The Devil's Opera(199)
“Up close and personal,” Byron concluded.
“So, good job there at the end of it all,” the captain acknowledged.
That was the end of the meeting about the Schmidt/Schardius/Burckardt mess. Honister left, but Reilly motioned for Byron and Gotthilf to stay.
“We never did nail anyone for the Delt murder, did we?”
“No,” Byron said. “We have three potential witnesses…”
“That would be the men in the hospital?” Reilly asked.
“Right,” Gotthilf responded. “And we have talked to them, but they tell conflicting stories, and with all the other potential witnesses and suspects dead, well…”
“We may never be able to take the Delt case to a magistrate,” Byron finished. “But these three do agree enough with what Metzger told us that it’s pretty certain that Schardius and his warehouse manager were the ones who orchestrated the murders, even if they were perhaps carried out by underlings.”
The police captain stared at the table for a long moment, then sighed. “Right. Put the Delt file and the other cases in inactive status. We won’t pursue them any further, but we won’t close them either. Maybe something else will come up someday.”
He closed the folder in front of him.
“And now for one last piece of business. Sergeant Hoch?”
Gotthilf looked at him. The captain sounded awfully formal, and there was a very serious expression on his face.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Turn in your badge.”
Gotthilf was stunned. He shot a glance at Byron, but his face was like stone.
“Captain, I…”
Reilly held out his hand. “Give me your badge.”
Mind whirling, wondering what he had done, Gotthilf pulled his badge wallet out of his pocket and handed it to the captain.
Reilly took it in his left hand, then slid something across the table to Gotthilf with his right. Gotthilf looked down at another wallet, then looked back up at the captain.
“Go on, take it,” Reilly said.
Gotthilf picked up the wallet and opened it. Inside was another badge; a snarling lion’s face cast in brass staring at him, with Magdeburg Polizei engraved above and the word Inspector and a number engraved below. He looked up to see both up-timers grinning at him.
Reilly stood up and leaned across the table to offer his hand.
“Congratulations on your promotion, Inspector Hoch. And congratulations on becoming the first detective inspector of the Magdeburg Polizei.”
Gotthilf shook his hand, mind still whirling, but this time in a daze.
Byron held out his hand as well, saying “Good going, partner.”
“Thank you,” Gotthilf stammered. “I didn’t expect…thank you both.”
“You earned it,” Reilly said, “especially during the last few weeks. But the reward for a job well done, of course, is…”
“More work,” Byron said, rising. “Come on, partner. Let’s go encourage the good citizens of Magdeburg to keep on being good citizens. And the first round’s on you tonight.”
Gotthilf followed his partner out of the conference room, smiling down at his new badge.
* * *
“That will be all, then,” Gustav said, concluding the meeting. Otto Gericke began gathering his papers and stuffing them back into their folders.
The emperor had wanted an update on the status of the rebuilding of Old Magdeburg. They had spent over an hour poring over plans and drawings. Gustav had seemed almost like a child in his glee at how many of the projects were either completed or nearly so. The one sour note had been the state of the hospital expansion, but even that was recovering after the explosion.
Gustav turned at the door and looked back at Gericke with a mischievous grin.
“And by the way, Otto; you can now start styling yourself Otto von Gericke. The Holy Writ says to not bind the mouths of the kine that tread the grain. You’re not an ox, but you get the point.
“Go home and tell your wife. We’ll save the formal announcement for later.”
With another flash of that grin, the emperor left a dumbfounded Otto.
* * *
Gotthilf looked up from his desk when Byron walked in, and whistled. “You are looking rather well-dressed today,” he commented. Indeed, Byron was wearing an up-time suit, complete with white shirt and up-time style long tie. “What is the occasion?”
“Jonni got tickets to the opera from Marla, and we’re going this evening.” Byron’s face displayed an expression that could only be described as long-suffering.
“But I thought you said you didn’t like the opera, that you didn’t want to go see it,” Karl Honister observed from his desk.
“You remember what I told you about sometimes doing things to make Jonni happy because of what she has to put up with because I’m a cop?” Byron asked.