Rina had also provided him with a detailed map of the garden, vast with long stretches of lawn and lakes and lots of walking paths. The rebuilt Chinese Tower lay in the center, a bronze-colored, spire-shaped piece of architecture that approximated a pagoda. Next door was one of the many Munich biergartens, a summer gathering spot filled with tables and chairs, where people sat around, drank beer, and enjoyed the open space. The concession stands were closed in the wintertime, naturally.

The garden also contained Munich’s Cricket Grounds, and along the northern perimeter, there was an area called Aumeister, which featured an early-nineteenth-century hunting lodge. Those landmarks failed to jar loose any recollections. What he viscerally remembered was empty copses of trees in steel-cold air, wetness, and the smell of decay.

It was probably his mood.

Rina came in with a cup of coffee and set the mug in front of him. “Anything?”

He glanced at his watch. “I’ve been here for four minutes.”

“I expect miracles.”

“Wait in line.” He sipped coffee. “Wow, this is good. Thanks.”

Rina sat down and placed her hand over his. “Take your time. Seriously.”

“I’m trying to picture the geography. The Englischer Garten is big. Your grandmother was dumped in the northern end. So that brings several questions to mind.”

He picked up a pencil and wrote on the notepad. “First, what was she doing there? From the guide books and my own pitiful memories, that area is and was very ritzy. Your omah wasn’t aristocracy. She wasn’t even petite bourgeoisie. She didn’t go on daily strolls through the park, twirling her parasol in a silk-embroidered gown. Your grandmother was a poor Jewish woman. She probably worked from the moment she woke up until she went to sleep. What was she doing in the area?”

“Maybe she wasn’t in the area. Maybe she was just dumped there because the park was big and a good place to hide bodies.”

“So then the murder wasn’t a random killing. Someone brought her over there with the specific purpose of killing her or at the very least, dumping her there. Now these other two women—Marlena Durer and Anna Gross—they’re different stories. They lived near the garden, so they could have been random rapes and homicides—in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So why did the other guy include Omah with Gross and Durer?”

“What other guy?”

“This one. Kriminalpolizeiinspektor Axel Berg.” She smiled. “That’s a tongue twister. I think all the homicides might be related. Did you read all of Inspektor Kalmer’s notes?”

“No. Why?”

Rina flipped through to his interview notes. “Read this. You’ll find it interesting.”

Decker’s eyes scanned over the writing until he came to the sentence in question. He backtracked and read it carefully: An interview with Julia Schoennacht was conducted. The victim, Regina Gottlieb, was in Frau Schoennacht’s employ for three months, with Frau Gottlieb’s employment ending after her services were no longer required. He looked at Rina. “Your grandmother worked outside the home?”