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NCIS: No Greater Love

Written by Jose J. Clavell

Greater love hath no man than this,

that a man lay down his life for his friends.

John 15:13

Chapter One

The Alley

20 Breinhart Strasse

Magdeburg City, USE

Early Spring 1636, 0930 Hours Local Time

Stop me if you've heard this.

A navy cop, a military police lieutenant, and Magdeburg’s finest meet at the entrance to a dark alley one cold cloudy morning . . .

As I looked at the body hidden in the shadows nearby, a male dressed in quality civilian clothing, I was pretty sure of the punch line. Don't take me wrong. There is nothing funny about murder, but at my arrival I saw my companions' grim expressions. I thought that someone ought to lighten this most assuredly historic occasion. My beloved wife assures me I tend to be a bit silly and possess a childish sense of humor. Perhaps she is right. On the other hand, the good ladies at Government House call this behavior a good coping mechanism. Regardless, sometimes you need something extra to let you face a cruel world day after day. I'm certain that our guest of honor wouldn't mind.

My name is Günther Schlosser and I'm that navy cop.

More specifically, I'm both the director and Magdeburg Senior-Agent-In-Charge for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. My boss is Chief of Naval Operations Admiral John C. Simpson; he pays me relatively well for our cash-strapped times. However, he is not one to spend one penny more than he needs to, which explains the multiple hats I wear, as well as my current presence at an active crime scene. If our nation, the navy and NCIS manage to survive the next two hundred years and prosper, I expect the then-director will have hundreds of agents at his beck and call.

Lucky me, I was born two hundred years too early.

But I digress. Technically speaking I wasn't even sure this was our crime scene. True, the body lay close enough to the navy yard that one of our combined military police and shore patrol units had stumbled upon him—smack dab on the imaginary line that divides our jurisdiction from the one controlled by the Magdeburg police department. Unlike up-timers and their hunger for precision, we down-timers prefer the "more or less" approach to life. That aforementioned lieutenant could have easily looked the other way and let the MPD have the glory and the headaches of trying to solve this murder.

Especially as at first glance, the portly, middle-aged man did not seem to be a member of our military. That made me wonder why the lieutenant had instead summoned NCIS, and me, personally.

Something in my gut told me that I was not going to like the answer.

The MP in question, my friend Brigitte "Britt" Strausswirt, is the yard provost marshal. Britt is in her early twenties, a fair-skinned and attractive redhead. I know her as a smart, by-the-book cop. However, she was no martinet and was well aware of our heavy workload. Whatever she had seen on her arrival had made her call for us; recognizing potential jurisdictional conflict, she had used her own initiative and also alerted the MPD.

I couldn't fault Strausswirt for doing her job efficiently but I would have preferred that she had been a tad less diligent and delayed that notification, at least until we could clarify the scope of our involvement in the investigation. Certainly, it's not a secret to anyone in the city—and probably half of Europe by now—that there's no great love lost between us in NCIS and the former city watch of Magdeburg. Despite their up-timer provided leadership, new name, uniforms and training in investigative methods, I wasn't completely persuaded they weren't still the same watchmen who once saw me and mine as a collection of former thieves, thugs and whores. Granted, there was more than a smidgen of truth in that characterization; but I don't think that what used to be a bunch of drunken, loudmouthed Luddites was in any position to complain too much.

As I said before, we are not exactly in a mutual admiration society. Perhaps that's a shame, but although I pride myself on my own thick skin, I've been known to carry a grudge for a long time when my loved ones are involved. No one insults my wife, the mother of my child, and goes away unscathed.

Strausswirt was deep in an intense conversation with our city colleagues. Given my history with them, I decided to go around them and find out for myself why she had called me here in the first place. However, that became glaringly obvious as soon as I got close enough to the body to see his face clearly in the cloudy morning light. Feeling like someone had punched me in the pit of my stomach; I abruptly stopped and, very uncharacteristically for me, stood paralyzed looking down at him. I was well acquainted with the deceased, Ferdinand "Ferdi" Schwinger. You could say that he was—or had been—a very close acquaintance of mine, both professionally and personally.

He was my best friend.

****

Our acquaintance did not exactly start on what you would call "friendly" terms. When the admiral hired former Grantville Police Chief Dan Frost to educate, train and professionalize our force, we—and that means mostly me—went through a "Badges . . . ? We don't need no stinking badges" period.

Chief Frost started to change my mind with his collection of up-time badges, or shields. He patiently explained the history behind each of the law enforcement organizations represented, until even I was impressed.

It quickly became apparent that, for him, the badge was more than a symbol of the office. It also stood for the implied promise and commitment of each peace officer that wore one to enforce the law impartially, and to stand as a shield in defense of society and its individual members, regardless of politics, religion or social standing. The chief compared our work to sheepdogs watching over the flocks to keep the wolves away.

Due to my own spotty upbringing and the lessons learned during my Committee of Correspondence days, this belief resonated deep within me. It changed my outlook about my new job and its complex and developing responsibilities, and helped in my own transformation from a former thug and bodyguard to a cop and law enforcer. Perhaps my view has become a tad sentimentalized now. My wife and fellow agent, Brunhilde "Brunei" Spitzer, likes to say so. But I notice that she takes care of her own badge as carefully as I do.

