In the passenger seat was Gustav’s assistant, Andreas Grosskreuz, who’d followed the inspector from Munich. The two of them had worked together for the past ten years, and could almost finish each other’s sentences. But where Andreas was still relatively young in his early thirties — a handsome man with dark hair and eyes, who still attracted the attention of pretty college-age women — Gustav was twenty years his senior with deep crow’s feet, consternation wrinkles across his forehead, and gray hair sprinkled generously across his close-cropped military haircut. Still, Gustav knew he could stick with his younger counterpart physically and mentally, with the exception of a foot race. Andreas was like a damn rabbit to Gustav’s turtle.
Gustav shoved another stick of nicotine gum into his mouth and chewed vigorously. His doctor told him a week ago to quit smoking or he’d die just like his father at age sixty. So he was weaning himself off the smokes with the gum and the patch.
“How do you like the gum?” Andreas asked his boss.
The gruff inspector looked down his nose as he chomped every gram of flavor from the gum. “It’s like chewing cigarette butts. I prefer my filterless cigarettes. But what can I do? The doctor reports me to my superiors and they suspend me and send me through that quit smoking program. I hear they use electrical probes — shock therapy.”
Andreas laughed. “I don’t think so. But that gum will kill you slower. Eventually you’ll have to quit that as well.”
He had a point. But his job was killing him fast enough. A half hour ago, while the two of them ate lunch, they’d gotten a call saying an American tourist from New York had spotted another body in the Spree. Gustav thought about the past few years in Berlin. Murders were up. Not to the level of American cities, but a concern nonetheless. He didn’t know how long before his boss would ship him off to Leipzig or Dortmund. Maybe someplace sedate to let him fade until retirement. Tightening his strong jaw against the gum, he shook his head with that thought. Not before he caught the bastard who was making him look bad in Berlin, he thought.
“This is the fifth body in two months,” Gustav said, his eyes cast upon the scene outside, where yellow crime tape had already cordoned off the park, including the bridge from the north side. “Let’s go see what we’ve got.”
The two of them got out, Gustav spitting his old used-up gum into the grass and replacing it with a new piece as they walked toward the scene.
They got to the edge of the bridge and Gustav gazed down, watching a crew hoist a man’s body into a basket and then start up the embankment.
“Just like the others?” Andreas asked his boss.
“We’ll see.” Gustav chomped on his fresh gum, gaining no great pleasure from the act. He looked up river toward the Mitte of the city. With the current, the body could’ve come from almost anywhere upstream. But he knew from the natural flow that many things had gotten caught up along this edge of the Tiergarten. The bridges here along the park acted like a sieve, catching anything and everything that floated. During World War II he’d heard that city officials had a crew of body collectors who ran up and down the river picking up the dead. The Tiergarten had been a particularly fruitful patch of real estate.
The emergency medical crew set the body in the basket onto the grass next to the inspector and his assistant. Gustav stooped down for a closer look. He looked up at one of the medical technicians and said, “What about the back of his head?”
“Not pretty, Herr Inspector. A hole the size of your fist.”
“So, the bullet entered through the eye and out the back,” Gustav said. “Just like the others. Any identification?”
“No, sir.”
“How long in the water? Rough estimate.”
The medical technician studied the body. “It’s been cold. Perhaps two days.”
That’s about what Gustav guessed. He saw all he needed for now. His crime scene investigators would comb over the area and find nothing, he knew, since the body wasn’t killed here. They’d also probably find nothing of importance on the body. Nothing out of the ordinary at least. “Have the medical examiner call me when he’s done with his exam,” he said to the technician.
They hauled the body away and Gustav drifted over to a grassy area, his critical eyes glancing about the edge of the park at those watching the action. Only a small gaggle of perhaps twenty people.
“Get someone to photograph the folks hanging around,” Gustav ordered.
“Already on it, sir.”
Although it hadn’t worked with this case, they had caught people in the past showing up to observe their work. Yet, Gustav had a feeling this killer was special. Gifted in the art of killing.
Walking back toward their car, Andreas was right at Gustav’s side. “What do you think, sir?”
“I don’t know,” Gustav said, and he meant it.
“You think we have a serial killer?” his assistant asked eagerly.
“Maybe. It makes sense. This makes five. And all of the bodies have been dumped in the Spree.”
“What do the Americans say?” Andreas asked, holding back a smile, “A killing spree?”
Gustav glanced sideways at his assistant. “How long have you waited to say that?”
“Since the third body.”
“Quite the restraint on your part.”
“I try, sir.”
“Try harder. Now, what else do we know?”
Andreas Grosskreuz hunched his shoulders. “Shot from the front. Looking directly at the killer. So, he either knew the killer or the killer had somehow gained the man’s trust long enough to shoot him in the face. We’ll probably find powder on his face like the others, which means close range.”
“Good. And?”
“Silencer perhaps?”
“Are you asking me, Andreas?”
“Well, sir, we have no reports of shootings in the city.”
“How far could the body travel in two days?”
“Depends on a lot of factors. The body might sink initially, get caught on the bottom, then it bloats and rises again. Could be a couple of kilometers or more. Of course it could have been caught on the bridge for a day without notice.”
His assistant was good, which is why Gustav had brought him along with him from Munich. He not only trusted Andreas with his life, he knew the younger man would someday have his job. And that was just fine with Gustav. The way he felt now, that day couldn’t come soon enough. But not until they got this killer.
“That would place the kill site somewhere in the southeast side of the city,” Gustav postulated. “What’s over there?”
“Mostly industrial.”
Gustav considered that carefully. “I’ll bet the man was shot at night. That area of Berlin is dead at night. Very little traffic.”
“Of course the killer could’ve simply dumped the body there after shooting the man somewhere outside of the city. Somewhere out in the country.”
Finally, Gustav caught his young colleague. “Ah, good point. However, why go through all the trouble? If you shoot a man in the forest, why not simply leave the body there? Let the ravens pick over it.”
Andreas scratched his head. “I’m an idiot, sir. That’s why you bring in the gross Euros.” His young assistant thought hard now. “Definitely a silenced gun, sir. And killed near the river and dumped immediately. No doubt about it. A professional.”
His young colleague seemed almost disappointed they didn’t have a sick serial killer to investigate. Gustav guessed he had watched too many American crime dramas.
Gustav smiled and started walking toward the car, his associate falling in to his side. Whatever the case, he’d get to the bottom of this. But he had to admit to himself that he didn’t have a hell of a lot to go on. No identification. Not even a bullet fragment found. No motive. No real crime scene. Only bodies. Someone was killing people in his city and he didn’t like it one bit.