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by the executioner and held up to see its body. Sometimes the lips had moved, and the eyes had even blinked…
    A green-and-white police van pulled into the clearing and parked next to Eberle's black BMW. Standing up, Eberle tried to banish the thought of what the last few minutes of the dead man's life might have been like. Ignoring the mud, he walked quickly over to the van, signaling the passenger out with a wave of his hand. A man in his early thirties hopped out as Eberle approached, making a face as he landed in mud.
    "Well, they picked a good place for it, Markus," he said, moving to firmer ground. "What's it look like to you?"
    "Not so good, Bubi. Not so good. A decapitation and a girl with her throat cut." Eberle sighed. "Local cops have walked all over the place. A couple of them have been sick near the bodies, too."
    "Nothing like a bit of a challenge." They had moved to the back of the van, and Bubi Steinmazel opened the door of the mobile crime lab. "I'll take a look around and see what I can find."
    Leaving Steinmazel to ferret out what clues he could, Eberle headed back through the clearing toward the policemen clustered near the girl's body.
    "Who's the investigating officer?" he asked one of them.
    The man pointed beyond the clearing, toward the edge of the woods. "Sergeant Richter, over there with the old-timer who found the bodies."
    Following the policeman's gesture, Eberle saw two men in plain clothes interviewing a small, gray-haired man in the loden-green uniform and heavy boots of a forester. He tried to pick his way around the worst of the mud as he slogged over to where they stood talking.
    "No, I tell you again," the forester was saying. "Camping is not permitted in this part of the woods. I don't know how they came to be here."
    One of the officers glanced up as the old man continued trying to shift any responsibility for the location of the murders onto someone else. Eberle held up his ID, and the man nodded and moved back a step.
    "Excuse me," Eberle said, interrupting the forester. "When did you discover the bodies?"
    "It was about eight-thirty this morning," the old man answered.
    Eberle looked at his watch. Almost four hours ago.
    "I see," he said. "And when did you contact the police, Herr Forstmeister?"
    At the mention of his title, the little man drew himself up into attention. "About half an hour later, sir."
    "I see," Eberle said. "And I gather that camping is not usually permitted here."
    "No, sir, although many young couples do pitch their tents in the woods for—" The forester cleared his throat. "For privacy, if you like."
    "So, what brought you here?" Eberle asked.
    "Last night, about midnight, people in the campgrounds farther to the north complained of being awakened by the sound of hunting horns. It lasted about ten minutes, then it stopped. This morning I came up here to see if there had been poachers in the woods last night."
    The forester fiddled nervously with the gamsbart on the side of his hat. Eberle eyed him for several seconds before speaking.
    "Thank you, Herr Forstmeister. Please give these gentlemen your name and address. We will contact you if we need any further assistance."
    The forester saluted, and Eberle nodded in return, then turned and headed over to where Steinmazel knelt a few feet away from the body of the young man.
    "Found anything?" he called out as he approached the forensic technician.
    "Yeah," Steinmazel replied, carefully pouring quick-setting plaster into a shallow depression on the ground. "I've got a very clear footprint here."
    "Not one of our nimble-footed local cops?" Eberle said, dropping down next to Steinmazel.
    "Nope. It's a footprint, not a shoe-print—a bare foot, probably a man's, judging by the size of it." Steinmazel carefully finished pouring the plaster. "I'll show it to you in a few more minutes, when it's set up."
    The two men stood up.
    "Any chance that it's the victim's track?" Eberle asked.
    "Not unless he put his socks on after