‘Sure – for thirty fuckin’ seconds. As soon as I saw her … like that … I came straight out and phoned you.’

‘You didn’t use her phone?’

‘No. I used my cell phone. I couldn’t stay in there. I had to get out.’

‘You arrived about two-thirty?’ Fabel asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘And you didn’t touch anything?’

‘No. I was straight in and out.’

‘How did you get in? You have a key?’

‘No. Well, yes, I do, but I didn’t use it. The door was unlocked and open a bit.’

‘Your call was logged by the Einsatzzentrale at two-thirty-five. Where were you before you called at the apartment?’

‘At the Paradies-Tanzbar, working.’

‘Until when, exactly?’

‘About a quarter to two.’

‘It doesn’t take three quarters of an hour to get from the Grosse Freiheit to her apartment.’

‘Had business to do …’

‘What business?’

Klugmann held his hands out palms upwards and tilted his head to one side. Fabel picked up his pen and rattled it between his teeth.

‘If you can’t or won’t tell us, that gives you the opportunity to kill the girl, get cleaned up and claim that you’ve just arrived and found the body.’

‘Okay, okay … I went down to see a guy I know in the Hafen … bought some stuff …’

‘From whom?’

‘You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding …’

Fabel spun a scene-of-crime photograph across the table. The scene had been captured in full colour, so vivid that it looked unreal.

‘This is no joke.’

Klugmann froze, his face white. Memories were obviously flooding back. ‘She was a friend. That’s all.’

Werner sighed. Klugmann ignored him and looked directly at Fabel.

‘And you know I didn’t kill her, Herr Fabel …’ The intensity faded from his eyes and his posture. ‘Anyway, I got a taxi from the club down to the Hafen. The taxi guy waited for me while I had my meet and then took me up to the apartment. He dropped me off there about two-thirty. He can tell you all my movements from leaving the club to arriving at the flat. Check with the taxi firm.’

‘We’re already checking.’

Fabel closed the file and stood up. It seemed clear that Klugmann wasn’t the killer; they had no solid grounds for detaining him, even as a material witness. But the interview had unsettled Fabel. Klugmann seemed everything he was supposed to be, but Fabel had had the feeling throughout that he had been looking at a map upside down: all the recognised landmarks were there, but they disoriented rather than guided. With both files under his arm, Fabel walked towards the door and spoke without looking back at Klugmann. ‘We’ll get forensics to examine you and your clothing anyway.’

Everything about Maria Klee was brisk and sharp, from her clipped Hanover accent to her short, styled blonde hair. When Fabel emerged from the interview room she was standing in the corridor waiting for him. She had a sheet of paper in her hand.