Fabel had been so involved in navigating the deep channels of his own thoughts that the phone startled him. It was Holger Brauner, the head of the scene-of-crime team.

‘Well, Jan, I can honestly say that you make sure life is never dull. That was a very unusual piece of ordnance you brought in.’

‘Is it the murder weapon?’

‘Yes. It is. And like I say, it’s a very, very unusual and interesting piece to turn up in Hamburg.’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s a FORT Twelve, that’s what the Cyrillic lettering stands for. It’s a nine-millimetre. Basically it has a nine-by-eighteen Makarov chamber, takes twelve rounds and is a double-action, blowback-operated pistol. And here’s the interesting bit. It is a Ukrainian police and security-forces weapon.’ Fabel absorbed the fact. Another connection. Brauner continued. ‘The Soviet security services relied on Makarov PM pistols, but after the break-up of the Communist bloc, Ukrainian special forces and security services demanded something more reliable, so they bought Czech machinery from the Uhersky Brod factory and started producing the FORT Twelve.’

‘And it’s exclusively non-civilian issue?’

‘As far as I’m aware. I got Kapff, our ballistics and firearms guy, to dig up the information. Basically it’s a police and security services rather than an army weapon.’

‘Thanks, Holger.’ Fabel hung up and then redialled Werner in the interview room. There was no answer. He went out into the main Mordkommission office. Maria Klee was the only one there.

‘You seen Werner?’ Fabel asked. Maria said she hadn’t. ‘I’m heading home. If you see Werner tell him to give me a buzz. I just wanted to know how he got on with Hansi Kraus.’

‘Are you still on for our meeting with the Odinist weirdo. Ten tomorrow morning?’

‘I can hardly wait.’

It was about half past eight when Fabel left the Mordkommission. He called Susanne from his car. She had already eaten but agreed to meet him in a bar in the Milchstrasse. After he hung up he put the top down on his car and slipped a Bap album in the car’s CD player. Fortsetzung Folgt. He turned the volume up and his cell phone off. Tonight he was going to have a night off. Feierabend.

Friday 20 June, 10.00 a.m. Schanzenviertel, Hamburg.

The Schanzenviertel is one of the areas of Hamburg that still has a lingering reputation bordering on the seedy and yet is on the cusp of trendiness. The quarter is packed with a range of restaurants, bars and cafés that reflect the multicultural profile of its population, and there is a rich variety of speciality shops and stores. Yet alongside the cool sit the poor, with sub-standard housing for immigrant families. The large Sternschanzen Park with its monumental Wasserturm attracts families by day and drug dealers by night and has been the scene of anti-drugs protests by the forces of gentrification.

Bjorn Janssen’s enterprise was squeezed between an espresso stand and a sushi bar just off Stresemannstrasse. It was a narrow, cramped space from which he sold books, artefacts and artworks, all of which looked second hand and which were all vaguely New Age.