‘Whatever floats your boat. Anyway, we’ll agree that – until our little fall from grace on the frozen Ostsee – you had the ability to wrap him round your little finger. So now’s the time to use your charm. We might still be in disgrace, but he won’t like the fact that we’re being played for fools by the Stasi. Get him to pull us off the case. Bring us back to Keibelstraße. I’d rather be pushing files, or pens, or even licking Reiniger’s arse than spending any more time in this godforsaken shithole.’

Müller laughed. Tilsner had a way of bringing things down to their most basic level. ‘I don’t think that’s any way to talk about the Florence of the Elbe, do you?’

‘I don’t give a flying fuck about the Florence of the Elbe, or the Florence of anywhere come to that. I just want to be off this case and back in Berlin where we belong.’

Chapter 35

35

Müller had almost dozed off when the jangle of the phone jolted her awake. Tilsner was slumped in the armchair, still pretending to be asleep, so she answered it.

‘Zum grüner Heinrich. Thirty minutes time. Be there.’

The caller immediately rang off, just as Müller was about to ask who it was.

She kicked Tilsner awake. ‘Get up. We’ve got to go up to Gorbitz.’

‘Who says?’ he groaned, shielding his eyes from the main light Müller had switched on.

‘Anonymous tip-off.’

‘Oh, great. Another wild goose chase, then.’ Despite his grumbling, he started getting into his boots. ‘Did you recognise who it was?’

‘The voice was muffled, as though the caller was holding a handkerchief or similar over the mouthpiece. But if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say Bahlow.’

‘That’s all we need. I’m dog tired. And not really in the mood to play the Stasi’s games anymore.’

*

When they reached the Platz der Bauarbeiter and parked the car, they decided to wait outside Zum grüner Heinrich, rather than inside. That way, they could keep their anorak hoods tightly drawn, with less chance of being identified other than by the anonymous caller, who – having known the private number for their police apartment – would almost certainly recognise them. They’d both already taken the precaution of drawing their Makarovs from their holsters. Müller’s hand gripped hers in her anorak pocket.

A bearded man in darkened glasses walked by – a ridiculous piece of apparel for a winter’s night in February – but at first they deliberately paid him no heed. He drew close and hissed ‘Follow me, but stay back!’ without actually turning his head or greeting them, and it was then they knew, from his tone of voice, that it was Bahlow.