‘The other day, in a café on Kurfürstendamm, I absentmindedly lit one, and some old busybody came up to me and reminded me of my duty as a German woman, wife or mother. Fat chance, I thought. I’m nearly thirty-nine, hardly the age to start producing new recruits for the Party. I’m what they call a eugenic dud.’ She sat down in one of the armchairs and crossed her beautiful legs. I could see nothing that was dud about her, except maybe the cafés she frequented. ‘It’s got so that a woman can’t go out wearing a bit of make-up for fear of being called a whore.’

‘You don’t strike me as being the type to worry much about what people call you,’ I said. ‘And as it happens, I like a woman to look like a lady, not a Hessian milkmaid.’

‘Thank you, Herr Gunther,’ she said smiling. ‘That’s very sweet of you.’

‘Müller says you used to be a reporter on the DAZ.’

‘Yes, that’s right. I lost my job during the Party’s “Clear Women out of Industry” campaign. An ingenious way of solving Germany’s unemployment problem, don’t you think? You just say that a woman already has a job, and that’s looking after the home and the family. If she doesn’t have a husband then she’d better get one, if she knows what’s good for her. The logic is frightening.’

‘How do you support yourself now?’

‘I did freelance a bit. But right now, well frankly, Herr Gunther, I’m broke, which is why I’m here. Müller says you’re digging for some information on Hermann Six. I’d like to try and sell what I know. Are you investigating him?’

‘No. Actually, he’s my client.’

‘Oh.’ She seemed slightly taken aback at this.

‘There was something about the way he hired me that made me want to know a lot more about him,’ I explained, ‘and I don’t just mean the school he went to. I suppose you could say that he irritated me. You see, I don’t like being told what to do.’

‘Not a very healthy attitude these days.’

‘I guess not.’ I grinned at her. ‘Shall we say fifty marks then, for what you know?’

‘Shall we say a hundred, and then you won’t be disappointed?’

‘How about seventy-five and dinner?’

‘It’s a deal.’ She offered me her hand and we shook on it.

‘Is there a file or something, Fraulein Lorenz?’

She tapped her head. ‘Please call me Inge. And it’s all up here, down to the last detail.’

And then she told me.