While wanting to be involved at the sharp end of his own business was almost understandable, seeing mirages was the kind of thing that got a man a bad name, especially in their line of business. A little megalomania was fine, some degree of paranoia almost obligatory in the circles where Krasic and his boss made their money. But seeing the features of the dead on the face of a stranger definitely fell into the dangerously demented category. If Krasic didn’t nip this in the bud, before he knew it they’d be signing up for séances. They would become a laughing stock. Which he needed right now like he needed a hole in the head, what with those crazy Albanians wanting ground-to-air missiles and the Chinese Snakehead gangs agitating about shipments of illegal immigrants and heroin.

He shifted in the seat of the anonymous Opel he’d chosen for his surveillance. It wasn’t designed for anyone with shoulders, he thought. Fine for skinny intellectuals, but not for real men. Half past ten and no sign of anyone answering the description Tadzio had given him. He’d been there since half past seven, and nobody who looked remotely like Katerina had gone in or out.

Shame about Katerina, he thought. She’d been a bit special. Not a brainless bimbo by any means, but, equally, not one of those smart-mouthed tarts who thought it was clever to try to put a man like him in his place. Lovely looking girl, too. Best thing about her, though, was that she’d kept Tadzio happy. And Tadzio happy was Tadzio on the ball. But right now, the boss was very definitely neither happy nor on top of his game. Eventually, he’d have to accept that the accident had been nothing more than that. Until that happened, Krasic saw a lot more wasted time ahead of him.

On that thought, the door of the apartment block opened and Krasic’s jaw dropped. If he hadn’t seen Katerina’s dead body with his own eyes, he’d have sworn that was her emerging on to the street. OK, the hair was different and he thought this woman had a bit more muscle about her than Katerina had ever had, but from this distance, he couldn’t have told them apart. ‘Fuck,’ he said, outraged. That’d teach him to take Tadzio’s word for things.

He was so astounded by what he was seeing that he almost forgot what he was there for. She was already well past him before he gathered himself together and clambered out of the car. She was walking at a good clip, long legs in sensible flat pumps covering the ground confidently. Krasic had to shift to keep her in sight as she reached the corner of Olivaerplatz and turned right.