‘I’ll tell you what I can. Angelika was not someone who …’ Frau Kessler took a moment to search for the right word. ‘… who shared. She really did not give of herself much.’

‘But you were close friends?’ Werner asked.

‘We were friends. I knew Angelika at university. We got on well. She was bright and attracted men and those were critical credentials at the time.’

‘What was she like?’ asked Fabel.

‘When we were at university or after?’

‘Both.’

‘Well, Angelika was never what I would call carefree. She was always serious about her studies and she was very politically aware. We went on holiday together a couple of times. We worked in vineyards in Spain one summer. I remember on the way back we visited the Basque region and ended up in Guernica – you know, the place that Picasso painted the picture about. I remember we were at a memorial there to the people killed in 1937 by the Legion Kondor whom Hitler had ordered to bomb the city as a favour to Franco. This old woman heard us speaking German and started to berate us about what we had done to her town. I told her straight that it had nothing to do with me, that I was born a full decade after the war, but Angelika got really upset. I’d go so far as to say that it was a significant event in her political awareness.’

‘You say she was political. Presumably left-leaning?’

‘Definitely left. But not Marxist or anything like that. She was a liberal at heart. And environmentally conscious. She was involved with Die Grünen at one point. After re-unification, when the Green Party went into alliance with various opposition groups from East Germany and formed Bündnis90/Die Grünen, I believe she even flirted with the idea of standing for election to the Bundestag.’

‘Why didn’t she stand?’

Frau Kessler swept a stray golden ringlet and tucked it behind her ear. She looked out across the river. ‘Angelika was an excellent journalist, and she knew it. She chose to remain an excellent journalist rather than become a mediocre politician. She felt she could do more for social justice and environmental protection through her writing.’

‘When was the last time you saw Frau Blüm?’ asked Werner.

‘I had lunch with her a couple of weeks ago. The fourth, I think.’

‘How was she? Did she mention anything unusual?’

‘No. No, I don’t think so. She was quite upbeat, really. She planned to intercept the arrival of that Nazi asshole Wolfgang Eitel later that afternoon.’

‘The father of Norbert Eitel, the publisher?’

‘And ex-SS officer and leader of the so-called Bund Deutschland-für-Deutsche.’

‘What was Frau Blüm’s interest in him?’

She crossed her long legs with a whisper of linen. ‘She wasn’t specific. As you’ve probably already gathered, Angelika kept the details of her investigations secret until she was ready to go to press or transmission. She was trying to get me interested in doing a radio documentary with her. All she would tell me at this stage was that she had some dirt on Eitel that would ruin his credibility with his supporters. She did say that it involved property speculation.’