Curly held open the door for Fabel, still grinning, but didn’t follow Fabel into the office. Yilmaz stood up and smiled, genuinely, and extended a hand which Fabel took.

‘Thank you for coming, Herr Fabel. I’m sorry we couldn’t conduct our business in more conducive surroundings, but I thought it best not to be too conspicuous. I have … or rather my friend here has some important information for you. I have kept my promise, you see, Herr Hauptkommissar.’

Fabel scrutinised the small whippet-like man. Like most users, he was ageless. Fabel knew he might have been in only his late twenties. Equally, he could have been in his late fifties. Fabel noticed that one of the high cheekbones was swollen and even more discoloured than the skin around it. There was a crust of dried blood around one nostril.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Fabel.

‘I fell down some stairs,’ the small man replied in a high, throaty voice, giving the tough-looking Turk a resentful look.

‘This … gentleman … is Hansi Kraus,’ said Yilmaz. ‘He has some information … indeed some evidence … he wishes to share with you.’ Yilmaz nodded to the Turk who had been leaning against one of the desks. The Turk reached behind him and picked up a bundle of soiled rags. He carefully unfolded the corners to reveal a glittering gold-coloured nine-millimetre automatic. The flanks of the gun were ornately tooled and the word in Cyrillic was engraved into them. Beneath, in the Latin alphabet, were the words MADE IN UKRAINE.

‘Herr Kraus wants to hand this over as material evidence in the murder of Hans Klugmann,’ said Yilmaz. ‘He apologises for the delay … he had intended to hand it in, but it completely slipped his mind.’

‘Where did you find this?’ Fabel asked Hansi Kraus.

Kraus looked from Yilmaz to the other Turk to Fabel. ‘In the swimming pool. I was there when that guy got his in the head.’

‘You witnessed the murder of Hans Klugmann?’

Kraus nodded.

‘Did you see his killers?’

Kraus hesitated. The tough Turk shifted on his desk, creaking the leather of his jacket. Kraus glanced at him and nodded again.

‘Could you recognise them again?’

‘Yes. An older guy and a younger guy. They both looked fuckin’ hard. The younger guy was built like Arnold Schwarzenegger. It was the young guy who popped the dead guy.’

Fabel gestured to the other Turk, who handed him the gun. Fabel kept his hands flat and held the gun as if he were holding a hot roast on an oven mitt. MADE IN UKRAINE. ‘Were they foreigners? Did you hear them speaking Russian or something like that?’

‘No … I mean yes, I did hear them, but no, they weren’t foreigners. They were German. The older guy was banging on about the area having gone to shit. He said something about having brought a girl to the swimming pool when he was younger. They definitely weren’t Ivans.’