‘That’s what our man said. He asked them how come an export-only bike was involved in an accident in Berlin. They didn’t have a clue, but they gave him all the details of the bike. And when he ran it through vehicle registration, it turns out there isn’t a single fucking bike with this spec registered in Germany.’

‘So you’re saying that whoever killed Katerina, chances are they did it on a foreign police bike?’ Tadeusz took a deep swig of his brandy and paced the floor. This is insane. ‘It makes no sense at all.’

Darko shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve had longer to think about it than you have, and there is one explanation that sort of fits the facts. You know how these fucking motorbike cowboys get about their machines. It’s like they’re joined at the hip. You can imagine one of them deciding to take his undercover traffic bike on a little holiday. So, let’s say for the sake of argument that it’s a Brit. For a split second, he forgets he’s driving on the wrong side of the road, he causes a major accident and he goes into total fucking panic and just steps on the gas. I mean, he’s not even supposed to have the bike over here, and now he’s fucked somebody up big time. Of course he’s going to leg it fast as he can.’

‘And you think that makes sense?’ Tadeusz demanded belligerently.

Krasic shifted in his seat, spreading his overcoat wide and splaying his meaty thighs, maximizing his physical impact to cover his uncertainty. ‘I can’t think of any other explanation.’

‘Neither can I. And that’s what I don’t like.’ He slammed the flat of his hand against the wall. ‘It’s bullshit, however you look at it.’

‘Tadzio, it was an accident. They happen all the time. You’re just going to have to let it go.’

Tadeusz whirled round, his face a rictus of anger. ‘Fuck that. Whether it was an accident or not, somebody should pay.’

‘You’ll get no argument from me on that. And if there was any chance of finding out who was riding that bike, I’d be the first in there, making the bastard pay. But he’s out of our reach.’

Suddenly, all the fight went out of Tadeusz. He crumpled into a chair, head lolling back. A single tear gathered in the corner of one eye and slithered down his temple. Krasic got to his feet, awkward in the face of emotion. ‘I’m sorry, Tadzio,’ he said gruffly.

Tadeusz rubbed the tear away with the heel of his hand. ‘You did your best, Darko,’ he said. ‘You’re right. It’s time to let go. Time to move forward.’ He managed a faint smile. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. It’s time I started thinking about the future.’