But, as the day wore on, he kept returning to the same thought. Was it really so crazy? Wilde wouldn’t approve, of course, but it had to be better than this. He would force the issue. He’d make one of the Nazi-loving bastards talk.

*

‘But I thought he didn’t have any film. How did he get these pictures?’

Angie Gray smiled at Wilde’s bewilderment. ‘You’d be amazed what you can get here, Professor. I think I told you this camp was turning into a little town, and so it is. There’s a flourishing marketplace and all sorts of industry going on. Some of the refugees have started a newspaper, there’s a makeshift restaurant with kosher specialities – thanks largely to the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee – and then there’s the theatre and the band. Anyway, I heard that a camera club had started. They sold me a roll of film at a fair price and then developed it in their little darkroom – a corner of their blockhouse.’

Wilde studied the small black and white photographs of the man with Lilly Marais, comparing it with the picture he had taken from the Boden house in Schwarzenkirche. Even though the man in Jerzy’s pictures was wearing a heavy overcoat and had a hat pulled down over his brow, it was quite clearly Julius Boden.

Jerzy was looking on, beside himself with excitement. ‘Is OK, boss?’

‘It’s good, Jerzy. You’re a fine photographer. Did you hear anything they said?’

‘Sorry, boss, wasn’t close enough. The woman, she want go with him but he shake his head and push her away. Made her stay. I think he come back for her. Maybe tonight after dark.’

Wilde had the same thought. But in the meantime, he needed to get a message to Heck, to bring him up to date. The problem was the wireless operator at Garmsich said he had lost contact. Nor could he go up the mountain to Heck at the moment, because he had to stay here and wait for darkness.

‘You’re right, Jerzy. Great work. Get out there and watch her. Run in as soon as you see the man.’

The boy saluted – the way he had seen the GIs salute – and disappeared.

‘Are you going to seize him at gunpoint?’ Angie asked when they were alone in her office.

‘That was my initial thought. But I doubt he’d say a word. I’d rather follow him. He’s not the target, just the means to an end.’

‘Well, be careful – please.’

Wilde nodded. He had a very good idea of the sort of people they were dealing with; the mutilated body of August Jaeger in a mountain chapel and the corpse of the maidservant Ingrid Zinke in a red van had made that clear enough.