Herr Schwinger, who was one of the best jewelers in Magdeburg, had developed a profitable sideline providing the rank devices, medals, ribbons and other doodads that our military folk find so appealing. Not ones to reinvent the wheel, Chief Frost and I paid the man a visit with our proposed design for NCIS badges, and immediately ran into a brick wall. The prices that Schwinger initially demanded would have easily cost me a month of my people's total annual salary.

We, of course, negotiated. After all, my mother had not raised little Günther to be anyone's patsy. Chief Frost found it alarming that negotiations were conducted at the top of our lungs, accompanied with loud mutual accusations of "thief!" and "bourgeois exploiter of the people!" with the peanut gallery freely wagering who was likely to throw the first punch. As I told the chief afterwards, "negotiations" in my century were not for the faint-of-heart.

We finally did agree on a price which was more than I wanted to pay but much less than he had demanded. The observers, after agreeing that it had been an impressive display of haggling, and that the solution was equitable, declared themselves satisfied with the outcome despite the disappointing lack of bloodshed.

When my friend Strausswirt wanted to get her own shields for her MPs and masters-at-arms, I referred her to him. This led to more orders as more cities and towns formed police forces, or reorganized their city watches as Magdeburg had done. Schwinger's became the de rigueur provider of quality police badges and shields for both the civilian and military markets.

As things often are between men, once we had matched wits, Schwinger—now and henceforth known as Ferdi to me—and I quickly developed a fast friendship. His wife Hannelore and my Brunei found this situation both amusing and exasperating due to our very different backgrounds and more than twenty years difference of age, but that never became an issue. Ferdi may have been in his early fifties, but in his mind was still very much an adventurous young man.

Our developing friendship cemented after he and his Hannelore accepted our invitation to join us at Movie Night at EGA, the Eagle, Globe and Anchor. That Kneippe, owned by Strausswirt's parents, is the unofficial Marine and NCIS off-duty social club.

I was especially pleased to discover that, like me, Ferdi was especially fond of crime stories, detective tales, and up-time lingo. He also shared my somewhat lopsided and humorous view of the human condition. That was the first of many enjoyable evenings there, where we discussed the non-confidential aspects of my workload and interesting crime-related stories in the papers. We did it so often that our wives accused us of being police groupies. Our usual retort was that I was the police and he was the groupie.

When our family ranks increased with the arrival of our beautiful daughter, Magritte, the Schwingers presented us with a baby-sized NCIS badge as a christening present. As I looked down at his body, my fury and pain was barely under control despite my outward composure.

I knew I was going to miss him sorely and swore a silent oath that I would get whoever had murdered him.

****

All this ran through my mind as I mentally rearranged my schedule and reprioritized my commitments to accomplish my new goal. I had scheduled follow-up investigations in matters relating to some missing items during the attempt on the SoTF vice-president's life at the request of Grantville's Police Chief Richards. But, like him, I understood that this was a very long shot. In comparison with typical soldiers of my day, USE Marines were earnestly honest, but they were not plaster saints. No one was going to begrudge them taking mementos from an owner who will never have a use for them again. Not when they were expected—in the words of my friend Lulu O'Keefe—to jump from perfectly good aircraft to reach their objective. So, I could throw that one safely onto the back burner.

I was sure that the Marines of Captain Fink's reconnaissance company were going to be pleased, but I doubted that the admiral was going to be happy. Frankly, I was beyond caring. My people were well trained and could go on without me for a while, plus I had my own secret ace in the hole to keep us on an even keel during my absence: Genghis, back in the office.

Deep in thought, contemplating my friend's lifeless corpse, I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see a concerned Strausswirt staring at me.

"Are you doing okay, Günther? I am so sorry about Ferdi, he was a good man," she said with sorrow on her face. "As soon as I saw who he was, I sent for you."

I blinked several times to clear my blurred vision but only dared to nod, not trusting my voice quite yet.

Behind her stood a city plainclothesman. The area in and around the alley had been secured by our MPs and MAAs to preserve the crime scene. As usual, they had done the through and efficient job expected from troops under Britt's command. A couple of MPD's patrolmen had also joined the cordon and were cooling their heels outside the perimeter, unable to approach Ferdi's body. I was surprised that the detective had chosen not to make a big issue out of it on his arrival.

"Günther, this is Detective Karl Honister." Strausswirt made the introductions. "He's been assigned to the case."

I was surprised when he stepped around her and offered his hand in the American manner. Despite my misgivings about the city watch, I found myself warming to him as I shook his hand. His grip was strong and confident.

"Herr Director, please accept my condolences. Lieutenant Strausswirt spoke well of your friend Herr Schwinger. I am at your service."

We did not usually get that much cooperation from the MPD. Of course, I had heard of Honister and his reputation, but never met him until now. That's quite a feat in a small city. I knew that he was in his early twenties, and supposed to be one of the brightest of their new crop of recruits. He even had some university education under his belt, which was a rarity for the watch, much less us in NCIS. I decided that if he was a sign of things to come, we might have to change our whole outlook on their organization.

