Tony stared bleakly at the screen. In truth, it wasn’t much. As usual, he felt like the conjuror who is expected to produce an elephant from his top hat but only manages the same tired old rabbit. He reminded himself that this was only a raw first draft. He needed more data and he wanted to talk a couple of ideas over with Carol before he committed them to paper.

Tony packed up his laptop and scribbled a note to Petra. Thanks for your help. I’ve begun work on the profile but I need to go to Bremen. Can you book me on a train or a plane first thing? And is there any way of arranging things so I can talk to the local cops? Also, it would be helpful if you could put me in touch with someone who can talk to me about the Stasi’s use of psychiatry. I’m going back to my apartment – I’ll expect your call.

He let himself out of the front door and wearily descended to the street. It was a beautiful spring day, the air damp and cool, the sky bright with sunshine. Only a clod could fail to be moved by the possibilities of life on a day like this, Tony thought. But somewhere out there, rain or shine, a killer was planning his next move. And it was up to Tony to try to make sure it would be the one that ended in checkmate.

The restaurant he had chosen surprised her. She had been expecting somewhere with private nooks and crannies, where they could talk without fear of being overheard. There was nothing intimate about this place, however. High ceilings with steel and tungsten light fittings, the tables and chairs a design statement in themselves. It was smart and noisy, the sort of place where everyone automatically checked out the rest of the clientele to satisfy themselves that the cutting edge hadn’t moved somewhere else since they were last there.

He was already seated when she arrived, smoking a small cigar and reading the menu at a table in the middle of the room. Carol noticed she attracted a couple of curious glances as the waiter led her to his table. She was going to have to deal with that, and sooner rather than later.

When she reached the table, Tadeusz got to his feet and gave a small, formal bow. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he said.

‘Thank you for asking me.’ The waiter held out her chair and Carol settled herself. ‘Tell me, are you some sort of celebrity in Berlin?’

He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I noticed last night and again just now. People stare at us. And since nobody in Berlin has a clue who I am, it must be you.’