‘He’s part of the organisation. Why wouldn’t he be here?’

‘Right organisation, wrong side of it. He’s a Molokov man.’ Buslenko was still looking at the black glass wall. ‘And it wasn’t Molokov in there behind the glass. Watching. It was the big guy himself. Vasyl Vitrenko. Some big business has brought him back. Something really big or he wouldn’t have left himself exposed. Even Kotkin’s far too senior to be recruiting thugs. He’d reached a level where he was becoming less and less visible.’

‘All I can say is that we’ve got this place sealed up as tight as a drum. Whoever you thought was in there couldn’t have got out.’ Ukrainian Beauty followed Buslenko’s gaze to the adjoining entertaining room. ‘It was always going to be a long shot, Taras. Our intelligence was contradictory. We had information that Vitrenko was back in Ukraine and we had equally sound intelligence that he is still in Germany.’

‘Well,’ said Buslenko, turning to face the beautiful Captain Olga Sarapenko of the Kiev police militia, who had made such a convincing nightclub hostess. ‘That was what my grandmother always said about the Devil: he has the craft to be in two places at the same time.’

5.

Fabel waited to be shown into Criminal Director van Heiden’s office and thought about how he would soon become someone else. And how everyone except Susanne seemed to be doing their best to talk him out of it. He guessed that van Heiden might be about to try again.

The whole idea of resigning from the Polizei Hamburg had been to get away from death. His entire career as a policeman had been founded on its violent intrusion into his life. The young Fabel had never considered being a police officer; with the absolute certainty of youth, Fabel had had his entire career as a historian planned out for himself. But then death, in its most sudden and violent form, had shouldered its way, unbidden, into Jan Fabel’s path.

It had happened while Fabel was still a student at the Universität Hamburg. Fabel had only been dating Hanna Dorn, the daughter of his history professor, for a few weeks when she had been randomly selected by a psychopath as his next victim. He knew that Hanna Dorn, in her own right, would not have made that much of an impression on his life. Without the trauma of her murder, she would have faded from his consciousness long ago. They would, no doubt, have had a relationship that would have lasted a while: they would have gone to parties, eaten out when they could have afforded it, met with friends. But every time Fabel thought back to her, he knew that they would not have stayed together and that Hanna Dorn would have diminished into the far distance of his memory. A name that would have to be prompted into his recall. It had not been Hanna’s presence in his life that had marked Fabel for ever. It had been her sudden absence.