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Page 60.
 "And with a half-severed neck," Grün said, "our man could not have let himself in and laid down for his friends to make a bloody mess of him."
Grün and Zweig tittered between each other. Miranda looked reserved and unsure of herself.
Jack saw dark stains on the central crossing, where zoo keepers must have hosed, scrubbed, and hosed again for hours to clean the mess.
Miranda asked: "No sign of forced entry?"
Grün shook his head darkly. "We are looking into the matter, I say to you very confidentially, of an insider in our organization who let the party or parties in with the victim, sometime in the early morning hours yesterday.
Jack nodded to Miranda. "Make sure someone is working that angle, and we get any reports forthcoming."
"Will do," Miranda said. "Herr Grün, would the people who did this have parked their car in front?"
Grün nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. I know they did not come on foot. Nobody noticed them. And if it was an inside job, as seems the case, they must have been quite bold and come in through the main administration building—where you met me at my office."
"Then," Miranda asked, "would there be any sort of video record of license plates coming and going?"
"I think we have something," Grün said. He used a collar dot to call his offices. He put a small earpiece in his ear, and turned away for a private conversation.
Frau Zweig, meanwhile, shook hands all around. "I must go back—many matter await me. Call me if you need to consult with me further. I will be happy to help in any way I can." She put her hands in her lab coat pockets and busily strode off, with tension in her shoulders.
Grün concluded his call. "Security says that they record license plates during the work day, mainly to prevent repeat offenders of illegal parking. They say sometimes the system is left on accidentally all night, usually recording only their own security vehicle making its rounds. They will run a check and get back to us."
Miranda said: "The clue we have to work from is that our victim was most likely murdered in the greater Kaiserslautern area."
"Do they have special license plates?" Jack asked.
Miranda explained: "Germany has a complex but revealing system of license plate codes. The vast majority of cars are privately owned. When a German moves from one address to another, they always have to register with the local police Revier—or precinct."
Jack said: "Sounds…er…efficient."
Miranda made a shoosh face, not to offend Herr Grün.
Jack studied Grün's expression—the vulture had immediately caught on. No matter.
Miranda said: "When a German family moves, they must re-register with the local police. If they are moving from one license plate district to another, they have to buy new plates with the appropriate city markings."
Jack said: "Assuming the car was German, it could be owned by anyone of eighty five million people, counting infants and the aged."
"We're trying to narrow it down," Miranda said steadfastly.
"Good for you," Jack said, remembering their conversation in the dining room at the airport a few hours ago. "Thinking for yourself—love to see it."
"Thank you. So, a car registered in the greater Frankfurt area would have the standard broad, narrow white German plate with the prefix F followed by a multiple digit number.
"If the car was registered an hour's drive south of here, it would be KL for Kaiserslautern."
"Brilliant," Jack said. "If we get a digital image, we can follow the car to its owner in greater K-Town—assuming it wasn't stolen. But one thing at a time. "
Grün said: "I have the information. The Security lieutenant says they have some grainy films, aimed mainly at bumper level. The lighting is bad, and the shadows are uneven, but they can see shapes in this one car. Thirty cars pulled in and out during after-hours. Some were just turning around on Thüringerstrasse or Brehm Platz outside. With KL plates there was one dark red Simca, a French-built car, driven by a small, dark haired woman. She had two men with her, one blond and the other dark-haired, both young—in their twenties—and athletic. On the left, there is a small white D for Deutschland on a blue background with a circle of stars, so the car is German-owned within the European Union. We have two snapshots—one coming in the main entrance, the other departing. Security was already looking at it yesterday, but we did not have the KL lead to go on." He handed over a slip of paper on which he had scribbled a name and address. "An M. L. Sombra on the Beethovenstrasse in K-Town."
"Thank you," Jack said.
"There is one more thing," Grün said.
"Yes?"
"The official police register for that precinct shows twenty names in the little apartments there, above a hair salon, a travel agency, and a baker of wedding cakes. None of them is M. L. Sombra. Frankfurt detectives, speaking with Kaiserslautern detectives, have conjectured it is either a false name or a false address."
"Interesting," Miranda said. "You know what? Sombra is a Spanish word meaning shade or darkness, and I would bet that the initials are not those of a name—."
"I agree," Jack said. "Coming from the Southwest as I do, and having some Hispanic ancestors, I'll bet you any money that M. L. stands for Me Llamo—my name is. You remember the old book jokes? Yellow River by I. P. Daily? Rusty Bedsprings by I. P. Nightly?"
Miranda snorted with laughter. "Americans—too much time on your hands."
"Danke, Herr Grün," said Jack, and they all shook hands and made snappy little head-bows to each other.
My llama Sombra….My name is Darkness.
Charming.
Actually, scary as hell.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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