‘Take it for him, Professor. Boys love medals, and guns, of course. Anyway, all the German heroes are dead.’

*

The woman with the headscarf and pram was still outside the house, walking in circles. She glanced at Heck but instead of backing away from him, she said, ‘Are you a doctor? I must have a doctor for my baby.’

Heck had left Frau Ganzen clutching her dead father to her breast. It was the first time he had considered killing a woman, but something held him back, some need to show himself better than the Nazis. He knew it wasn’t rational, for he had just killed a man in cold blood, but how could any of it make sense? All the nightmarish events of the past ten years were the stuff of the madhouse.

He stopped and watched the mother with the pram. She was so thin and bent, she looked like an old woman. But the bone structure was there, all too visible, and in a former life when food was plentiful and clothes were pretty, she must have been a good-looking young woman.

Having already stuffed his pistol into his belt, he had his hands in his trouser pockets. When she approached him, he leant over the pram to look at the child, though there was nothing he could do to help. The baby was still smothered in its blankets. ‘I think you must give him a little air, dear lady,’ he said. He smiled at her, then gently pulled back the dirt and grease-stained blankets.

‘Oh,’ he said. It was more an exhalation than an exclamation. It seemed the air had gone from his body. There was indeed a baby there, but it was a desiccated, mummified thing, a tiny scrap of leathery skin. It must have been dead for weeks. He looked back at the woman and saw hope in her eyes.

‘Can you help us, sir? Please say you are doctor.’

He took her arm and began pushing the pram with her. ‘Come, lady, let us see where we can find you some help. The British soldiers have doctors and nurses. What is your name, please?’

‘He is called Jürgen, he is so sweet.’

‘Your baby?’

‘Of course.’

‘And your name, lady?’

‘Oh that’s not important.’