‘I think these women had nothing to do with the killer, and he has nothing to do with them. He rides the streetcar, alone, late at night, and looks for women. He picks one out and gets off the streetcar with her. I think that’s their entire connection.’
‘So, you think these are the lines he rode …’
‘Because they run late at night. It’s just a theory, Hans. But look here.’ Willi drew another circle on the map.
‘What’s that?’ said Bergemann.
‘It’s where Lola was attacked.’
‘Jesus,’ said Bergemann.
‘She was riding that line,’ said Willi. Bergemann just stared at the map. ‘She wasn’t stabbed,’ Willi said. ‘But the guy’s hand came through the umbrella and got caught. Think about it. I’m pretty sure even a strong man couldn’t just punch his hand through the fabric of an umbrella.’
‘So you think there was a knife,’ said Bergemann.
‘I do. I’m an idiot for not having thought of it earlier.’
‘Jesus,’ said Bergemann again.
Both men were silent for a long time.
‘OK,’ Bergemann said finally. ‘So what’s his connection to the streetcar?’
‘One obvious possibility is he works for the Munich Transportation Authority,’ said Willi.
‘But you don’t think so,’ said Bergemann.
‘Well, a streetcar man would fear that the tram routes might lead back to him. I think a streetcar man would avoid streetcars when committing his crimes. There’s a good chance he’d be recognized by a conductor or a driver. Killing where he works would be stupid.’
‘But he knows the system in detail. That could be useful.’
‘Maybe. We’ll keep an open mind on this …’
‘But?’ said Bergemann.
‘Well, regardless of who he is, there is another tantalizing … possibility.’
‘Which is?’
‘If we’re right about the victims and the killer getting off the streetcars where the women were then killed, we may also know where the killer gets on.’
‘Really?’ said Bergemann. ‘How?’
‘Well, look at the map. There are six streetcar lines that run through the night.’ Willi pointed them out again. ‘And of those six he only used three. Why those three?’
‘Go on,’ said Bergemann.
‘Well, I think we can safely assume he’s an orderly killer. The murders not only look similar. He kills exactly the same way each time; he is savage in the same way, he cleans the knife the same way each time – it’s almost ritualistic. In any case, being involved in a very risky scheme, a man like this – compulsive, systematic – wouldn’t deviate from his familiar ways any more than he has to. He wants to avoid surprises. He wants things to play out the same way each time. So he probably sets off from the same place each time.’
‘Near home?’
‘Maybe, but not necessarily. But somewhere secure, some place where he’s familiar with the setting and feels safe. He might be anonymous there, or there might be crowds. But one place, the same place each time. Where the ritual begins.’
‘And that would be?’
‘That would be where the three lines cross.’ Willi pointed to the map. ‘Right here: Karolinenplatz. This is where he starts his hunt. It’s central, near the train station.’
‘Karolinenplatz?’ said Bergemann. ‘A safe place? I don’t think so.’
‘Why?’ said Willi. ‘What makes you say that?’
Bergemann slid his finger east from Karolinenplatz on Briennerstraße. ‘Briennerstraße twenty,’ he said.
‘What’s there?’ said Willi.
‘Gestapo headquarters.’
The Green Dress
It was ten in the evening. Big, wet snowflakes swirled around the street lights and were sticking to the ground. This had the makings of a substantial snowfall. Willi turned up his collar and pulled his hat down to his ears.
Heinz Schleiffer was out front clearing the walk with a broom. ‘Guten Abend, Herr Juncker,’ he said, trying to sound friendly. He had decided to treat Karl Juncker respectfully, even though he took him for a suspicious character. That way, Schleiffer figured, he wouldn’t arouse Juncker’s suspicions in return.
Schleiffer had lately reported to Ortsgruppenleiter Mecklinger (or rather to Irmgard Kinski, since the Ortsgruppenleiter would no longer see him) that he suspected that Karl Juncker might be Munich’s serial killer. Frau Kinski had written down Schleiffer’s ‘information’ and given it to the Ortsgruppenleiter. Mecklinger had read her note, snorted, and thrown it in the trash.
Heinz Schleiffer watched Karl Juncker walk down the street until he disappeared into the blowing snow. He made a mental note to check the newspaper in the morning to see whether another woman had been killed. Willi turned the corner and got on the streetcar that was waiting there at the end of the line. He walked to the back of the second car. The conductor punched his ticket. After a few more minutes the streetcar rumbled off down the street.
Willi understood that there might be dozens of security people – SS, Sicherheitspolizei, certainly Gestapo – working on finding the serial killer. Himmler would probably have seen to that by now. And if he, Willi, had figured out the streetcar line connection, then they would soon figure it out too, if they hadn’t already. In any case, he understood it was dangerous for him to be prowling around this way.
The streetcar’s iron wheels squealed as they rounded corners. More people got on at the next station, and more at the station after that. They were mostly men on their way to or from work. They dozed or gazed absently through the windows at the falling snow. After several more stops Willi got off and transferred to the line along which Erna Raczynski had been attacked. There were twenty-five or so passengers in the two cars. They were heading toward the center of Munich. There was a uniformed policeman in the second car. Willi took a seat toward the front of the first car.
There was a pair of uniformed policemen at one stop. The policemen surveyed the streetcar as it rolled to a stop. The passengers tried to look as though they didn’t notice. One started to read a newspaper, another checked his watch, meaningless gestures that, if anything, made them look guilty. Maybe not of murder, but of something.
The streetcar stopped at Karolinenplatz. Several men
