She shrugged. ‘I have to say, you are going to a great deal of trouble to find one SS officer among thousands. Why is he so important to you that you bring a small army here?’

‘We take every potential war criminal seriously. Let me ask another question pertaining to your son. Have you heard of a Frenchwoman named Lilly Marais?’

Frau Boden stiffened. Her cup was halfway to her lips, and stopped. She put the cup down. ‘Who?’

‘Lilly Marais. A French refugee, at present living in the Apfelwald displaced persons camp near Garmisch. She’s a friend of your son. A very good friend, I suspect.’

‘The name means nothing. This is preposterous.’

Wilde’s eyes locked with the German woman’s and he saw something other than pure loathing. A sliver of anxiety, perhaps. The name of Lilly Marais most certainly meant something to her. Wilde rose to his feet. ‘Would you please leave us now, Frau Boden. I wish to speak alone with your maid.’

‘No, I won’t allow that.’

‘I’m afraid you have no option. Perhaps you would escort Frau Boden to her bedchamber, Lieutenant Heck. And make sure she stays there until I am finished.’

‘I’d be happy to, Professor.’

‘Professor? You call this man “professor”? Of what are you a professor, Herr Wilde? Uncivil behaviour, perhaps.’

Wilde didn’t bother to reply. ‘Get her out of here, Lieutenant.’ As the Dutchman pulled the lady of the house from the room, Wilde wondered what it was about her that engendered such feelings of hostility in him. Perhaps it was her total lack of remorse. Or was it simply that somehow she fulfilled the Nazi stereotype of idealised womanhood – an image Wilde had always found profoundly loathsome? With such a mother, how could Julius Boden have been anything else but an SS officer?

Ingrid, the maid, was clearly in thrall to her mistress. Wilde went to her in the kitchen where she was busy tidying up the mess the soldiers had made in searching the house.

‘What is your name?’

She bowed her head nervously. ‘Zinke, Ingrid, sir.’

‘Sit down at the table, Ingrid.’ She did as ordered, and folded her large hands in her lap. She was a plump, ungainly young woman with a pleasant though slightly bovine face. Wilde estimated her age at about nineteen. ‘Well now, Ingrid, you realise that we are looking for Frau Boden’s son, Julius. When did you last see him?’

‘I don’t understand the question.’

Wilde pulled out a chair and sat at the table looking directly at her. A black and white cat snaked past his legs. ‘How long have you been employed by Frau Boden?’

‘Two years and two months.’

‘So I presume you have met Standartenführer Boden quite a few times?’

The maid’s glance drifted towards the area of the house where her mistress had disappeared.

‘Answer the question.’

She nodded uncertainly.