‘Can you drop me at the end of Hohestrasse?’ he asked the driver. ‘I’d like to do some shopping.’

Although some stores were open, the spirit of Karneval had seized the city fully and Fabel understood why these were called the ‘Crazy Days’. He quickly gave up hope of finding a souvenir for Gabi, his daughter.

His cellphone rang.

‘I’ve had a report from one of the uniforms,’ said Scholz. ‘It seems that Maria Klee checked out of a second hotel on Saturday the fourth. No joy with any of the other hotels. She seems to have dropped out of sight completely. Are you sure she’s not back in Hamburg?’

‘Hold on a minute …’ A noisy group of street entertainers bustled past and Fabel edged out of their way. ‘No, there’s no way. I’ve got Anna Wolff, one of my team, checking regularly that Maria doesn’t resurface … wait a minute …’ The entertainers had gathered around Fabel, one of them juggling three gold balls. ‘Do you mind?’ said Fabel. ‘I’m trying to have a conversation.’ He noticed that they were dressed all in black, each wearing exactly the same type of mask: not the usual Karneval mask but more like the type worn during the Venetian Carnival: full-face, gold, genderless and empty of expression. The juggler gave a mime-artist shrug and moved back.

‘As I was saying,’ said Fabel, ‘I would have heard if Maria had resurfaced in Hamburg. I’m getting really worried, Benni.’

‘Don’t be – I’ll keep on it.’

Fabel snapped his cellphone shut and the group of entertainers swamped him again. The juggler leaned in close, tilting his blank gold mask from side to side as if examining Fabel.

‘Clear off – I’m not interested.’ Fabel was now annoyed.

‘Want to see a good trick?’ asked the juggler. Fabel thought he detected an accent in the juggler’s voice. Suddenly he felt the others grasp his upper arms tight and push him against the wall.

‘I know a very good trick …’ Still the mime-act tilting of the mask from side to side. ‘I can make a mad-bitch Hamburg cop disappear.’ Fabel struggled but the others, laughing jovially, gripped him tight. He felt a knife point pressed into his side, beneath his ribs. He looked past the masked jugglers at the shoppers walking past in Hohestrasse. There was no help to be called for. He would die before his cry was heard. You always die alone, he thought.

The jugglers did a jester dance in front of him. Fabel couldn’t work out if it was to keep the pretence going for the sake of passers-by, or if it was for his benefit.

‘I can make anyone disappear,’ said the juggler through the gold mask. ‘Anyone. I could make you disappear, right now.’

‘What do you want, Vitrenko?’

‘Why do you think I am Vitrenko? We are many here.’