They didn’t speak until they were back in the elevator. As soon as the doors closed Fabel, Maria and Werner exchanged broad smiles.

‘I think we have a lot of digging to do, don’t you?’ said Fabel.

‘I’ll get on it right away,’ said Maria. ‘It was very good of them to point us in the right direction. I’ll start by getting a breakdown of all Ukrainian contacts Eitel Importing and the Eitel Group have had.’

‘That was an excellent piece of work, Maria,’ said Fabel.

‘Thanks, Chef.’

Werner said nothing.

‘By the way,’ said Maria as the doors opened onto the foyer, ‘I meant to tell you earlier … I’ve got the details of any contact between currently serving Hamburg police officers and the Ukrainian security services. You’re never going to believe the one name that came up.’

‘Whose?’

‘Yours.’

‘What? I’ve never been to the Ukraine in my life.’

‘Remember you wrote a paper for the Europol convention on psychotic serial offending? The one about the Helmut Schmied killings?’

‘Yes …’

‘Apparently it is used as a text at the Forensics and Criminology Centre in Odessa, where the Ukrainian police train to track down serial killers.’

Werner and Maria made their way towards the huge glass and chrome double doors of the street exit. Fabel stood for a moment looking after his colleagues, before following on behind.

Friday 20 June, 7.00 p.m. Polizeipräsidium, Hamburg.

Anna Wolff’s colleagues were so accustomed to her customary neo-punk look of the overdone make-up, oversized leather jacket and the skin-tight jeans that they all looked somewhat startled when she walked into the main Mordkommission office. Werner and a couple of the back-up guys gave low whistles of appreciation, Maria complimented Anna on her look and Fabel made a small gesture of applause. Paul Lindemann simply looked worried.

Anna’s make-up had been toned down to a subtle emphasis of her strong bone structure and she had softened the style of her short, dark hair. A black halter-neck dress that ended mid-thigh accentuated the curves of her body and exposed her shapely legs. Beneath the dress, tucked uncomfortably into her strapless brassiere, was the mobile transmitter, wire and microphone that Maria had helped her fit. Technical section had already tested that it was working.

‘I would say the bait is on the hook,’ said Maria with a smile.

‘Okay,’ said Fabel, ‘let’s go through it one more time. Anna?’

Anna Wolff went through the operation in detail once more. She saved the most important point until last.

‘Remember my panic-button phrase. If you hear me say, “I don’t feel too well,” that’s the signal for you to come in and get me.’ Anna had chosen the words carefully. It was something you could say suddenly and in any context. The room buzzed with anticipation, nervousness and adrenalin. ‘You sure you don’t want to come along, Chef?’

‘No, Anna … this is your gig. But I’ll check in with the team to make sure everything is going okay. Good luck.’