Maria looked at the Ukrainian. He held her gaze, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees. This man claimed to be a policeman, knew that she was a police officer, yet was asking her to cooperate in a murder. There again, that had been the conclusion she had envisaged for herself. But how did she know that he was genuine? He could be anybody. He could be one of Vitrenko’s killers. But if that were the case, wouldn’t she be dead by now?.

‘Like I told you,’ she said. ‘I want to be there when Vitrenko is brought down. I’m in.’

9.

Ansgar, so unused to the ballet of courtship, fumbled clumsily for the right words. Ekatherina, like a city guide helping out a tourist who had found himself on the wrong side of town, had had to help him with his halting and mumbled proposal that she should come with him to the Karneval procession in a few weeks’ time. Ekatherina made it easier for him by suggesting that they go out for an evening first; to a Ukrainian restaurant she knew.

Ansgar was no fool. He was, after all, at least fifteen years older than her and by no description a catch. And he knew that marriage to a German national would assure her permanent residency in the Federal Republic. However, he also believed that Ekatherina really did like him. But did she really know about his true nature? His secret desires?

The Rhine divides Cologne in more than the geographical sense. Since the very first settlements the river had represented first an ethnic and then a social and cultural border. The inhabitants of the left bank, of which Ansgar was one, had always thought of their side of the river as the true Cologne, as opposed to ‘over there’. The Ukrainian restaurant that Ekatherina had suggested was ‘over there’, in the Vingst area of the city. The food was authentically Ukrainian. Ansgar also guessed that a large proportion of the clientele, and probably the management, was authentically Ukrainian mafia. He noticed several huddles of large men in black Armani, the regulation uniform of Eastern European gangsterdom.

The menu was in both Cyrillic and German but Ansgar allowed himself to be led in his choice by Ekatherina. As far as Ansgar could see, the Ukrainians had as many styles of Borsch as Eskimos had words for snow. Added to this was pechyva, pampushky, halushky, varenyky, bitky meatballs and a whole range of desserts. Ekatherina recommended that they should start with goose-breast zakuska followed by a starter portion of hetman borsch, then pork ribs stewed in beet kvas with halushky dumplings.

‘You can’t get more Ukrainian than that,’ she enthused and Ansgar could see that she was genuinely proud to introduce him to her culture and cuisine. When the waiter came over to take their drinks order, Ekatherina engaged in a lively exchange in Ukrainian with him. The waiter smiled and nodded.