Arriving in Regensburg late in the afternoon, he booked a room at the Muencher Hof, on the main square near the Danube. A dinner of schnitzel, a couple steins of Erdinger weissbier, a walk around the old city and Liam retired for the night. After breakfast, Liam drove south to the little rural village of Scharmassing and 155 Dorfstrasse, the last known address for Siegfried Schultz. The white stone two-story house with a red tiled roof had been well cared for. Liam, carrying a German-English dictionary in his hand, rang the doorbell and an older man in gray slacks and blue cotton shirt, buttoned at the neck, came to the door. “Ja, was wollen Sie?” “Do you speak English? Sprechen Sie Englisch?” “Ja. A little.” He pinched his thumb and index finger to show how little he spoke. “Thank you. My name is Liam Taggart and I’m looking for the family of Siegfried Schultz.” “Siegfried Schultz?” He shook his head. “Ich weiß nicht, I don’t know Siegfried Schultz.” “He used to live here.
