Private Berlin (Private 5)

Mattie felt Burkhart looking at her, puzzled. Her cheeks started to burn.

A blue Kripo bus appeared, splashing toward the slaughterhouse.

Mattie knew what that meant. Every time a body is found in Berlin, Kripo sends out one of these specially equipped buses. They contain all the equipment and supplies needed to fully document a murder scene.

Seeing the bus, Mattie became angry. “With all due respect, High Commissar, we don’t know that this is a homicide yet. Someone could have taken Chris, discovered the chip, then cut it out of him so we couldn’t find him.”

Dietrich blinked, took his attention off the slaughterhouse, and replied in a chilly tone, “That’s what I am here to find—”

“High Commissar!” came a woman’s shrill voice.

Dietrich grimaced and looked over his shoulder at the stout little woman in her midtwenties marching earnestly up the driveway toward them. He sighed heavily. “Inspector Sandra Weigel. My trainee.”

Inspector Weigel beamed at Mattie and Burkhart as they introduced themselves before turning to Dietrich. “What shall I do, High Commissar?” Weigel asked.

“Stay out of my way and listen,” Dietrich growled at her. Then he looked back at Mattie and Burkhart. “Now, take me inside, show me where you found the chip, and tell me everything I need to know.”

CHAPTER 10

AS THEY DONNED blue surgical booties and latex gloves under an awning that had been set up outside the slaughterhouse, Mattie and Burkhart brought Dietrich up to speed on Chris Schneider’s cases and activities during the prior two weeks, finishing with the decision to activate the GPS chip and its discovery in the main hall of the slaughterhouse two hours before.

Inspector Weigel took copious notes. Dietrich took none. He just stood there, listening intently, expressionless. He asked only one question. “No footprints?”

Burkhart shook his head. “None, but the dust in there is rippled. Like someone used one of those blowers that gardeners use to erase all tracks.”

Mattie frowned. Burkhart had not mentioned that before.

Dietrich gave Burkhart a glance of reappraisal, and then went inside the slaughterhouse. The hallway was lit now with klieg lights. The high commissar walked toward the main slaughterhouse slowly, methodically, his eyes going everywhere, saying nothing.

Mattie said, “The room where we found the chip—it’s big. Private could bring in its forensics team to help. We have state and federal certification.”

Dietrich shook his head and continued on with his inspection as if the idea were completely out of the question.

A team of criminalists was setting up lights and gathering samples at the east end of the main slaughterhouse where the chip had been found.

Dietrich examined the dead rat and then looked up at Burkhart. “Remind me not to anger you, Herr Burkhart.”

Burkhart shrugged. “Just a lot of practice.”

“You have the chip?” Dietrich asked.

Mattie dug in her pants pocket and came up with a plastic evidence sleeve with the chip and the flesh inside.

Dietrich took it from her and studied it closely.

“High Commissar?” o

ne of the evidence specialists called. He was crouched over a bolt protruding from the floor beneath the rusty overhead track. “I’ve got something here.”

Dietrich stiffened and hesitated before looking at Mattie and Burkhart. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to ask you to leave now.”

“What?” Mattie said. “Why?”

“This is a crime scene. I can’t have any more contamination.”

“Contamination?” Mattie said. “We did everything by the book in here. We backed out the second we found the chip, and we waited for Kripo.”

“So you did,” Dietrich replied calmly. “It does not change things. You’ll have to leave. You should know, Frau Engel. It’s department policy.”