It also dawned on me who I had to thank for throwing oil on the water and smoothing our first meeting. I had known Strausswirt since she was a child. Like everyone else who had been hanging around the Magdeburg Committee of Correspondence Golden Arches that day, three years ago, I had been dumbstruck when she stepped forward to answer Joachim Thierbach's call for volunteers for Marine Officer Candidate training. Now, with a growing reputation in the USE military and civilian law enforcement circles despite her sex, Strausswirt possessed the air of self-control and authority of the consummate police professional. It was obvious that she had gained Honister's respect.

"Thank you, Detective. Would you mind if I examine my friend's body?" I asked politely.

"By all means, Herr Director. I want to look at him, too." Nodding, we both moved toward Ferdi.

****

Ferdi was on his back, his head facing left, away from the street and resting over what had been a large puddle of blood that had mostly soaked into the ground. Luckily for my peace of mind, his eyes were closed.

I said a brief prayer. The back of his head looked smashed in, and a blood-splattered brick lay beside his body.

I looked up at Honister as he also stooped, and with a nod he started to write in his notepad. We quickly fell into a routine: I would identify possible clues and he would record them, until the similarities of our procedures suddenly dawned on us.

As we exchanged an amused look, we had to shake our heads in disbelief. It was bound to happen one day: the first meeting of graduates of "Dan Frost's School of Criminal Investigation" from two different agencies at a crime scene. If our numbers continue to increase, we may have to start thinking about putting out a newsletter, secret handshakes and annual conventions. Grinning at the absurdity of the whole idea, we returned to the task in front of us. That quickly killed any vestiges of amusement as we concentrated on our work.

The sudden increase of shouts and equine whinnies back on the street made me look, just in time to watch the arrival of two horse-drawn wagons from the navy yard: a carriage and an ambulance. In the absence of better tools, I had opted for summoning extra manpower. In one case, this was actually womanpower—my best crime scene investigator.

Even under these depressing circumstances, I felt a smile come to my face as I stood up and saw my partner in both the job and life. My lovely Brunei climbed down from the carriage. Once on the ground, she turned around to pick up a struggling infant from the young woman who followed her out.

I know that the up-timers' books extol the virtues of plenty of fresh air and sun for the health of young children. I rather doubt that the advice extended to trips to active crime scenes. But with our regular sitter sick, we, like the Marines love to say, had to adapt, improvise, and overcome. So, we had our first take-your-baby-daughter-to-work day.

I expect that my little Magritte will either grow up to join the family business or else I'll end up paying for her visits to an up-timer-trained shrink for a long time to come. I suppose those are the compromises I have to make when my wife refuses to be a stay-at-home mom.

As she approached the perimeter, Brunei stopped and handed our daughter back to her companion. I seriously doubt that, when she joined our ranks, Corporal, now Special Agent, Annalise Schuhmacher expected to find baby-sitting in her job description. As the oldest daughter in her family, she had the experience needed by two overprotective first-time parents, and we were very grateful for her help.

Her senior partner, Hans Leiss, a former river man and a solid and proven master-at-arms petty officer, had driven the carriage and now followed them after helping to unload the equipment of his two other passengers.

Photographer's Mate Second Class Peter Zurich, together with his assistant, Seaman Apprentice Karen Berg, formed the whole complement of the US Navy Photography Service. Their organization came to into being several months ago, when one of our Marine recruits was discovered to be an honest-to-God Italian duchess. Although her story ended like a fairytale and gained us a great leatherneck, it was the second such incident on record. This led to a general tightening of our security posture. One of the measures implemented was a requirement for an official file picture to go with the personnel record. This required the establishment of an official photo shop, the first one in the USE Armed Services that I know of.

I did mention my admiral's penchant for penny-pinching, right? In order to get full utilization out of the photo shop, Zurich and Berg were also made available to support any other naval photographic requirements, on an as-needed basis. This usually meant that NCIS took its turn in the queue with the other staff sections, although we did take precedence over the rest for homicide investigations. This was the first time that I had asked for their technical support for that purpose.

Both seemed to be a little reluctant to get close to Ferdi's remains. This made me somewhat irritated and I wondered if, after I provided them some verbal encouragement in my own inimitable way, I could expect tears. Before I could find out firsthand, Strausswirt intervened. After some brief and pointed instructions, she managed to instill in them a new zeal and dedication for their professional duties.

What I can say? I felt disappointed but recognized that I just wanted to yell at someone.

In the meanwhile, Brunei had noticed my grim expression and had stopped beside me, puzzled. That is, until she took a good look at the body. Covering her mouth in horror, she muttered a soft, "Oh, Ferdi."

Closing her eyes, she mumbled a short prayer before nodding to me in greeting, "Public Display of Affection" rules being in full force.

I introduced her to Honister. After another nod, she gathered her divided skirts and crouched to inspect Ferdi's body closely.

I expected that tonight, when we were alone in our bed, she would allow herself the liberty to grieve; but now she was all cop. As she looked around the scene, I welcomed the occupants of the ambulance.

Senior Chief Hospital Corpsman David Dorrman, an up-timer in his early forties, was the NCOIC for the yard's new naval hospital. Although we have Jena-trained surgeons on staff, none had the forensic experience that the Senior Chief had acquired working in prior cases with me. Along the way, he had become the closest thing to a medical examiner that our navy had.

Dorrman had also brought along a litter team.

