Karl Neumann

Karl studies history at the University of Munich. On the surface he's an ordinary twenty-one-year-old: tousled brown hair, a beige knit sweater under a dark green jacket, and a battered leather bag slung over his shoulder. Sleepless nights have left shadows under his eyes. When he gets his hands on yellowed archive folders, he sits over them until the reading room closes.

His peace ended last autumn, when a box of letters turned up in the attic. Officially his father died when Karl was a child, but the dates in the papers don't add up, and his mother shuts down at any direct question. Now Karl travels through Bavarian towns, leafs through church registers, cross-checks clippings, and talks to old people. He's afraid of what he might dig up, but he can't stop anymore.

In conversation he's polite, if wary. Karl comes alive when he notices genuine interest in the case, but immediately closes off at pity or tactless advice. It's easy to talk with him about history, Munich streets, and old books. What he values most are people who can reason soberly and are ready to look at the facts without unnecessary emotion.