‘Okay people, what have we got? Maria?’

Maria Klee was sitting on the corner of her desk. She was wearing an expensive pale blue blouse and elegant grey trousers. The heavy black clump of her automatic looked totally incongruous on her hip. She reached over for a clipboard with some notes on it.

‘I have tracked down a member of the Temple of Asatru … someone called Bjorn Jannsen. He runs a New Age store of some kind in the Schanzenviertel. He’s also behind a website on Odinism or Asatru or whatever you want to call it …’

‘A pile of crap,’ volunteered Werner. There was a ripple of laughter which foundered on the rocks of Maria’s businesslike manner.

‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘it was through the website that I found him. When I asked him if he knew about the Temple of Asatru he freely and openly admitted membership of it – he’s one of its “high priests” apparently. He claims it’s all completely above board and describes Asatru as a “celebration of life”. I’ve arranged to see him on Friday, ten a.m.’

‘I’ll come along.’ Fabel turned to Werner. ‘Anything more on MacSwain?’

It was Werner’s turn to refer to notes. ‘John Andreas MacSwain …’ Like everyone in the Mordkommission with the exception of Fabel, Werner could not get his tongue around the soft Anglo-Saxon ‘w’ in MacSwain’s name. ‘Born 1973 in Edinburgh, Scotland. His father is a partner in an Edinburgh firm of corporate accountants. His mother is German, from Kassel in Hessen. He was privately educated at one of those snob schools the British have and has a degree in computing from …’ Werner struggled with the name – ‘Heriot-Watt University. He also has a degree in advanced applied computing from the Hamburg-Harburg Technische Universität here. He is a permanent resident in Germany but has not sought nationality. MacSwain works for the Eitel Publishing Group. But he’s not an employee. He has a freelance contract as an IT consultant.’

‘Perfect for sending encrypted e-mails,’ said Anna.

Fabel, sitting on the edge of Werner’s desk, absorbed the thought, allowing his chin to rest on his chest. He raised it again quickly when a pain jabbed him in the neck, where the Slav had exerted pressure. ‘Go on, Werner.’

‘He has no record either here or in the UK. Not even a speeding ticket.’ Werner lowered his notes, making a ‘that’s it’ face.

‘Anna, how about the surveillance? Anything to report?’

Anna and Paul exchanged a look. Fabel drew a long, slow, breath.

‘Okay Anna … let’s hear it.’

She related the events of the previous night.

‘Okay …’ Fabel’s expression was one of exaggerated astonishment. ‘You’re telling me that the outcome of your surveillance is that you have arranged to meet the target … for a date?’

‘What can I say? You’ve either got it or you haven’t.’

Fabel straightened himself up. ‘I’m glad you find this amusing, Kommissarin Wolff.’

‘Listen, Chef, this could work. I can pull out of the surveillance team and not keep my date with MacSwain … on the other hand, I could keep it and probably find out more about him than we could in a month of observation.’