena Durer and Anna Gross-they’re different stories. They lived near the garden, so they could have been random rapes and homicides-in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So why did the other guy include Omah with Gross and Durer?”

“What other guy?”

“This one. Kriminalpolizeiinspektor Axel Berg.” She smiled. “That’s a tongue twister. I think all the homicides might be related. Did you read all of Inspektor Kalmer’s notes?”

“No. Why?”

Rina flipped through to his interview notes. “Read this. You’ll find it interesting.”

Decker’s eyes scanned over the writing until he came to the sentence in question. He backtracked and read it carefully:An interview with Julia Schoennacht was conducted. The victim, Regina Gottlieb, was in Frau Schoennacht’s employ for three months, with Frau Gottlieb’s employment ending after her services were no longer required.He looked at Rina. “Your grandmother worked outside the home?”

“The first I’ve heard of it.”

“What do you think she did? A maid?”

Rina tried out a winsome smile. “I’ve got a confession to make.”

Decker sneered. “Do tell.”

“I screwed up my courage and called my mother this morning after you left.”

“Iknewthis was going to happen! Did you get into a fight with her? Rina, the woman is in her eighties!”

“No, I did not fight with her. To my surprise, she was actually receptive to talking about her past. I was shocked.”

“Did you happen to tell her what you were doing?”

“Not exactly.”

“Here we go again.” Decker was used to his wife’s little white lies. “What yarn did you spin?”

“I told her Hannah was doing a family tree. I just needed to know what her mother and father did. I told her that I knew that Opah was a tailor. Then I said I assumed that Omah was a housewife. I asked if she had anything to add…”

“And?”

“There was this pause. Then, in a voice bursting with pride, Mama told me that Omah was also a very fine seamstress. She used to make Mama and her sister beautiful party dresses. They were the best-dressed girls in the neighborhood, and the most beautiful girls as well.”