‘I decided that I wanted nothing to do with it. So I went out through the window, spent the night at the doss-house on Frobe-strasse, and came back here. That fellow, the one they had beaten up, he was still alive when I left. They were keeping him alive until they found out if he had told them the truth.’ He took the cigarette stub out of his mouth and dropped it on the wooden floor, grinding it under his heel. I gave him another.

‘Well, the next thing I hear is that the job went wrong. Tillessen did the driving, apparently. Afterwards, Red’s boys killed him. They would have killed Kurt too, only he got away.’

‘Did they double-cross Red?’

‘Nobody’s that stupid.’

‘You’re singing, aren’t you?’

‘When I was in the cement, in Tegel, I saw lots of men die on that guillotine,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d rather take my chances with Red. When I go I want to go in one piece.’

‘Tell me more about the job.’

‘ “Just crack a nut,” ’ said Red. ‘Easy to a man like Kurt, he’s a real professional. Could open Hitler’s heart. The job was middle of the night. Puzzle the safe and take some papers. That’s all.’

‘No diamonds?’

‘Diamonds? He never said nothing about no bells.’

‘Are you sure of that?’

‘Course I’m sure. He was just to claw the papers. Nothing else.’

‘What were these papers, do you know?’

Bock shook his head. ‘Just papers.’

‘What about the killings?’

‘Nobody mentioned killings. Kurt wouldn’t have agreed to do the job if he thought he was going to have to can anyone. He wasn’t that kind of fellow.’

‘What about Tillessen? Was he the type to shoot people in their beds?’

‘Not a chance. That wasn’t his style at all. Tillessen was just a fucking garter-handler. Beating up snappers was all he was good for. Show him a lighter and he’d have been off like a rabbit.’

‘Maybe they got greedy, and helped themselves to more than they were supposed to.’

‘You tell me. You’re the fucking detective.’

‘And you haven’t seen or heard from Kurt since?’

‘He’s too smart to contact me. If he’s got any sense, he’ll have done a U-Boat by now.’

‘Does he have any friends?’

‘A few. But I don’t know who. His wife left him, so you can forget her. She spent every pfennig he had earned, and when she’d finished she took off with another man. He’d die before he’d ask that bitch for help.’

‘Perhaps he’s dead already,’ I suggested.

‘Not Kurt,’ said Bock, his face set against the thought. ‘He’s a clever one. Resourceful. He’ll find a way out of it.’