‘He could easily be out of range, Comrade Hauptmann. The handheld radios are by no means a perfect system . . . yet.’

Müller nodded. In any case, Tilsner was a big boy. He knew how to look after himself. Or he ought to.

They retraced their steps to where the path had split in two.

Müller had half-expected to see her deputy waiting there for them. But there was no sign of him, and no one walking back towards the passenger ferry. No one visible, either, on the path towards Tolkewitz.

Schmidt was by now sounding out of breath, their walking amounting to more exercise in the space of less than an hour than he usually managed in a week. ‘Do you want to stay here, Jonas, while I check that way?’

‘No, no, Comrade Hauptmann. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you – I’ll come with you.’

‘Nothing’s going to happen, Jonas. Werner will no doubt have found a bar and will be taking a rest. But thank you, anyway.’

It was only about a hundred metres down that track before they saw two sets of footprints in the snow to the left, leading towards the drainage ditch. But still no sign of anyone in the flesh. Müller didn’t want to shout out in case Tilsner had managed to locate Lotti and was perhaps observing her from a hideout – trying to find out what she was up to.

She soon realised that wasn’t what was happening. As they approached the ditch, Müller saw a shape slumped in the snow, just beginning to stir.

‘Werner! Are you OK?’

He was gingerly rubbing the back of his head.

‘There are . . .’ His words tailed off as he tried to stretch, and then grimaced from the pain. ‘God. My head. There are too many people getting whacked over the head in this case for my liking. And I didn’t really want to be one of them.’

Müller and Schmidt got each side of him, then carefully helped him to his feet.

He gently traced what was obviously an emerging bump on the rear of his skull.

‘Who did it?’ asked Müller.

‘Annoyingly, I’ve no fucking idea. I’d just found Lotti, challenged her, and then . . . whack! Someone got me good and proper.’

Schmidt started holding his fingers up in front of Tilsner’s face, asking him to count them.

‘Go away, Jonas. Your breath stinks of sausage as usual.’

‘Well, you certainly sound like your usual rude self, Comrade Oberleutnant.’

‘I am. I’ll recover. Both of you, come and look at this. This is what I saw first, and then discovered Lotti . . . and then saw stars.’