"Good morning, Günther," he told me, glancing curiously at Ferdi's body as Brunei started to search his pockets. "Who's the stiff? He doesn't look like one of ours."

"His name is—or was—Ferdinand Schwinger and he was my friend." My stark and pain-filled admission caught his attention immediately. He looked back sharply as an expression of pity crossed his face.

"Then I'm truly sorry for your loss, son; you have my condolences. What I can do to help?"

"Thank you, Senior Chief," I replied formally, but I was grateful for his kindness. "This is Detective Honister from the MPD." He nodded at the detective before returning his attention to me. "You can start by telling me when he died. I already have a pretty good idea how it happened."

Curious at my statement, he looked at the body. "Ah, the brick! You got it, Director. I'll do that as soon as I make sure that your photo bugs are not going to pass out on top of Herr Schwinger."

Zurich and Berg now looked decidedly green but gamely kept at their task. I felt a twinge of remorse, but looking at Ferdi laying there under their flashes, it quickly passed.

Honister was looking at Dorrman with curiosity and I guessed that he was wondering what the chief's role was in the current proceedings. I held my tongue and left him to find out on his own; it's a lot more amusing that way. Glancing one more time at the body, I signaled to Strausswirt and Brunei to join me in a quiet corner and included the MPD detective on my summons. Honister kept looking back at the senior chief as he walked toward us.

I scanned the growing crowd as I waited for my companions to join me. The large number and variety of police was attracting attention. I was relieved to see that so far no members of the press had graced us with their presence. I didn't want to alert our quarry.

"First, Britt, thank you for calling us in."

Strausswirt nodded as a slight flush colored her cheeks. She preferred to work behind the scenes and public acknowledgement of her deeds made her uncomfortable. "As I said before, he was a good man, Günther. My parents were very fond of him."

I nodded. Her dad was known to occasionally sit with us and shoot the breeze. I then addressed our new colleague.

"Detective Honister, it is obvious that Herr Schwinger could be either in your jurisdiction or in ours. Since he was my friend, and we were here and had started working the scene first, I would appreciate it if you would allow us to take the lead in this investigation."

Honister turned around and stared at the half-dozen or so of our troops controlling the crowd and assisting with their equipment as the photographers finished. He watched curiously as Dorrman, gloves on, pulled a long probe from his tool bag as his corpsmen prepared Ferdi's body. I knew that the senior chief was going to do a liver temp but it still wasn't a common procedure. I kept my eyes averted, trying to act nonchalantly. To my disappointment, Honister failed to have too much of a reaction, but for some reason that also pleased me. We manfully ignored the retching sounds as first Zurich then Berg finally managed to lose their breakfasts—away from the body, luckily for their safety and general well-being.

"Herr Director, I'll agree for the moment. But, I'll need to clear it later with Chief Reilly. I do insist on remaining as an observer, and I'll require copies of all your notes, reports and photograph for my records."

I nodded approvingly as my gut feeling that he was someone that we could work with was proven right.

"Not a problem, Detective. Welcome aboard," I said, and even managed to smile as Brunei rolled her eyes at the birth of our first task force. That damn woman knew me too well.

Finished, Dorrman came over to join us. Despite his early indifference to the forensic examination, Honister gave him a wide berth. Unconcerned, the up-timer consulted his notes, frowned, made some quick calculations and after looking around to make sure that he had everyone's attention, started his presentation.

"Director, ladies, Detective, according to my readings of temperatures, calculations, and the level of rigor mortis present, death occurred somewhere between 2100 and 2300 last night, more or less. It was a cold night but it did not either rain or snow, so I'm pretty confident of my timing. I think that it is quite obvious to everyone present that the cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the head." He punctuated the end of his report by closing his notebook with a snap.

"Thank you, Senior Chief. Can you prepare his body for return to his family?" I asked him.

"Sure thing, Director. It would be an honor. We'll take him back to the hospital with us and give him a more careful examination there. I'm sure that Doctor Lutz will be able to assist me and if we find anything else, I'll let you know. I'll have his body returned to the family as soon as we complete our examination. So if you will all excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, have a good day." We silently watched as the corpsmen under his supervision placed Ferdi's body, with the bloody brick, carefully on a litter and then took it to the ambulance.

I needed the other carriage, so I took the opportunity to order Zurich and Berg to go back in the ambulance. For some reason, neither photographer seemed particularly enthused with the idea of returning to base in the company of a dead man or the murder weapon.

I felt sorry for them . . . really.

Smirking humorlessly, I mentally organized our to-do list and turned my attention back to the tasks ahead.

"Okay, people, what's our timeline here?" I asked around.

Strausswirt glanced at her notes. "I was making my last round before calling it a night when I was told of the discovery of the body. Let's say around 0600. As soon as I saw who he was, I called for you."

I nodded. She had learned her work ethic from her parents and, to the chagrin of many of her officers and troops, was known to show up unexpectedly at any time of day or night. It kept everyone in the provost office on their toes. Honister raised his hand, seeking my attention. With some effort, I managed to keep a straight face and nodded my recognition.

"Herr Director, Frau Buchwald made a formal complaint to the duty patrolman about her husband's absence around midnight last night. The watch commander assigned me to follow up this morning, after our initial search failed to discover his whereabouts." At least Honister had the good grace to look embarrassed when he noticed my displeased expression.

