‘Tell me about it,’ said Bergemann.
‘And you know the attitude: “She’s just a whore.”’
‘Can I look at the file?’ said Bergemann.
In both cases the medical examiners had determined that the murderer had stabbed with both hands using one knife, stabbing with his left hand for a while and then switching to his right. In the Nineteenth’s case, the body had been found near where she was murdered. She had staggered a few steps as she was being stabbed and died right there. The killer had paused when he was finished to wipe off his knife on the girl’s dress. But aside from all the blood, there was no evidence. Bergemann sent out more queries, this time to all the precincts in the city.
Bergemann decided to walk the riverbank from the point where Gabriella had been fished from the water to the point nearest Pfortzheimgaße. Gruber was against it at first. ‘Waste of time,’ he said. After thinking about it, though, he said, ‘Take a couple of uniforms with you.’
The sun was out. The sky was dotted with white fluffy clouds. There was a light breeze. Bergemann and his two young juniors were happy to be outside. ‘What are we looking for, Detective?’ said young Hans, a strapping blond boy with just the beginnings of a mustache.
‘Anything that doesn’t belong where you find it,’ said Bergemann.
They walked the two kilometers slowly, keeping as close to the water as possible, their eyes to the ground. In any city there is usually trash on the riverbanks, but the south bank of the Isar seemed to be the exception. Young Hans explained that the Hitler Youth had been along the day before, picking up trash, doing their part for civic virtue. They were unlikely to find any clues. Young Hans beamed with pride.
Two days later, when Bergemann arrived at work, a detective from the Fifth was waiting. He took two file folders from his briefcase. Two young women had been stabbed to death in the same fashion about a year ago, one a clerk in a department store and the other an elementary school teacher. The store clerk’s body had been found in a small park across from the building where she lived. The teacher was found in a different park. Both had been killed late at night, the clerk coming home from a night out with friends, the teacher returning home after an evening cultural program at the school where she worked.
‘Come in, Sergeant Gruber,’ said Captain Wendt. Gruber had called Wendt with the news that Munich had a serial killer on its hands. Wendt had immediately notified his superiors, both police and SS. The political authorities had also been notified.
Gruber and Wendt took a police car to police headquarters on Ettstraße. They sat side by side in silence on a hard wooden bench in a waiting room. A large colored photo of the Führer seemed to be looking at something just behind them.
After a while they were summoned, and Gruber followed Wendt into a large conference room. A dozen men sat around a massive table. Gruber was relieved to see Major Reineke among them. ‘Heil Hitler!’ said Gruber, standing at attention with his arm raised in the direction of yet another Hitler portrait. Gruber couldn’t help thinking, He’s everywhere.
‘Now, Sergeant Gruber,’ said Reineke, ‘tell us what we know so far.’
Gruber had written out extensive notes and had even rehearsed the report he intended to deliver. He wanted to present a thorough and cogent summary of the case. His case! After all, his squad had discovered the connections between the four murders and were gathering evidence at that moment. He didn’t want to leave anything out of his report (except his connection to the whores at Pfortzheimgaße). If he played this right, it could be a career-making moment for him.
No sooner had Gruber begun speaking, though, than he was interrupted by a small man in an SS uniform. ‘Spare us the details, Sergeant,’ said the man, drumming his fingers on the table. ‘A broad overview will suffice.’ After Gruber said a few more words, the man interrupted again. Gruber realized then that it was Heinrich Himmler interrupting him. Gruber managed to stammer out a few more words before falling silent. An animated discussion began between Himmler and others around the table.
‘We have to keep this out of the papers.’
‘It may be too late for that.’
‘What kind of political fallout should we expect?’
‘And what will the international press do if they get hold of this?’
‘We can’t let them get hold of it.’
‘The killer is probably a Jew.’
‘Probably? I’d say certainly. We will make certain he is.’ They laughed at that.
‘When do we tell the Führer?’
‘And how do we tell him?’
‘And what will he say?’
Himmler noticed Gruber still standing there. He gestured with his chin and gave a dismissive wave with the back of his hand to the policeman standing by, and Gruber was escorted from the room.
Erna Raczynski
By the time all the police precincts in and around Munich had checked in, eight murderous attacks on women had been reported over the last three years, all obviously committed by the same killer. Only one woman – Erna Raczynski – had survived, and only because the attack on her had been interrupted and the killer had been scared off.
Munich had a serial murderer who had been killing women for three years without the police command even noticing. How was this even possible? The Führer was furious. ‘The utter incompetence!’ he fumed. ‘Heads will roll!’ Himmler should take over the case in person and should devote himself to it until the perpetrator had been caught and brought to justice. And that had better be soon. The entire resources of the SS and Gestapo and police departments in all of Germany must be mobilized, and it would all fall
