Scholz smiled indulgently, as if she were a child who had said something cutely naive. ‘No, no … you see, we don’t have to wait. This is a murder inquiry so get him now or we’ll walk into his meeting. Clear?’

The young woman stormed off, presenting the policemen with her bustling rotund figure from the rear.

‘She should be more willing to help,’ said Scholz. ‘Christ knows what our guy would do if he ever saw that arse. That would keep him in stew for six months.’

Fabel laughed despite himself. The girl returned after a minute and sulkily showed them into the only meeting room, a glass box in the centre of the office. There was a large conference table with an impossibly thin computer-display screen in the centre, a cordless keyboard and mouse. Three media types stood up and left as Fabel and Scholz entered. Scholz spoke to the remaining man.

‘You David Littger?’ Scholz asked and sat down at the table uninvited. Fabel remained standing by the door. Littger nodded, eyeing both policemen suspiciously. He was in his early thirties, with cropped-short sand-coloured hair and stubble grown to disguise a weak jaw. ‘I’m Commissar Scholz, this is Principal Chief Commissar Fabel. We’re here to talk about one of the websites you host and did the design for.’

‘I’m afraid I will not divulge any such information. InterSperse Media is bound by strict commercial-confidentiality rules—’

‘Listen, pencil-dick,’ said Scholz, still smiling as if conducting a perfectly pleasant conversation with an acquaintance. ‘I am not here to fuck about. This is a multiple-murder inquiry and in my pocket I have a warrant from the Staatsanwalt’s office. If you force me to exercise this warrant, your offices will be closed to your staff, all of your files seized and your operation will be shut down for as long as it takes us to find the information we need. Now, you don’t want that and I don’t want that, because if I have to do that it will take me much longer to find the sick pervs who run the site. I will also take it as read that you have obstructed us for some reason. Maybe you’re into this scene as well and are more “hands-on” than you want to admit. In which case you and I will be seeing a great deal of each other over the next twenty-four hours. And it’ll be at my place, not yours.’

‘What’s the name of the website?’ asked Littger in a flat tone. If he was shaken, he didn’t show it. Scholz handed him a sheet of paper.