I was betting that her complaint had been given a low priority because somebody higher up assumed, incorrectly, that Ferdi was somewhere safe—either passed-out drunk, or asleep in the embrace of his mistress. Honister's expression also told me that he had not agreed with that assessment and it earned him several more brownie points with me.

Still disgusted, I looked at my wife for her take.

"I can tell you one thing, Günther, it wasn't robbery. He still had his pocket watch and money bag when I examined the body." I had noticed that earlier on my own examination and found that extremely curious. Ferdi was well-regarded in town and, as I can attest, didn't have any known enemies. Under those circumstances, the most common and logical cause for his demise was likely to be robbery. However, that wasn't so in this case, and I didn't have to consult my gut feeling to know this was important. Brunei continued, "All the footprints around his body were fresh and made by military or police issue boots.

"I saw two earlier-made ones, however. One of them belonged to a woman," she said.

Honister looked at her, curiously.

I've seen similar reactions many times before, and not only from MPD personnel. Brunei is a petite, pretty-looking blonde—at least in my own very biased opinion—in her mid-twenties and yes, she is a tad younger than I am. At least, since Magritte's birth, my so-called friends have stopped accusing me of being a cradle robber. When Brunei wants to, she can put on an innocent face and do a great empty-headed impression, masking her sharp wit behind it.

Hands down, I recognize that she is much smarter than I am.

During our first murder investigation, she had been impressed with the tracking abilities of Marine scout-snipers—not something that your run-of-the-mill city cop or NCIS agent sees in our line of work. So later, during her pregnancy-imposed light duty, she trained with them. The scout leader, First Sergeant Hoffman, considers her one of his best pupils. Other women knit booties and blankets during the wait for their blessed events. My wife became a tracker.

There are reasons I love her so much.

Her expression remained troubled. In one of those telepathic communications purported to exist between married couples, I knew immediately what her concern was. "Honister, has anyone notified his wife yet?"

"No, Herr Director. I was on my way to his shop, when I was ordered to come here. Do you want me to send a patrolman to do it?" he asked.

"No, Detective, Frau Buchwald is a close family friend. My wife and I will deliver the news. Of course, you are invited to come along with us and deliver your respects too, if you wish."

"It would be my honor, Herr Director," he said with a slight head bow.

Brunei gave me a sad little smile of thanks.

"Britt, can I borrow one of your men to serve as my driver? I need to use Leiss and Schuhmacher to start canvassing the area. Someone around here ought to have heard something last night."

"Günther, you can have Seaman McCain and I'll assign a section to help your agents."

I nodded my thanks.

"Herr Director, I too will place my patrolmen under your agent's command. This is their beat and I expect that they will be also helpful," Detective Honister said.

I had to admit that I was pleasantly surprised at his earnest cooperation. I decided right then that perhaps it was high time to bury the hatchet with the MPD. "Thank you, Detective. It would certainly speed our tasks. Okay, folks, Herr Schwinger usually closed his shop around 2000, that's our starting time. So my intentions are, first, to visit Frau Buchwald to deliver the bad news and get her take, and go from there to his shop to talk to his employees. They are likely to be the last people that saw him alive. I hope they will help us fill in the time between him closing his shop for the day and the discovery of his body. Everyone agree with me?"

I looked around our circle and watched them nod in agreement. With everyone on the same page, Brunei recovered our daughter while I instructed Leiss and Schuhmacher to start the canvassing. By the time we departed, Leiss was giving individual assignments to his new command.

Chapter Two

The Schwinger Residence

Magdeburg City, USE

1115 Hours Local Time

Our relatively short, but uncomfortable, ride to Ferdi's home was done mostly in silence. I might have preferred to walk, but with Magritte likely to catch whatever befell her sitter, we did not want to expose her more than necessary to the cold air, and took our chances with the carriage's suspension and Magdeburg's uneven streets. First time parents, you know.

Honister spent his time during the trip reviewing his notes and looking out of the window as Brunei cooed to our daughter while feeding her. It provided me with a charming vision of the young Madonna and child and a delightful eyeful. Although very much a lady, my wife is not exactly the shy type. Her past experiences and former life cured her of any excessive prudery. Like our women Marines, "she don't mind much if you look as long as you don't touch" or linger. Despite the interesting view offered, I was left alone with my thoughts as the same question kept popping back into my mind no matter from which angle I approached the problem.

What the hell was Ferdinand doing in that part of town at that time of the night?

That was puzzling, and so far outside the norm for security conscientious Ferdi that I found myself baffled and clueless. That alley was in the opposite direction from the route that he would have normally taken to go home. Despite the MPD assumptions, he was not a drunk, nor did he have a mistress on the side. Like Brunei and me, he shared a happy family life with his wife Hanne, although their marriage had been arranged. Their parents had taken particularly good care to match them well for temperament, and the two had fallen in love almost since their first meeting.

Any further speculation in any other direction came to an abrupt halt with our arrival at Ferdi's house.

I was the first one to step out of the carriage and Brunei handed Magritte down to me. I looked down at my little agent-in-diapers, now sleeping without a care in the world, and honestly envied her.

