left the station, he assured me he was going to retrieve them, but as
you can see'-Funk flicked his palms toward the ceiling-'he has yet to
return.'
Ilse stifled a sob. It was no use, she had to trust someone.
c e. 'A . e Try as she might to control herself, the tears am re the
Russians looking for Hans too?' she asked. 'For the papers?'
Gott im Himmel! Funk felt his heart thud in triumph. It was papers!
'I'm not sure,' he replied, trying to hold his voice steady.
'It's possible. Why do you ask?'
'Because they came to my apartment!' she blurted. 'They were looking
for Hans, I know it! I almost didn't get away!'
My God, I've done it! Funk thought wildly. I have her!
Rising to his feet, he hurried around the desk and sat beside Ilse. Like
a concerned father he clasped both her hands in his and patted them
reassuringly.
'Now, now, child,' he consoled her. 'We'll find Hans, don't worry. We
have thousands of men at our disposal. Just calm down and tell me
everything. Everything from the very beginning.'
Ilse did.
12.01 A.M. British Sector.' West Berlin
By the time Jiirgen Luhr arrived at the murder scene, the forensic team
had repacked its equipment and stacked it beside the front door.
A uniformed patrolman guarded the door against any prowling pressmen who
might arrive. Chainsmoking technicians rubbed the sleep from their eyes
and cursed the man who had the nerve to be killed in the middle of the
night. The man of the hour lay wrapped in the polyurethane bag that
would be his sole vestment until someone came forward to claim him. For
it was murder-anyone could see that. The attempt to disguise the
shooting as a suicide had been clumsy at best, everyone agreed. Or
almost everyone. Detective Schneider hadn't said anything yet.
Naturally.
Luhr approached a thin man who sat on a sofa, fiddling with a camera.
'Who's in charge here?' he asked in a clipped tone.
'Detective Schneider,' said the man without looking up from his camera.
'He's in the back.'
'I'm Lieutenant Luhr. The prefect sent me to inquire into this matter.'
Funk's title brought the photographer to his feet. 'It's about time you
got here,' he whispered.
'Who is the dead man?' Luhr asked.
'His passport says Klaus Seeckt.'
'Occupation?'
'He worked in some kind of liaison capacity for the West Berlin
government-something to do with trade. From the looks of this place, he
didn't do much but cash his checks and stay around the house.
There's a three-quarter-inch video camera in the back bedroom. I'll bet
this guy made some interesting movies back there-'
'Who discovered the body?' Luhr broke in, annoyed by the photographer's
prurient speculation.
'A patrolman. He's gone already, though. An old couple next door heard
the shooting and called it in. They didn't see anything.'
'They never do, do they?' said Liihr, trying to foster some comradely
spirit. 'Have you found anything significant?'
Flattered to be asked his opinion, the photographer drew himself to his
full height. 'Well, it's pretty clear this was no suicide. At least to
me. We dug eight slugs out of the front wall. They came from some kind
of automatic weapon.
Fresh prints everywhere, too. At least three people besides the victim
were here tonight. We can't know exactly what happened, of course, but
I don't see this fellow deciding to commit suicide just because someone
broke into his house.
I think he surprised a gang of thieves-pros-and they killed him with his
own gun. Then they panicked, put the gun in his hand, and ran.'
'Any sign of forced entry?'
'No. Like I said, pros.'
Luhr cracked a knuckle joint. 'Yes, that's what you said.
What type of bullets were fired from the automatic weapon?'
'7.65 millimeter, brand unknown. Didn't find any shell casings.'
Luhr smiled skeptically. 'Let's summarize your theory, shall we?
Your 'burglars' break in without leaving a trace.
When the owner surprises them, they panic and kill himleaving
fingerprints everywhere-yet in their panic they stop to hunt down eight
shell casings ejected from an automatic weapon fired in the heat of the
moment. Rather contradictory actions, wouldn't you say?'
The photographer frowned and rubbed his chin. 'I don't know.
They make those attachments now that fit right onto your weapon.
They catch every shell you can pump out.'
'A bit exotic for housebreakers, don't you think?' Luhr glanced around
the room. 'Anything else?'
'Well, there was, in fact. Detective Schneider found a card outside. In
the snow near the walkway. It didn't have anything on it but a number.
A telephone number.'
Luhr's eyes narrowed. 'Where is this card now?'
'I don't know. If it's still here, Schneider would have it.
He's in the back.'
As Luhr stepped down onto the small stone terrasse, a bearish man
wearing a hat and a rumpled raincoat waded into the pool of yellow light
thrown off by a dim spotlight above the glass doors. The man stopped
when he saw Luhr, taking in the silver lieutenant's bars, st@ched-flat
uniform, and gleaming boots.
'What can I do for you, Lieutenant?' he asked warily.
'Detective Schneider, I presume?'
The big man nodded.
'I am here as the unofficial representative of the prefect.
He has expressed an interest in this case As the murdered man apparently
has some tie to the East German government, the prefect fears that there
might be ... repercussions.
You understand?'
Detective Schneider waited for the lieutenant to ask what he had come
outside to ask. He didn't like the way Luhr's arrogant little mouth
