‘You may remember, Herr Hauptkommissar, that you were more than critical of the way we supplied information to the Ukrainians, through Klugmann, about the deal where Ulugbay ended up being murdered. Well, we’re not as stupid or ruthless as you seem to think we are. We made damned sure that there were crucial gaps in the details Klugmann supplied about Ulugbay’s deal with the Colombians. The hit on Ulugbay took more – a lot more – than Klugmann gave them. And whoever really supplied the information must have sussed that Klugmann’s mole in the drugs MEK was a fiction.’

‘You’re saying that it was a police officer who killed Klugmann?’ It was Maria Klee who beat Fabel to the question.

Volker shrugged. ‘Directly? Perhaps, I don’t know. Indirectly? Probably. Whoever has been selling information has been demanding a high price, and I’m pretty sure they would go to great lengths to protect themselves. But they wouldn’t necessarily have to get their own hands dirty. If they tipped off Vitrenko’s mob that Klugmann was undercover, then the Ukrainians would gladly take on the burden of removing him.’

‘Chef …’ Werner, who had been standing behind Fabel, spoke in a low, tight voice.

‘Shit … of course. We brought our witness into the Präsidium. Damn it, Volker, if we had known all of this before, we wouldn’t have exposed him to danger. We never, for a moment, thought that bringing him here would mark him out.’ Fabel turned back to Werner. ‘Get Hansi into protective custody now.’

‘I’m on it, Chef,’ said Werner and left the office. Maria sat down in the vacant chair next to Fabel.

A look of disbelief invaded Fabel’s expression. ‘So that, you claim, is why you have been withholding evidence from this investigation?’ asked Fabel.

Volker sighed. ‘I haven’t been withholding anything. If you really believe that Vitrenko is behind these killings, then I’ll do all I can to help. In fact, our willingness to deal with Vitrenko died with Klugmann.’ Volker considered his next words carefully. ‘You don’t like me much do you, Fabel?’

‘I don’t know you. I neither like nor dislike you.’

There was acid in Volker’s small laugh. ‘Well, let’s put it this way, you don’t like what I represent.’

‘I can’t say that I do, much.’

‘You’ve made it very clear that in your eyes I’m one step away from the Gestapo while your Polizei Hamburg represents all that’s good and pure. Well let me tell you something, Fabel, I’m lucky to be sitting here. If the Polizei Hamburg had had its way my family tree would have been axed in Hamburg Police Prison Fuhlsbüttel.’

Fabel’s eyes widened.

‘Surprised? My father was a social democrat and trade unionist. A nineteen-year-old idealist. And so, inevitably, there was the knock on the door in the middle of the night. But it wasn’t SS or Gestapo who came knocking. It was your precious Polizei Hamburg who took my father off to the police prison at Fuhlsbüttel. It was reclassified soon after, wasn’t it Fabel? Konzentrationslager Fuhlsbüttel … the Polizei Hamburg’s own little concentration camp. Of course you’d like to forget all about that.’