‘Only an IP address, and that could be for anywhere. He may even have used a cybercafé or a WiFi hotspot. And you can’t trace him through his credit card – he had to pay for the ad but there’s no secure credit-card facility built into the site. Advertisers have to send hard copy in to the PO box number listed, along with sufficient funds to pay for it.’

‘So this guy Schnaus may have the details of whoever placed the ad?’ asked Scholz.

‘Not necessarily. The advertiser could have paid by money order or might even have sent cash. But what Schnaus will be able to provide is the access password to get into the virtual mailbox for all the replies he got.’

‘We’ve got to find “Lovebiter”,’ Scholz said to Fabel. ‘He lives in the same dark place as our guy. He may be connected to him.’

‘He may even be him,’ said Fabel.

5.

Tansu was waiting for them when they got back to the Presidium.

‘Productive day?’ she asked Fabel. He ran through what they had found out while Scholz went into his office to check his messages and e-mail.

‘He’s going to be in a really bad mood for the rest of the day,’ said Tansu. ‘The police Karneval committee is going ape because the float is so behind schedule.’ Fabel looked through the glass into Scholz’s office and grinned. The Cologne detective was standing talking on the phone, his free hand intermittently running through his hair or gesturing to the empty room.

‘Listen, Tansu,’ said Fabel. ‘While we have the chance, I wondered if I could ask you a favour …’

‘Certainly, Herr Chief Commissar,’ she said, and smiled wickedly.

‘This is it,’ said Tansu. They had been to the home address Tansu had got for Vera Reinartz and there had been no one home. ‘This is her business.’

Fabel looked across at the café. It looked bright and warm in the dull winter street. ‘What’s the name she uses now?’ he asked Tansu.

‘Sandow … Andrea Sandow.’

As they entered the Amazonia Café, Fabel smiled to himself at the sight of one of the waitresses. She could certainly be described as an Amazon. At first, Fabel wondered if the waitress was in fact a man in drag. She was massively built, with muscles bulging on her exposed arms and straining at the material of her T-shirt, yet her make-up was heavily applied and the platinum blonde of her hair was as synthetic as the bronze of her midwinter tan. He found himself wondering where she would fit in with the theories of female beauty that Lessing, the anthropologist-cum-art historian, had expounded.

‘Excuse me,’ Fabel asked the waitress, ‘I’m looking for Andrea Sandow … I believe she owns this café?’

‘I am she.’ The Amazon pulled herself to her full height and regarded Fabel coldly with her brilliant blue eyes. ‘What can I do for you?’