Greg Iles - The Spandau Phoenix

"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

softened his classic Nordic face. Or the eyes, he thought.

Rapist's eyes.

"The photographer tells me that you discovered a card on the premises. A

card with only a telephone number. Where is this card now?"

"I didn't actually find it," Schneider said, slipping his right hand

into his trouser pocket. "Patrolman Ebert did."

Schneider fingered the white card and watched Luhr's face.

"I'm not sure where it is now. I had it, but I think Officer Beck asked

me for it. He's still here, I believe."

"What have you got in your pocket?" Luhr asked sharply.

Schneider slowly withdrew his hand. He held the brass gorget plate and

chain that identified him as a Kripo detective.

With a hiss of frustration Luhr went in search of Officer Beck.

As soon as he disappeared, Schneider pulled a ballpoint pen from his

shirt pocket and copied the number from the card onto the palm of his

hand. Then he followed Luhr into the house.

"Lieutenant?" he called. "Herr Lieutenant!"

Luhr barrelled back through the front door, his face flushed with anger.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant." Schneider shook his head as if he were a fool

and knew it. "That card was in my coat pocket all the time. I could

have sworn I gave it to Beck. Here you are."

Luhr snatched the card. "Officer Beck says he never asked you for the

card!"

Schneider continued shaking his head. "Must have been somebody else. I

tell you, past midnight and my mind just goes."

"I suggest, Detective," Luhr said acidly, "that you either get more

sleep or look for a new line of work. Have you had anyone trace this

number yet?"

"No, sir. Not yet."

"I'll handle it, then."

While Luhr stalked out to his unmarked Audi, Schneider stood in the

foyer and scratched his large head. Something had felt wrong about this

case from the moment he walked in the door. While everyone else had

gone on about the sloppiness of the murder, Schneider had kept silent.

Twenty minutes later the nameless card had turned up. And now this

Nazi-looking lieutenant had appeared-the prefect's aide, no less-to

spirit that card away.

Schneider couldn't remember ever having seen Luhr at a crime scene

before. That bothered him. He hurried past the few technicians left

outside the house and climbed into his battered Opel Kadett.

"Telephone," he murmured as he cranked the old car.

Jiirgen Luhr had beat him to it. As Schneider rounded the corner of

Levetzow and Bachstrasse, he spied the prefect's aide standing at a

corner call box. Schneider slowed, then drove on, maddeningly shut out

of the conversation passing through the wires just over his head.

"Frau Funk?" Luhr asked, when a woman answered. "I'm sorry to disturb

you so late. This is Jijrgen Luhr. Could I speak with the prefect,

please? ... But he was leaving the station-" Luhr broke the connection

and punched in the number of Abschnitt 53. "Berlin-Two," he snapped.

"The prefect, immediately."

A full minute passed before Funk came on the line, his voice smug and

unruffled in contrast to, its earlier panic.

"Yes, Jiirgen?"

"I've found something odd at the Tiergarten house. A card with nothing

but a phone number on it. We should trace it immediately. The crime

looked very suspicious. Evidence of automatic weapons fire, conflicting

signs of amateurishness and professionalism. I think our brothers in

uniform may have, been there."

"How interesting," said Funk. "Why don't you come back to the station

and we'll discuss your theory."

"What's the matter? Is someone with you?"

A pause. "There was someone here, Jijrgen. Sergeant Ross just took her

downstairs to her new accommodations."

"Her? Who are you talking aboutt' "The wife of one of our 'brothers in

uniform,' as you put it. A Frau Ilse Apfel. She walked into the

station just after you left. She had a most interesting story to tell."

"What? The sergeant's wife?"

"That's right. I understand the situation much better after talking to

her. I suggest you get back here, Jiirgen, if you want to be in on this

at all. I've already spoken to Pretoria.