I wasn't looking forward to what we needed to do now, a sentiment apparently echoed by my wife and Honister as they stood beside me staring at the green door atop the short flight of stairs. Like me, each was unable to take that first step.

I don't know about Honister's hesitance but in Brunei's case, we're talking about a woman who, in the course of our official duties, had been known to stare down Italian mercenaries and had to be occasionally physically restrained to prevent her from being the first one though doors. However, death notification calls are the toughest tasks to accomplish in both military and law enforcement circles. No decent human being wants to inflict pain on the innocent. Doing what we were expected to do to a woman that we both considered a close friend was above and beyond.

But with rank comes responsibility and I had never believed in ordering something that I could not do myself. So, with a sigh, I handed the baby back to Brunei, pinned my badge to my lapel and walked up the steps. I was ready to knock when the door suddenly opened. With a small curtsy, a smiling maid bid us to come in. She fussed over Magritte while taking our cloaks and hats before going out in search of her mistress.

Hannelore Buchwald was ten years younger than her husband; now in her early forties, the years had been, mostly, kind to her. As blonde as Brunei, though with a lot more gray, she shared with Ferdi a belief that what a person decides to do with the rest of his or her life is what makes the difference; neither had ever looked down a nose at our backgrounds. We had been welcome in her house since Ferdi and I became friends. As neither Brunei nor I had live parents or close family, the Schwingers had filled the role of older relatives that we could rely on to seek advice on marriage and parenting.

It was easy for me to see her smile was plastered on a face that hadn't seen enough rest in the last twenty-four hours, no doubt due to the anxiety clearly etched on it.

"Günther, Brunei, what an unexpected and delightful surprise! And you brought your precious Magritte along with you, welcome. However, my husband is out and . . ." Hanne's welcome spiel suddenly came to an abrupt halt. Her smile froze as she finally registered our grim expressions, my badge, and Honister's presence. I had seen it too many times: the initial confusion followed by a sense of dislocation and disbelief, followed by overwhelming grief. Before her knees buckled I was at her side and, to my surprise, so was Honister. Between the two of us, we lowered Hanne onto a couch while she emitted an animal-like keen that broke my heart.

The commotion quickly brought out the rest of the household, who, after being told of the reason of her distress, joined in. No surprises there, as my friend had been well-liked, even by his staff. It made me wish I could join them and share their grief. However, time was at a premium if we wanted to have any chance to catch his murderer.

Before I could take any action, Brunei handed me a screaming infant and waded into the fray. By the time Brunei had everything under control and the household working to prepare for the necessary funerary arrangements and notify those of the family not present, Magritte had calmed down. After a stiff drink and quiet words of sympathy, Hanne seemed ready to talk to us. Honister found a quiet corner, pulled his notebook out and got ready to record without being asked, allowing me to concentrate on her interview. The way that he did that once again impressed me.

Before I could phrase my first question, Hanne started with a pain-filled voice. "Günther, can you tell me what happened?"

I momentarily debated how much information to give her, but looking into her eyes, I decided that only the unvarnished truth would do.

"His body was discovered early this morning by MPs in an alley at Breinhart Strasse. Someone hit him repeatedly on the back of the head with a brick." I watched as her hands covered her mouth and she seemed to crumble.

Brunei propped her up and gave me a dirty look. By her expression, I guessed that little Günther was not going to visit little Brunei anytime soon. Well, that's why in our family, she is the diplomat.

Hanne finally calmed down and I continued my questioning.

"Hanne, I'm truly sorry to impose on you under these circumstances. But I'm trying to gather as much information as possible to help me catch whoever did this." She stared at me with teary eyes for a moment before nodding and glancing at her hands. "First, had he received any threats or do you know of anyone that wanted to harm him?"

She looked back up and gave me a look that made me feel six inches tall.

"No, of course not, Günther. How can you say that? Everyone loved my Ferdi."

"I'm sorry, Hanne," I said, and I was. "But I need to ask. It could lead us to intent and motive."

"Just like one of your damn up-timer videos and books, right, Günther?" she said angrily. I knew that in her grief she was liable to strike at anyone in range and kept my silence. Hanne looked away, annoyed but deep in thought. Suddenly, she turned back. "Perhaps this is nothing but for the last couple of days, Ferdi seemed worried."

My mental alarms went off and I saw Honister's eyebrows raised almost to his hairline.

"Worried?" Brunei gently prompted her.

Hannelore looked at her. "Yes, I think that it was something to do with the shop. I asked him to tell me what it was but he always changed the subject and told me not to worry about it."

My eyes met Brunei's and Honister's. Both nodded in agreement; there was something worthy of pursuit there.

"God, I sent Julius to watch over the shop today when Ferdi did not show up!" Hanne suddenly exclaimed in alarm. Julius, a soon-to-be university student, was their eldest son. "He needs to be told."

Brunei reassured her, patting her hand. "Don't worry, Hanne. We are on our way there next and will send him back here immediately."

"Detective Honister, do you have any other questions for Frau Buchwald before we depart?" I asked him, standing up.

"No, Herr Director," he said, closing his notebook and giving her a slight bow. "Frau Buchwald, my name is Karl Honister and on behalf of the Magdeburg Police Department, please accept our deepest condolences for your loss. We are at your service."

