‘No, Herr Kriminaldirektor, I’m not sure. All we actually have are a handful of facts of which we can be reasonably certain …’

Fabel and Werner now stood before the broad expanse of Van Heiden’s desk. Van Heiden beckoned for them to take the two vacant chairs next to Volker. They both sat down and Fabel continued.

‘Herr Volker’s intelligence tells us that there is some kind of leak from within the Polizei Hamburg selling information to this new Ukrainian outfit and, for all we know, to other organised-crime outfits. Whoever this leak is, he, she or they have a motive for killing anyone who can identify them. Oberst Volker believes that they identified Klugmann as an undercover federal agent and either exposed him to the Ukrainians or killed him themselves.’

‘And it looks like they did their own dirty work,’ interjected Werner. ‘Hansi Kraus told us that the killers he saw were Germans, not foreigners. And they enjoy their work. According to the forensic pathologist, the bastards tortured Klugmann before they murdered him. And, of course, the Ukrainian-made automatic that Hansi found was left behind to point us in the wrong direction.’

Fabel took up the story again. ‘And when Kraus is brought in here to look at mug shots, Werner takes him down to the canteen where something or someone spooks him so badly he can’t get out of the place quickly enough. The next thing we know, Kraus is found lying dead in his squat from a beautifully staged overdose.’

Van Heiden had sat grim-faced throughout. Fabel had noticed that Volker’s attention had not been focused on the speakers, but on Van Heiden’s reaction to what was being said.

‘Okay … the evidence points to corrupt police officers. But what evidence do we have against these two officers in particular?’ said Van Heiden, picking up the red personnel files and throwing them across the wide expanse of his desk so that they came to rest the right way round in front of Fabel.

‘We have no hard, objective evidence as yet, Herr Kriminaldirektor,’ answered Fabel. ‘But the physical descriptions we got from Hansi match them perfectly. What’s more …’ Fabel flipped open the first file and stabbed a finger at the photograph in the top right-hand corner of the first page – ‘when I was in his office, I noticed several boxing trophies, one of which was for junior light-heavyweight in Hamburg-Harburg. That is where he grew up. Hansi Kraus mentioned that the older of the two hitmen was whining about how the area he grew up in was going to the dogs.’ Fabel flipped open the second file. ‘Kraus also described the second, younger man, the one who pulled the trigger, as looking like some kind of muscleman. I couldn’t think of a better description to match this guy.’

‘It all seems very flimsy and circumstantial,’ said Van Heiden.

‘It is,’ said Fabel, ‘until we get some hard evidence against them. We’re starting with a complete forensic exam of the murder scene. The local guys know that this is being treated as a murder, and I’m sure word has already got back to our chums here. But the most compelling piece of, admittedly subjective, evidence is Kraus’s reaction in the Präsidium canteen.’ Fabel looked over to Werner.