The ferry glided on. Fabel had boarded at the Fährdamm quay in the Alsterpark, and now they were moving out from the sweep of green and gold that seemed to glow in the evening sun. Fabel had just looked at his watch – 7.40 p.m. – when he became aware of a figure leaning on the rail next to him. He turned to face a tall Turk, about thirty-five, with a longish handsome face and a shock of black hair. The Turk grinned broadly and the smile lines that were already around his eyes deepened further.

‘Hi, Herr Kriminalhauptkommissar. How’s the fight against crime?’

Fabel laughed. ‘What can I tell you? Just like your business, you’re always assured custom. How is the world of porn?’

The Turk laughed so loudly that the elderly couple looked across momentarily, still expressionless, before simultaneously and wordlessly turning their blank gaze back to the horizon.

‘Don’t do that any more. Technology, you see – video, DVD and CD-ROMs are the thing now.’ He sighed with an exaggerated wistfulness. ‘No one wants the good old traditional dirty photograph any more. It’s enough to force you into a respectable business.’

‘Somehow I don’t think there’s much danger of that.’ Fabel paused. ‘It’s good to see you again, Mahmoot. How are things, seriously?’

‘Okay. I’ve been selling the odd paparazzo shot to the tabloid press. I just cashed a cheque for two thousand euros from SCHAU MAL! for a pic of one of our dedicated and earnest city senators on his way out of a stripclub.’

‘SCHAU MAL!?’ Fabel looked puzzled.

Mahmoot laughed. ‘Oh they don’t mind dealing with a Turk if they get something that sells copies.’

‘And I dare say that the senator in question was a Social Democrat?’ Fabel asked.

‘Got it in one.’

‘I can’t understand why you would choose to deal with them. After all, they’re just a bunch of racist bastards.’

Mahmoot shrugged. ‘Listen. I was born and raised in this country. I’m as German as anyone. But because my parents came here as Turkish Gastarbeiters, I spent most of my life, in fact right up until the Schroeder government came in, not entitled to a German passport or nationality.’ The half smile faded from his face. ‘I’ve decided that whatever I can get out of this country I’ll take.’

Fabel stared out over the water. The ferry had touched the east side of the Alster at Uhlenhorst and was now heading south. ‘I can’t blame you, Mahmoot. It’s just that I think you’re really talented. Some of those photographs you took of immigrant families were brilliant … I hate seeing that talent going to waste.’

‘Listen, Jan. I was proud of that work, but no one wanted to buy it. So I take cheap shots for crappy tabloids and when that dries up I have to do porn shoots. I hate it, as you know, but I have to do it to earn a living.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

‘Anyway,’ the smile returned to Mahmoot’s face, ‘you didn’t call for a meet to discuss the state of my soul. What can I do for you?’