She nodded weakly at him before looking back at me. "Günther," she said quietly.

"Yes, Hanne."

"Please get whoever did this to Ferdi and make him pay." There was fire in her eyes, when she asked me to do that.

"You have my word on it."

Strangely enough, I knew that I would.

Schwinger Jewelers

4 Weimar Avenue, Magdeburg, USE

1235 Hours Local Time

The emotional scene with Hannelore and her family had taken a toll on us greater than we had bargained for, and we made the trip in silence.

Ferdi's shop was in one of the most prosperous areas of the new city, as befitted his commercial success. Taking inspiration from up-timer commercial styles found in Grantville, it had display windows, albeit small, to showcase some of the wares in their inventory. At my suggestion, the wares displayed were fakes, the windows were reinforced with iron bars, and armed guards were always on the premises, all quite modern.

One of the windows was dedicated solely to military displays with mannequins wearing USE Army, Navy, Marine and Air Force uniforms, with all their insignia and appropriate accoutrements on display. A new addition to those wore an MPD uniform. I found it all quite ironic, since five years ago no one had seen, or even heard of, military or police uniforms, or knew there was a market for their insignia.

I call that progress.

We located Ferdi's eldest son, Julius, back by one of the glass-sided counters. He was showing a tray of wedding rings to a young couple. Lately I had been thinking about surprising Brunei with one. After giving me such a beautiful child, the woman had more than earned it.

Julius saw us and, after asking one of his employees to take over for him, came toward us with a welcoming smile that vanished when he got close enough to read our faces. "Günther, Brunei, what happened to my father? When I left this morning, he had not yet arrived at the house."

"Julius, is there somewhere private where we can talk with you?"

"Certainly—we can go to my father's office. Please, follow me." We took the familiar route to the back of the store, passing the busy workshop where half a dozen artisans and apprentices were hard at work. The shop was well-lit with gas lamps that showed the beauty of the pieces displayed.

I wondered if I could ever afford buying something like that for the wife. Not that Brunei would allow me do something so extravagant. Thrifty by nature, she carefully squirreled away any extra money for our children's future education and our retirement.

Our little parade hadn't gone unnoticed. The attention of everyone in the shop was on us and on Julius' stiff posture and pale face. Everyone could see that something was wrong. I hoped that we wouldn't have a repeat of the earlier turmoil at Hanne's.

Ferdi's office was richly appointed, with up-time inspired furnishings. He told me once that was so their more "elite" customers could have a venue to inspect his wares in private.

I had to admit, the man knew how to make money.

Julius, with visibly shaking knees, sat heavily in one of the visitor's chairs in front of his father's desk, already dreading the news. He looked at me with fearful eyes. I swallowed hard before beginning. Certain things do not become easier with repetition.

"This is Detective Karl Honister of the Magdeburg Police Department, Julius," I said. He nodded politely to Honister and then looked back at me.

"I have unfortunate news. Early this morning, Marine MPs discovered your father's body in an alley near the navy yard. He was murdered. You don't know how sorry I am to have to tell you this."

Julius buried his face in his hands, his body shaking from uncontrollable sobs. In a now well-practiced routine, Brunei handed me Magritte and went to crouch down by his side, the natural mother in her easily coming to the forefront as Honister and I exchanged uncomfortable glances, wishing that we could be somewhere else.

We distracted ourselves by inspecting our surroundings. Behind the desk was a display of all the police badges that his shop had designed. As far as I know, it's the first and only one of its kind in the whole world. I noticed the NCIS badge sample held a place of honor in the wall display.

At times I had suspected that Ferdi had secretly wished he was twenty years younger and able to join our ranks. At heart he had been very much one of us, a sheepdog. I think that he would have made an excellent agent. There was nothing wrong with his analytical capabilities and critical thinking.

Truth be told, Honister reminded me of him a bit.

While I mulled this over, Brunei managed to calm Julius down. She looked back at me, stood up, and gave me a quick nod.

"Julius, I talked to your mother earlier today and she told me that your father had been worried about something for the last couple of days. Do you have any idea what he was concerned about?"

He looked at me with tear-filled eyes, thinking hard. "Günther, I noticed . . . but he never confided in me. As you know I'm away for most of the day at school."

I nodded. His father had held the firm belief that learning was important and had wanted all his children to receive a proper education.

"Perhaps, Herr Bieber can help," he offered. "As my father's shop manager, he was privy to a lot of information."

I looked at Honister and he went out, returning shortly.

Albrecht Bieber is close to becoming a master craftsman, rumored to be one of the best in his trade in the city. He followed Honister into the office, but immediately went to Julius' side when he noticed his distress. "What's the problem, lad?"

"Herr Bieber . . . my father is dead."

I watched carefully for his reaction, and saw him go deathly pale, needing to grab the back of Julius's chair for support. Seeing that, I felt certain that I could take him off my list of suspects. As befitted a man of his age and experience, he quickly recovered, his inner strength obvious. My gut feeling told me that the Schwinger family would be relying heavily on him and that strength for the foreseeable future.

"Herr Bieber?" I said. "I think we have met before. Günther Schlosser, NCIS. This is my wife, Special Agent Spitzer, and this is Detective Honister of the Magdeburg Police Department."

