Michaela shuddered. ‘It was horrible. Expressionless. I couldn’t see it too clearly but I’m sure he had a beard … and he had only one eye.’

‘What?’

Michaela shook her head as if trying to shake free of something. ‘Yes. Only one eye. It was like the other eye was just a socket … all black and …’ She broke down.

‘It’s okay, Michaela,’ said Fabel. ‘Just take it easy.’

Susanne put an arm around the girl’s shaking shoulders. They sat in silence for a while until Michaela gathered her composure.

‘How many do you think there were?’ Fabel asked eventually.

‘I don’t know. I only remember flashes. I think three. At least three …’

Fabel placed his hand on Michaela’s. She pulled away as if stung. Then she focused on Fabel’s retracted hand, frowning.

‘There was something. One of them had a scar on the back of his hand. Left hand. It was actually more like two scars running together. It made a wishbone shape.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Fabel.

Michaela gave a bitter laugh. ‘It’s one of the few things I remember clearly.’ She looked up pleadingly again. ‘It makes no sense. Why should I remember that?’

‘I don’t know, Michaela.’ Fabel smiled as reassuringly as he could. ‘But it could be useful. Very useful.’ He took out his notebook and laid it on the bed, placing his pen on top of it. ‘Could you draw what it looked like?’

She picked up the pen and notebook, frowned for a moment, and then drew two swift, determined lines. It was indeed the shape of a wishbone, but with a slight distortion in each leg.

‘That’s it,’ she said resolutely.

‘Thanks,’ said Fabel and stood up. ‘I’m so sorry about what happened to you, Michaela. I promise you we’ll do everything we can to find out who did it.’

Michaela nodded without looking up. Then she seemed to be gripped by something. Her eyes began darting again and her brow creased by the effort of intense concentration. ‘Wait … there’s something else … I was at a club … I … I can’t remember the name. There was a man. He gave me some water … it tasted salty …’

‘We know, Michaela, you already told Herr Sülberg. Can you describe him? Anything?’

‘His eyes … his eyes were green. Cold, bright. And they were green …’

On the way out, Fabel and Susanne stopped off at Dr Stern’s office. Stern’s tall frame was bent over a desk covered in files, charts and yellow notelets that were strewn in layers like windfallen leaves. Fabel considered his own over-orderly nature; that everything had its place in his office, in his home, in his life. Whenever things stacked up he had to sort them all out or he would grind to a halt. Fabel recognised it as a weakness in himself: something that threw a fence around his otherwise intuitive nature. And it was more than a little anally retentive.

Stern stood up and his strong, handsome face broke into a wide and genial smile. ‘Hauptkommissar Fabel? Frau Doktor Eckhardt?’