‘Anyway, if our guy didn’t take the appointment book with him then maybe Klugmann swiped it to protect the identities of his clients.’

Möller, the pathologist, had remained bent over the body, peering into the empty chasm of the girl’s abdomen. He straightened up, peeled off his bloodied surgical gloves and turned to the Hauptkommissar.

‘This is the same man’s work all right, Fabel …’ With a surprising gentleness, Möller swept the blonde hair back from the girl’s face. ‘Exactly the same form of killing as the other victim.’

‘I can see that for myself, Möller. When did she die?’

‘This kind of catastrophic dismemberment makes temperature readings –’

Fabel cut him off. ‘Your best guess?’

Möller angled his head backwards. He was a good bit taller than Fabel and looked down at him as if he were surveying something unworthy of his attention. ‘I would estimate between one and three a.m.’

A tall, blonde woman, dressed in an elegant grey trouser suit, emerged from the hall. She looked as if she would be more at home in the boardroom of a corporate bank than at a murder scene. She was Kriminaloberkommissarin Maria Klee, Fabel’s most recent addition to his team. ‘Chef, you’d better have a look at this.’

Fabel followed her out to the hall and into a small and extremely narrow galley kitchen. Like the rest of the flat, the kitchen seemed almost unused. There was a kettle and a packet of teabags on the counter. A single rinsed cup lay upturned on the drainer. Otherwise there was no trace of the mechanics of living: no plates in the sink, no letters sitting on the counter or on top of the fridge, nothing to suggest that this space contained the cycle of a human life. Maria Klee indicated an open wall-cupboard door. When Fabel looked inside he saw that the plaster of the wall had been cut away and a sheet of glass allowed a clear view of the room beyond. He found himself looking directly at the gore-sodden bed.

‘One way?’ Fabel asked Maria.

‘Yep. The other side is the full-length mirror. Look at this.’ She squeezed past Fabel, reached her latex-gloved hand into the cupboard and stretched out an electrical cable. ‘I reckon there’s been a camera in here.’

‘So our guy could have been caught on video?’

‘Except there’s nothing in here now,’ said Maria. ‘Maybe he found it and took it.’

‘Okay. Get the forensic guys to give it a good going over.’

Fabel made to leave but Maria stopped him. ‘I remember, when I was a kid, my school went on a day trip to the NDR television studios. We were shown around a set for some TV show … you know, a Lindenstrasse or Gute Zeiten Schlechte Zeiten type soap opera. I remember how real the room looked – until you got up close. Then you saw that the sky beyond the windows was painted and the cupboard doors didn’t open …’