He nodded gravely to Brunei and Karl and smiled at Magritte, still in my arms.

I continued my interview as Honister resumed his note taking. "Frau Buchwald and Julius have mentioned that Herr Schwinger seemed worried about something lately. Do you have any idea of the source of his concerns?"

He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment before replying. "Indeed, Herr Director. Fact is, when I brought my initial predicament to Herr Schwinger, I was hoping that he would make you aware of the problem."

I was left speechless and stunned for a brief moment. I felt an acute sense of dread, compounded by guilt. Only Brunei's hand gripping mine pulled me out of my spiraling despair. Putting my feelings aside, and imbued with a new sense of purpose, I looked back at the master craftsman.

"Herr Bieber, I'm sorry to say that Herr Schwinger was prevented from sharing your concerns with me. Perhaps you would like to elucidate for us what those concerns were."

"Certainly, Herr Director, but why I don't show you instead?" He moved to the file cabinet as I passed Magritte back to Brunei. I stepped to the desk where Bieber spread open a sales file. Honister, Julius and Brunei crowded around us and looked curiously over our shoulders. "Last week a gentleman came in to place a test order for ten badges for the new Hamburg Police Department. Both Herr Schwinger and Julius were out of the store."

I nodded. I'd heard rumors that the Committee of Correspondence members on their city council were pushing for a more modern, and much less partisan, law enforcement organization than their old city watch.

"I found that strange because usually our customers from outside Magdeburg use the postal service and don't come to order in person. He also told me that his name was Otto Meyer, but he spoke in no German accent that I could recognize."

I looked at Honister, caught his eye, and significantly raised my eyebrow. He immediately copied the address and other relevant information in the ordering form.

Bieber continued. "Here in Schwinger's, we pride ourselves on providing unique products. So when Herr Meyer showed me his design, I told him that we have done something similar for another client and that I would be more than happy to redesign it for him at no extra charge. However, he insisted that this was what the Hamburg council had approved and he was not inclined to go against their wishes.

"I finally agreed because Herr Schwinger always told us that 'the customer is always right.' Besides, he made the down payment in cash. But it kept bothering me and three days ago, I brought it to his attention. Yesterday, when Herr Meyer returned to pick up his order and to pay the remainder of his bill—again in cash—Herr Schwinger talked to him. I don't know what was said but Meyer took the badges and left in a hurry. Herr Schwinger remained upset, then told me to take care of the shop and left early."

Bieber finally pulled the Hamburg design out from underneath the invoices and placed it where we all could see it clearly.

Brunei stiffened beside me and I didn't have to read her mind to know what had upset her. Honister and Julius looked at the drawing with puzzled expressions at first but then looked up to stare at Ferdi's badge display. I knew what they were looking at. Except for the lettering, it was the same badge that Brunei and I wore, the NCIS shield.

Chapter Three

Headquarters and Field Office, NCIS

Provost Marshal Building

Magdeburg Navy Yard, USE

1500 Hours Local Time

Before we left Schwinger's, we asked Bieber to describe the so-called "Herr Meyer," and he told us that he could do much better than that. After a short detour to verify that the address in Magdeburg that Meyer had given him was bogus—no surprises there—we dropped Julius at home. We rode back to the yard, sharing our first impressions as we examined the pencil-and-ink drawings Bieber had made for us.

There was no question that Honister would stay on the case, although it was obvious this was now an official NCIS investigation. By this time Brunei, Magritte, and I considered him part of our team. He was smart, knew when to keep quiet, and didn't miss a thing. I suspected that he was also watching us closely and taking notice of how we did our jobs.

Honister seemed particularly impressed with our teamwork, but I can't take all the credit there. There are some distinct advantages to being married to your partner. Perhaps he needed to find a partner of his own . . . Schuhmacher wasn't seeing anyone. Alas, matchmaking would have to wait until we put this case to bed.

I owe it to Ferdi and his family.

****

One day I hope NCIS will expand enough to warrant our own facility, but at present we have to share the second deck (floor, for all you non-sailors) of the provost marshal's building, not far from the navy yard stables.

Seaman McCain drove our wagon back there after dropping us in front of the building entrance. I was looking forward to a long delayed visit to the head and my comfortable desk chair when another arriving carriage caught my attention.

The Provost Detainee Transport Unit, known to all and sundry as the paddy wagon, made its way toward us at a leisurely pace. Sitting shotgun beside the Marine driver was Hans Leiss. This surprised me, because with all the time our group spent chasing clues around Magdeburg, I assumed that Leiss would have been inside and on his second cup of coffee by now.

I watched the wagon stop in front of the Provost's building with growing interest and gawked as first Schuhmacher climbed out of the back followed shortly by a MPD patrolman. They in turn assisted a civilian woman in handcuffs to climb down.

Her look, the cut and the quality of her clothing, gave me a pretty good idea of her chosen profession. Her slovenly appearance, slurred speech and unsteadiness told me of her drunkenness. Not that that prevented her from launching a long spiel about the injustice of her detention and her overall innocence, interrupted by bouts of cursing that would have made a chief bosun's mate blush. Sadly, her magnificent display of eloquence was brought to an abrupt halt by an explosive episode ...