“I mentioned it to him yesterday. German Feds were involved in the investigation so he already knew about it, but didn’t know that Harry was one of the CID detectives on the case.” He looked at Brodie. “Schröder said he’d be at your briefing this morning.”
“He was,” said Brodie.
“What was your impression?”
“A bit of a tight-ass.”
“How was the briefing?”
“They put on a decent show. But no backstage access.”
“Yeah. Sounds right.”
Brodie asked, “Did Schröder give you information about the postmortem mutilation?”
Jenkins looked at him and nodded. “Sick bastards.”
Taylor asked, “Do you have anything to add to the prevailing theories?”
He shook his head. “If it’s a message, I’m not getting it. I’m more of the mind that a group will use this unreported detail to verify responsibility. Or, we’re dealing with a serial killer with an eye collection in his freezer, and Harry was a random target. But I wouldn’t bet on that.”
Taylor changed subjects. “In the briefing, no one mentioned Harry’s personal computer.”
Jenkins said, “He had a work laptop. Apparently he didn’t take it with him this trip. BKA officials in Kaiserslautern gained entry to his off-base apartment and located it. But I doubt they’ll find anything interesting.”
“Why?”
“Harry conducted a lot of his business on his phone, using encrypted communication. He told me he didn’t trust DOD’s in-house network security.”
“What kind of phone did he have?”
“A Samsung maybe? Android-based. Schröder asked me the same question. They’ve contacted Deutsche Telekom to get tracking data, but I guarantee you Harry turned off any kind of location sharing, and I know he used a mobile VPN. He was pretty diligent about digital privacy and security.”
Probably because he saw firsthand in his investigations just how much information the average schmuck was sharing with the telecom companies—and thus with the cops—without even knowing it.
Jenkins took the schnapps bottle and popped it open. He poured himself another shot and offered the bottle to Brodie, who took it and examined it. It looked like a homemade small-batch concoction, a glass bottle with a rubber and metal swing top and a simple white label that saidKRÄUTERSCHNAPS.
“Where did you say Harry got this?”
“Not sure. Some specialty place, I think.”
“Did he ever bring you a bottle of this before?”
Jenkins nodded. “Once before. We drank most of it together, and he brought another bottle to me after his last Berlin trip.”
“Exact same stuff?”
“Yeah.”
Brodie looked at Taylor, who was already tapping away on her phone. He said to her, “There’s no commercial markings, so look for a distillery specializing in schnapps.”
Taylor nodded as she looked at her phone.
Jenkins, who wasn’t firing on all cylinders thanks to the schnapps and the grief, said, “I should have thought of that.”
Taylor was quiet for a moment, then said, “Found it. Identical bottle design. It’s made by Preussische Schnapsmanufaktur. I guess, Prussian Schnapps Manufacturer. In Prenzlauer Berg.”
Brodie recognized the name of the Berlin neighborhood but couldn’t recall anything about it.
