Page 39 of Nothing Watching

“It does,” Juliette said.

“Where is he?” Wyatt asked.

“I’m still researching,” Sierra said, looking harassed. “Guy doesn’t live in owned premises and I can’t find where he’s renting, not even on the police databases. Right now, I’m switching angles, to see if I can get a lead on his workplace. He must still be in government if he has diplomatic immunity, right?”

“That makes sense,” Wyatt agreed.

“Not to rush you,” Juliette said, “but we have to move quickly. The chief of police is pressuring Fischer to take over the case again. We need to get ahead of the game before he can intervene. Fischer doesn’t want this to happen and realizes we can add more resources and speed. But if the powers that be decide to take back the case, it’s going to be a huge problem. This could damage our reputation. If they say we haven’t performed, we can’t argue that, because there’s no killer in custody. It’s a potential disaster we don’t need this early in the task force’s existence.”

Wyatt looked at her, his face drawn and somber. Sierra glanced up from her work with a worried expression.

Then she glanced down again.

“Wait, I’ve got a lead!” she said. “It looks as if Heinrich is still working in local government, at a very low level. He’s employed by the town council in Potsburg, a city an hour’s drive from Berlin.”

Juliette raised her eyebrows.

An hour’s drive seemed like a very good investment in time, if it was going to take them to the doorstep of a fugitive who was claiming diplomatic immunity. And if she drove fast, and made good time on the autobahn, it might only take forty-five minutes.

“This is our best lead, and I reckon we take it,” she said. “If you look at these killing times, they’re all outside of normal working hours so far. Our killer could be holding down a government job, and doing this in his spare time without anyone knowing.”

The others nodded. Sierra shoved her laptop back in her bag, and a moment later, they were rushing out of the police station, ready to start the drive to Potsburg, and hopefully, to the killer himself.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

As they sped along the autobahn, Juliette was hell bent on getting to Potsburg in the shortest possible time. With the high speeds permitted on the freeway, she barely had a moment to glance around. She took in blurred glimpses of the surrounding countryside. A bank of woods on a hill. A passing train speeding along in the opposite direction. Groomed, green farmland. A cluster of windmills, their blades bright white against the cloudy midmorning sky.

Then they were taking the exit for Potsburg, with the city signage ahead, peeling off the autobahn and returning to normal speeds, which felt surprisingly slow after that white-knuckle ride.

“Where’s the city council buildings?” Juliette asked the question out loud, while knowing she was the most likely one to be able to find them quickly if they were signposted in German.

“That looks like an official sign?” Sierra volunteered, pointing. “I can check online?”

Juliette read it and nodded. Sierra’s instincts were accurate. This was going to be where Heinrich worked.

The city itself was a small, prosperous, traditional-looking place that was definitely a day trip destination, with hosts of restaurants and eateries on the main street, shopping areas, and a few historic buildings in sight, including a beautiful church, with signage for other nearby highlights. There were riverboat tours, a canal, and a central lake.

Juliette had always thought of herself as a big city girl, but when she took in the ambience of this smaller place, after the bustling anonymity of Berlin, she realized just how charming it was.

Still, the thoughts had time only to flit through the back of her mind before she was heading down the side road toward the town’s offices, which were located in a beautiful, though not particularly old, brick building with linden trees outside.

They parked in a nearby lot and hurried inside, hoping that they weren’t too late. If Heinrich Carter had caught wind of their investigation, which he would surely have being part of the local government, he could have already fled the city.

A solemn-faced, gray-haired receptionist clearly ruled the lobby, and as soon as they walked in, she skewered them with her gaze.

“How can I help you?” she asked in German. And then, more sternly, “The public is not permitted in these offices. You must go round the building to the correct entrance.”

Juliette planted herself squarely in front of the reception desk.

In her politest voice, she said, “We are looking to speak to Mr. Heinrich Carter. I believe he works here?”

“And you are the police?” The receptionist stared down at Juliette’s badge.

“Special task force. We are investigating a series of crimes involving American citizens,” she explained.

The receptionist folded her hands. “And why Mr. Carter? He is in charge of sewerage and water affairs for this city. Why are you needing to speak to him?”

Juliette hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much information to a civilian. But time was of the essence, and she couldn’t afford to waste any more of it.

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