Hansi had done a good job. Tony’s address, phone number and bank details followed the CV. ‘He’s not exactly rolling in it, is he?’ Krasic said. It didn’t say much for Caroline Jackson’s taste, he thought. The guy wasn’t even good looking. Any woman who passed up his boss for this sad fucker wasn’t someone whose judgement he’d be inclined to trust, that was for sure.

He opened the next attachment. It was a newspaper article about the trial of a serial killer called Jacko Vance. It focused on the role in his capture played by psychological profiler Tony Hill, the founder of the National Offender Profiling Task Force. ‘Works with cops,’ Tadeusz repeated, his eyes dark with anger. ‘What’s next?’

It was another newspaper article, this time about a serial killer who had claimed four victims in the northern English city of Bradfield. The writer described how psychologist Tony Hill had worked with the police to develop a profile that had led them to the murderer, but that it had almost cost him his life. ‘What the fuck is Caroline Jackson doing with him?’ Tadeusz demanded. ‘You said she checked out, that people knew she was one of us.’

Krasic shrugged. ‘Maybe she’s the reason he isn’t working with the cops any more. If your girlfriend’s a criminal, you can’t keep running with the hounds, can you?’ He didn’t really believe what he was saying, but he knew he had a better chance of convincing Tadeusz that Jackson was trouble if he didn’t appear to be completely negative about her.

His words tailed off into silence as he opened the next file. It was a news photograph. Tony was in the foreground, three-quarters profile. He looked as if he was saying something to the woman behind him. Even though her face was slightly out of focus, there was no mistaking Caroline Jackson. Krasic kept his hand on the mouse motionless. He wanted to scroll down to the caption, but he had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was going to be very bad indeed.

He clicked on the <down> arrow and the words came into sight: Dr Tony Hill, Home Office profiler, with Detective Inspector Carol Jordan at the scene of Damien Connolly’s murder.

‘She’s a fucking cop,’ Krasic said with quiet venom. ‘She’s a fucking snake in the grass.’

Tadeusz had turned white. He had to grip the edge of the table to stop his hands shaking. This was the woman he had wanted to sleep with the night before. This was the woman he had taken inside his business. This was the woman he had allowed to heal his heart. And she was a traitor. ‘We’re going back to Berlin,’ he said, turning on his heel and storming out of the shop, oblivious to the fact that everyone else was staring at him open-mouthed.