“I debated for some moments. I took the chance that there are still some policemen in this city who are interested in the truth.” She said this defiantly.

Janssen stepped inside. He eyed the woman but Kohl said nothing about her. “Yes?” the inspector asked.

“Sir, the American embassy said they have no knowledge of a Robert Taggert.”

Kohl nodded as he continued to ponder the information. He stepped closer to Taggert’s body and said, “Quite a fortuitous fall. Fortuitous from your perspective, of course. And you, Miss Richter, I’ll ask you again – you saw the struggle firsthand? You must be honest with me.”

“Yes, yes. That man had a gun. He was going to kill Mr. Schumann.”

“Do you know the victim?”

“No, I don’t. I’ve never seen him.”

Kohl glanced again at the body then tucked his thumb into his vest watch pocket. “It’s a curious business, being a detective, Mr. Schumann. We try to read the clues and follow where they lead. And in this case the clues put me on your trail – indeed they led me here, directly to you – and now it seems those very same clues suggest that it was actually this other man I have been seeking all along.”

“Life’s funny sometimes.”

The phrase made no sense in German. Kohl assumed it was a translation of an American idiom but he deduced the meaning.

Which he certainly could not dispute.

He took his pipe from his pocket and, without lighting it, slipped it into his mouth and chewed on the stem for a moment. “Well, Mr. Schumann, I have decided not to detain you, not at this moment. I will let you leave, though I will retain your passport while I look into these matters in more depth. Do not leave Berlin. As you have probably seen, our various authorities are quite adept at locating people in our country. Now, I’m afraid, you will have to quit the boardinghouse. It’s a crime scene. Do you have another place to stay where I can contact you?”

Schumann thought for a moment. “I’ll get a room at the Hotel Metropol.”

Kohl wrote this down in his notebook and pocketed the man’s passport. “Very well, sir. Now, is there anything else you wish to tell me?”

“Not a thing, Inspector. I’ll cooperate however I can.”

“You may leave now. Take only your necessities. Uncuff him, Janssen.”

The inspector candidate did so. Schumann walked to his suitcase. As Kohl watched carefully, he packed a shaving kit with a razor, shaving soap, toothbrush and dental cream. The inspector handed him back his cigarettes, matches, money and comb.

Schumann glanced at the woman. “Can you walk me to the tram stop?”

“Yes, of course.”

Kohl asked, “Miss Richter, you live here in the building?”

“The back apartment on this floor, yes.”

“Very well. I’ll be in touch with you, as well.”

Together, they walked out the door.

After they had gone Janssen frowned and said, “Sir, how can you let him go? Did you believe his story?”

“Some of it. Enough to allow me to release him temporarily.” Kohl explained to the inspector candidate his concerns: He believed that the killing here had been in self-defense. And it did indeed appear that Taggert was the killer of Reginald Morgan. But there remained unanswered questions. If they had been in any other country, Kohl would have detained Schumann until he verified everything. But he knew that if he now ordered the man held while he investigated further, the Gestapo would peremptorily declare the American to be the guilty “foreigner” Himmler wanted and he’d be in Moabit Prison or Oranienburg camp by nightfall.

“Not only would a man die for a crime he probably did not commit but the case will be declared closed and we’ll never find the complete truth – which is, of course, the whole point of our job.”

“But shouldn’t I at least follow him?”

Kohl sighed. “Janssen, how many criminals have we ever apprehended by following them? What do they say in the American crime shockers? ‘Shadowing’?”

“Well, none, I would guess, but-”

“So we will leave that to fictional detectives. We know where we can find him.”

“But the Metropol is a huge hotel with many exits. He could escape from us easily there.”

“That does not interest us, Janssen. We’ll continue to look into Mr. Schumann’s role in this drama shortly. Our priority now, though, is to examine the room here carefully… Ach, congratulations, Inspector Candidate.”

“Why is that, sir?”

“You have solved the Dresden Alley murder.” He nodded toward the body. “And, what’s more, the perpetrator is dead; we need not be inconvenienced by a trial.”

Chapter Thirty

Accompanied by an SS bodyguard, Colonel Reinhard Ernst had taken Rudy back home to Charlottenburg. He was grateful for the boy’s young age; the child hadn’t completely understood the peril at the stadium. The grim faces of the men, the urgency in the pressroom and the fast drive away from the complex had been troubling to him, but he could not fathom the significance of the events. All he knew was that his Opa had fallen and hurt himself slightly, even though his grandfather had made light of the “adventure,” as he called it.

The highlights of the afternoon for the boy, in fact, had not been the magnificent stadium, nor meeting some of the most powerful men in the world, nor the alarm over the assassin. It had been the dogs; Rudy now wanted one himself, preferably two. He talked endlessly about the animals.

“Construction everywhere,” Ernst muttered to Gertrud. “I’ve ruined my suit.”

True, she wasn’t pleased but she was more troubled that he’d taken a fall. She examined his head closely. “You have a bump. You must be more careful, Reinie. I’ll bring you ice for it.”

He hated to be less than honest with her. But he simply would not tell her that he’d been the target of an assassin. If she’d learned that, she would implore him to stay home, no, insist. And he would have to refuse, as he rarely did with his wife. Hitler may have buried himself beneath corpses during the November ’23 rebellion to remain out of harm’s way, but Ernst would never avoid an enemy when his duty required otherwise.

Under different circumstances, yes, he might have remained home for a day or two until the assassin was found, which surely he would be, now that the great mechanism of the Gestapo, SD and SS was in motion. But Ernst had a vital matter to attend to today: conducting the tests at the college with Doctor-professor Keitel and preparing the memo about the Waltham Study for the Leader.

He now asked to have the housekeeper bring him some coffee, bread and sausage in the den.

“But Reinie,” Gertrud said, exasperated, “it’s Sunday. The goose…”

Afternoon meals on the day of rest were a long tradition in the Ernst household, not to be broken if at all possible.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I have no choice. Next week I will spend the entire weekend with you and the family.”

He walked into the den and sat at his desk, then began jotting notes.

Ten minutes later Gertrud herself appeared, carrying a large tray.

“I won’t have you eating a coarse meal,” she said, lifting the cloth off the tray.

He smiled and looked over the huge plate of roast goose with orange marmalade, cabbage, boiled potatoes and green beans with cardamon. He rose and kissed her on the cheek. She left him and, as he ate, without much appetite, he began to peck out a draft of the memo on his typewriter.

HIGHEST CONFIDENTIALITY

Adolf Hitler,

Leader, State Chancellor and President of the German

Nation and Commander of the Armed Forces

Field Marshal Werner von Blomberg,

State Minister of Defense

My Leader and my Minister:

You have asked for details of the Waltham Study being conducted by myself and Doctor-Professor Ludwig Keitel of Waltham Military College. I am pleased to describe the nature of the study and the results so far.