Anika drank her tea and appeared to collect her thoughts.

“But then another is found dead. Then it was your grandmother. By then, mothers tell their daughters never to walk the streets alone. That there are madmen other than Hitler.”

“I found my grandmother’s mordakte—her homicide file,” Rina said.

“Mein Gott, how did you find?”

“It’s a long story. But her file was found with those of the two others murdered before her. The cases were all packaged together in one big box apparently. I was sent a copy, not the original.”

“What was in your grandmother’s file?”

“Not much,” Decker said. “A pathology report, interviews, witnesses, crime scene report. Comparison of her murder to those of the two other women—Marlena Durer and Anna Gross. From what I could tell, the police investigation was pretty primitive. Do you remember any other murders?”

“There were two more after your grandmother, Mrs. Decker. Then we move. But the last I remember well because it was a young girl who lived near me in Schwabing. Her name was Johanna, a little older than I was but close enough in age to truly frighten. Ach, it was terrible murders in a terrible time that only got more terrible before it got better.”

The woman had turned red and was panting hard.

Rina said, “Thank goodness it’s in the past, Anika.”

“Yes …” The old woman took a few moments to steady her breathing. “Yes, it is all in the past and every day I walk past mountains, sky, and beauty.” She exhaled loudly. “Your grandfather did a good deed when he moved your mother away. The other families stayed, the motherless children receiving not pity but suspicion: ‘What did your mother do to deserve her death?’ If you want my opinion, Mrs. Decker, I say your grandmother was murdered by the same hand, even if the women were different. Thinking about it … it was all so much the same.”

“Any idea who might have done it?”

“Ach, no, sorry. A madman, a political man, a man who was both mad and political. You choose.” Anika clenched her jaw. “There was one investigator … he talked to us. I remember him well—strong, blue eyes, and black curly hair. He had … I don’t know … a swagger in his step … a charisma. He spoke softly but with much intensity. If we see anything, if we hear anything, we must tell him. He was terrifying and appealing at the same time. I don’t remember his name.”

“Heinreich Messersmit?” Decker tried.

She shrugged.

“Rudolf Kalmer?” Decker paused. “Axel Berg?”

“Maybe that was it. I wonder what happened to him?” She waved a bony hand in the air. “Now he’s dead. They’re all dead. I should be dead.”

“God forbid!” Rina said.

Anika smiled. “I was glad when we moved. Hamburg was different—a free state, a port city, more international, less Bavarian. And the beer in Hamburg is stronger.” She looked at an empty wrist.

Decker said, “It’s twelve-ten.”