‘I’d love to, Jan. And I think it would be a good idea for both of us. I’m worried about the psychological price you’re going to have to pay for all this horror.’

So am I, thought Fabel.

After talking to Susanne, Fabel ate the salad without enjoyment, poured himself another coffee and made his way through to his living room. He switched on the lights and sat down on the couch, seeing himself reflected in the huge picture window. He took a deep breath and looked at his watch. He needed to ease some of the hawser-tight tension in his neck and shoulders before he went back to the Präsidium.

Fabel reached over to the coffee table and picked up the Dictionary of English Surnames that Otto had given him. He let a small laugh slip. Only Otto would know that Fabel could find peace in volumes of German or English etymology. Fabel loved reference books. They were oceans on which you could set sail without a course, first seeking out one piece of knowledge and then becoming diverted to another, totally tangential but equally engrossing track. He began by idly looking up his own name. He knew ‘Fabel’ was found in the Netherlands and Denmark as well as Germany. He was a little disappointed to find no trace of it among the surnames of the British Isles. He racked his brain for unusual British names that he’d encountered recently. There was one that was front of mind because of the case. He flicked through the pages to find a huge section devoted to the Mc and Mac surnames that predominated in Ireland and Scotland.

He found the entry for MacSwain.

Fabel froze. The coffee cup in his hand was suspended between saucer and lips. There was a quiet beyond silence. He felt locked in that moment between heartbeats, his blood still in his veins. Then the spell was broken. He slammed the cup back in its saucer, spilling a swirl of black, viscous liquid. He was on his feet and across the room before realising he was no longer sitting. The book was still in his left hand, open, and his eyes remained locked on the entry. His right hand found the cordless phone and hit the single button to retrieve the Mordkommission’s number.

‘Shit … oh, shit …’ muttered Fabel as the ringing tone seemed to go on endlessly.

It was Maria who answered. Fabel didn’t even announce himself.

‘Anna was right, Maria … Christ, we’ve got this one all wrong. It’s MacSwain. MacSwain is Son of Sven …’

Maria sounded confused and unconvinced, but Fabel washed her incredulity away with a torrent of words. ‘He’s been telling us who he is all along. And we missed it. He’s been flaunting it in every e-mail. Do we still have a surveillance team on MacSwain?’

‘Yes. Or at least one guy just now. He’s outside MacSwain’s apartment.’

‘Get someone else over there right now! Tell them to wait until we get there, unless MacSwain tries to leave, in which case I want him arrested on suspicion of murder. Get everyone together in the incident room. And tell Eitel’s lawyer I’m going to talk to Norbert in ten minutes’ time, whether he’s present or not. I’ll see you and the others in the conference room in fifteen minutes.’