‘See where our chum has made a bit of a mistake?’ With his pen Möller followed the line of a deep serration that ran off at an angle from the main slash. ‘You can see the shape of the blade. It’s a broad blade of a heavy gauge: more like a short sword or a very heavy hunting knife. I’ll get some shots of it during the autopsy.’

Fabel breathed in slowly before speaking. ‘Is that the only deviation from the main cuts?’

Möller scratched his grizzled beard. ‘Yes … That’s the thing. This has been no frenzied attack. He took his time.’ He pointed to the back of the head of Angelika Blüm’s body. ‘Again the fatal or near-fatal trauma to the back of the skull; again with a very heavy instrument with some kind of ball-shaped impact; and again the dissections to access the lungs and achieve this … well, trademark, I suppose.’

‘A hell of a trademark,’ said Fabel.

Möller didn’t reply immediately. He had been squatting down and now stood up with a groan. He gazed down at the body; it was as if he wasn’t seeing it, but looking beyond it. ‘This man’s physical strength must be considerable to say the least. Surgically, opening a body usually needs a sternal saw and mechanical rib-spreaders. This man slashes at his victims with amazing precision and then prises their ribs apart. He is very strong indeed.’

Maria entered the room and beckoned to Fabel. ‘Chef?’

He followed her into the living area. Holger Brauner was in the room with his team. ‘Look at this,’ he said to Fabel, indicating the coffee table with his gloved hand. ‘What do you see?’

Fabel stared at a large rectangle of pale wood. It looked solid and expensive. He shrugged. ‘Apart from a coffee table, nothing.’

‘Exactly,’ said Brauner. ‘No ornaments. No ashtrays, no ceramics, no books.’ He lifted one of the forensic team’s high-powered hand lamps. It flooded the table top with a cold, white, bleaching light. ‘Look here …’ Brauner leaned forward and drew a square on the tabletop. ‘There’s been something here. And here. His finger swept a circle at the other side of the table. Here too. He switched off the lamp and turned to the window, which was concealed behind closed blinds. ‘These windows are fantastic, don’t you think? I checked with a compass: this room faces as near as damn it due south. This room will be filled with the best of the day’s light. It makes for a bright, cheerful living environment.’

‘Are you changing careers and taking up real-estate agency, Holger?’ asked Fabel.

Brauner laughed. ‘The pay would be a hell of a lot better, that’s for sure. But no … it’s just that light bleaches furnishings. Including wood. These slightly darker areas are where she’s had books or ornaments on the coffee table … items that were there almost all the time.’

‘But they’re not now.’

‘Exactly. And I don’t think our perpetrator cleared it.’ Brauner moved over to the stone plinth that surrounded the gas-flame fireplace. He lifted three books that sat stacked on top of each other and placed them on the table. The bottom book matched the slightly darker area he had indicated. From a high table behind Fabel he lifted a circular piece of contemporary ceramic. It too matched its shadow on the table. ‘Our guy is so thorough that he would make absolutely certain that he put everything back the way he found it. My guess is that Angelika Blüm cleared this table to spread stuff out on it. Papers or something. Whatever it was she had there, our killer has taken it away. And when he’d done so, he didn’t know what should go back onto the table.’