Post by johnreiter902 on Oct 29, 2017 16:49:43 GMT
Frankfurt, Germany, November 1942
Municipal Police Commissioner Manfred Eichler turned up his collar closer to his face, then stuffed his hands into his armpits. The roof of police headquarters in Frankfurt was not the place he would like to be on such a cold November night, but this was the only place his contact would meet with him. It had been their agreed upon meeting place for more than two years.
Paranoid bastard, he though ruefully. True, when they had started their partnership, they had to keep it quiet. The Gestapo had a strict policy against vigilante justice, and he could have been shot for collaborating with the Horned Owl. That was some time ago now, however. The Fuhrer himself had decorated the Horned Owl, along with the other heroes of the Axis powers, and declared them a German asset, with unlimited policy powers in all Reich territory.
Not that it mattered to the Dark Hunter of Frankfurt, he always said his greatest strength was his air of mystery, and that was how it would remain.
“Good evening Commissioner.” Despite expecting it, Eichler jumped at the low voice from behind. He turned quickly and saw the owl crouched on the edge of the roof, his russet cape pooling around him, looking like another shadow in the darkness.
Eichler sighed dramatically. “My god, Owl, one of these days you give me a heart attack. I see you got my message?”
The cowled figure nodded. “Retrieved for drop stop three, as usual. I assume you want my help solving the Brinksmeyer Murder?” Heinrich Brinksmeyer, one of the city’s most respected bankers, had been found dead in his office at 8:30 Monday morning, apparently from lung cancer. The Gestapo became interested because Brinksmeyer’s doctor had produced x-rays, taken only a week before, which showed the lungs in perfect condition. It was pure luck. The x-rays had been taken because Herr Brinksmeyer had taken a fall while riding and the doctor wanted to check for fractured ribs.
“Yes, and we have some more information on that.” The Commissioner dug a brown envelope out of his coat and handed it over. “Brinksmeyer is the fourth wealthy and prominent man in Frankfurt to die from lung cancer in the last 8 months. All the deaths were medical certified as lung cancer, but I’m ordering the bodies autopsied now. It was only a fluke we got onto this one, This could be only the latest in a chain of murders.”
The Horned Owl thumbed briefly through the background information on the three earlier deaths. “As always Commissioner, your people excel at gathering all the available data. This will give me a good starting place.”
“And I’d appreciate if you’d keep me up to date on your discoveries.” Eichler lit up a cigarette. “You know I appreciate your methods old friend. Sneaking aroung can lead to much better result then the more. . . direct tactics of my department. Still, I do have to file regular reports and. . . “
He broke off, because he once again found himself talking to the air.
“God, some days I wish I could arrest him.”
Municipal Police Commissioner Manfred Eichler turned up his collar closer to his face, then stuffed his hands into his armpits. The roof of police headquarters in Frankfurt was not the place he would like to be on such a cold November night, but this was the only place his contact would meet with him. It had been their agreed upon meeting place for more than two years.
Paranoid bastard, he though ruefully. True, when they had started their partnership, they had to keep it quiet. The Gestapo had a strict policy against vigilante justice, and he could have been shot for collaborating with the Horned Owl. That was some time ago now, however. The Fuhrer himself had decorated the Horned Owl, along with the other heroes of the Axis powers, and declared them a German asset, with unlimited policy powers in all Reich territory.
Not that it mattered to the Dark Hunter of Frankfurt, he always said his greatest strength was his air of mystery, and that was how it would remain.
“Good evening Commissioner.” Despite expecting it, Eichler jumped at the low voice from behind. He turned quickly and saw the owl crouched on the edge of the roof, his russet cape pooling around him, looking like another shadow in the darkness.
Eichler sighed dramatically. “My god, Owl, one of these days you give me a heart attack. I see you got my message?”
The cowled figure nodded. “Retrieved for drop stop three, as usual. I assume you want my help solving the Brinksmeyer Murder?” Heinrich Brinksmeyer, one of the city’s most respected bankers, had been found dead in his office at 8:30 Monday morning, apparently from lung cancer. The Gestapo became interested because Brinksmeyer’s doctor had produced x-rays, taken only a week before, which showed the lungs in perfect condition. It was pure luck. The x-rays had been taken because Herr Brinksmeyer had taken a fall while riding and the doctor wanted to check for fractured ribs.
“Yes, and we have some more information on that.” The Commissioner dug a brown envelope out of his coat and handed it over. “Brinksmeyer is the fourth wealthy and prominent man in Frankfurt to die from lung cancer in the last 8 months. All the deaths were medical certified as lung cancer, but I’m ordering the bodies autopsied now. It was only a fluke we got onto this one, This could be only the latest in a chain of murders.”
The Horned Owl thumbed briefly through the background information on the three earlier deaths. “As always Commissioner, your people excel at gathering all the available data. This will give me a good starting place.”
“And I’d appreciate if you’d keep me up to date on your discoveries.” Eichler lit up a cigarette. “You know I appreciate your methods old friend. Sneaking aroung can lead to much better result then the more. . . direct tactics of my department. Still, I do have to file regular reports and. . . “
He broke off, because he once again found himself talking to the air.
“God, some days I wish I could arrest him.”