‘I don’t think Herr Nielsen liked us,’ said Scholz, grinning as they made their way back to the car. ‘God, I’d like to take that place apart. I bet there’s a bucketload of misery hidden in those files. If our organised-crime guys and the Federal Crime Bureau are right, then À la Carte is one of the end-users of Vitrenko’s human trafficking operation.’

Fabel thought back to the Vitrenko Dossier. He couldn’t remember seeing À la Carte amongst the list of premises tied into the trafficking operation. But, there again, there had been dozens. Whoever was providing the information to the Federal Crime Bureau was worth his weight in gold. Fabel had asked to see the full version of the dossier, but the name of the informant and all references that could possibly have given a clue to his identity had been removed.

Scholz’s cellphone rang.

‘That was Tansu,’ said Scholz after he hung up. ‘She’s done a check on our chum Nielsen. He did a three-stretch in Frankfurt about ten years ago. Serious assault. Drugs-related. Nothing since then but he stinks of organised crime to me.’

‘Me too,’ said Fabel. ‘But not the usual Vitrenko foot soldier. It looks like our Ukrainian friend’s business is truly globalising. Maybe he’s franchising some of his operations.’

‘Tansu also says she’s been unable to speak to Vera Reinartz, or whatever she calls herself now, but she’s got both a business and home address for her. Tansu’s asked if we can meet her about four this afternoon. But first I think we should visit this Internet company. The hotel this hooker is in is on our way.’

The hotel was one of the more luxurious kind that line the right bank of the Rhine. Fabel and Scholz waited, as agreed, near the entrance. The entire front of the reception area was glass-walled and Fabel marvelled at the panorama of the Hohenzollernbrücke bridge and, on the far bank, the Altstadt and the tower of St Martin’s. Of course, dominating it all was the looming presence of Cologne Cathedral.

‘Spectacular,’ said Fabel.

‘Yeah,’ said Scholz uninterestedly as he looked around the reception area. ‘This looks like our girl.’

A young woman approached them with an expression on her face somewhere between apprehension and suspicion. She was dressed more soberly than Fabel would have expected but, when he thought about it, this hotel was not the kind of place to encourage her type of enterprise. As she approached Fabel noticed her shape: slim except for the pronounced swell of her hips. Exactly like the Karneval Cannibal’s victims.

‘Are you Lyudmila Blyzniuk?’ Scholz struggled over the surname.

‘Yes. But I never use my full first name. I’m known as Mila. What have I done? My papers are all in order.’

‘But you also go by the professional name “Anastasia”?’

‘Yes. I never give clients my real name. What’s this about?’