… the town is also full of the worst sort of harpies ready to fall backwards with their legs in the air if it means an audition. Half of them have a permanent grin like a hyena. It’s stuck on with lipstick and regular injections from a doctor, Max Jacobson, who everyone here calls Dr Feelgood. I have no idea what’s in those shots but I have to say that after I gave one a go I was dancing from Friday night until lunchtime on Tuesday. He was telling me how he could get hold of the latest medical drugs in big quantities when a Yank officer marched over, announced that his name was Colonel Hank Dee, that he was a huge admirer of mine and that he would be honoured to take me out for a drive. I politely told the good doctor I would talk to him later about his offer …

‘I found this hidden in the house.’ From my pocket I drew the broken piece of thin, circular glass with jagged edges that had been in the box. The typed label that stretched to the rough edge read: ‘Jacob’, the last few letters having been torn off. ‘I’m sure it’s the base of a medicine phial. I saw them all the time at the surgery.’ The card boxes with their little compartments, those that had reminded me of the cartons full of rifle rounds, had held the delicate little tubes. And Tim Honeysette had handed me ten pounds at his house, expecting something contraband but vital in return.

So it had all fallen into place. Medical drugs. Everyone knew that the Americans had treatments years ahead of our own – antibiotics to fight infection, and medicines for your heart or blood – and this man, Jacobson, was offering them to Lorelei. Nick must have read and reread her letter, weighing the possibilities and the dangers. Even before the Soviets’ arrival, it had taken years before American drugs had become legal here, and after our new friends arrived there hadn’t been a hope in hell of getting them.

Grest examined the letter slowly and carefully. I could see him considering what I was saying. Would he be convinced by it? It wasn’t conclusive proof, no, but it all seemed a damn sight more likely than Nick working for the CIA. ‘Has he told you something like this?’ I asked.

He gazed at me for a long time. ‘I haven’t spoken to him – it’s someone else’s case. But I haven’t heard anything about this.’

‘The other officer. Is he junior to you?’

‘As it happens.’

‘So you can take over the case?’

He brushed some dust from the desk. ‘If I want to. Tell me more about this supposed activity of theirs.’

‘They’ve been doing it for years. I think they were selling some to patients, and some was going to Party officials.’