‘As good as it could be at that distance.’ Werner flipped open his notebook to check his notes. ‘Tall and well built. She made a point about him having broad shoulders. He didn’t look out of place in this neighbourhood and was well dressed in a dark grey suit.’

Not my short, squat Slav with the green eyes, thought Fabel.

‘His hair was blond and cut fairly short,’ Werner continued. ‘But here’s the thing … she says he was carrying a pale grey raincoat that was draped over a large sports bag.’

‘The tools of his trade,’ said Fabel in a low, bitter voice.

‘The girl says she’s never seen him before tonight and the caretaker had only one suggestion for a possible tenant, but the girl knows that guy by sight and swears it wasn’t him. Anyway, the girl saw our man pressing one of the apartment buttons, so he’s unlikely to be one of the occupiers. We’ve still got a few apartments to check out, some of which are empty, but so far everyone denies having received a visitor fitting the description.’

‘Did anyone see him leave?’

‘No. And no one heard any sounds of a struggle or cries for help. It’s a pretty robust building, but you would have thought someone would have heard something.’

‘Don’t let the mess in there fool you, Werner. This guy is cool and has everything worked out to the last letter. We’ll wait for the full autopsy, but from the state of the back of her head, I reckon she was dead or close to it before she hit the floor. The bastard obviously introduces himself as a policeman, probably me, and lets her lead the way. While she’s got her back to him, wham – he’s smashed the back of her skull in. That leaves him all the time in the world to unpack his little kit and set to work.’

Werner stroked the bristle on his scalp. ‘This guy’s scary, Jan. He never seems to slip up. Except tonight he did. He didn’t check the street well enough. But other than a brief sighting from a distance, he’s left us nothing.’

‘We’ll see what Brauner and Möller have to say.’ Fabel slapped an encouraging hand on Werner’s meaty shoulders. ‘Maybe this has been his off-day.’

Back in the apartment, Fabel found Möller, the pathologist, was still standing beside the body, writing notes onto a clipboard. He turned to the two overalled Tatort technicians.

‘If the photographer’s through, you can take the body back to the morgue.’ As he spoke, Möller noticed Fabel and nodded. His usual brusque manner seemed to have left him and there was an almost doleful look in his eyes. This guy’s beginning to get to everybody, thought Fabel.

‘I don’t suppose you need my professional opinion to tell you that this is the same modus as the last two.’

‘No,’ said Fabel. ‘He sent me an e-mail from that computer over there.’

Möller shook his head. ‘Anyway, for the record, I’ll tell you that there’s absolutely no doubt in my mind that this is the work of the same person or persons. Obviously I’ll give you a full report once I’ve done a complete autopsy. Take a look at this …’ The pathologist bent down and pointed with his ballpoint pen to the edge of where the flesh had been sliced and the ribs pulled back. Fabel bent closer to look. It was like something from a butcher’s shop. Focus, he kept telling himself, focus, don’t look at the person, look at the detail. Concentrate. But he still had to fight back the nausea.