‘He can’t get up, he’s too weak.’

‘What are your names?’ asked Tilsner.

‘I’m . . . I’m . . .’ The woman hesitated, as though wondering whether or not to construct a lie. Then any defiance, any hesitance seemed to disappear from her voice. ‘I’m Lotti Rolf. This man is—’

‘I’m . . . Arnold—’

‘Shut up!’ cried the woman.

‘It’s too late now, Lotti,’ the prostrate man croaked. The woman sobbed. ‘I’m Arnold Southwick. A research fellow—’

‘It’s all right,’ said Müller. ‘We know who you both are. We know what you do – or did.’

Tilsner moved next to Rolf, and handcuffed her arms in front of her. Müller knelt next to Southwick. ‘Can you stand, or do you need help?’

The man shuffled himself into a sitting position, tried to get higher, then his legs gave way and he slumped back with a cry of pain. ‘Help me with him,’ she said to Tilsner. Her deputy moved over and roughly pulled the man to his feet. Once he was standing, Müller realised his leg was injured. It stank as though it had already turned septic, or – even worse – gangrenous.

As they tried to move him, both supporting a shoulder, Rolf saw her chance.

Müller watched almost in slow motion as the woman made a run for the stairwell. Tilsner loosened his hold on the man for a second, and raised his gun.

‘Stop right there, Lotti! I won’t hesitate to shoot.’

The woman stopped and turned round. ‘Go on then,’ she shouted. ‘Open fire. I’ve a death sentence over my head anyway.’ She started to turn back to the stairwell.

Tilsner slid the safety catch on the Makarov.

‘Please, Lotti,’ said Southwick, as loudly as his feeble voice would allow. ‘I’m begging you, don’t let them do this. Don’t let it end like this.’

The woman stood stock still for a second, then slumped to the floor – like a marionette whose strings had suddenly been cut. As though she’d finally accepted everything was over.

Chapter 36

36

LOTTI

Dresden

August 1981

I didn’t think that kiss on the doorstep of my apartment would lead to anything, but it’s important to let people know how you feel. At least I’d let Arnie know what I wanted. At the time, he pulled back, embarrassed. He’s married, after all. He’d told me that, but I still felt this connection that I’d felt when we were teenagers – well, he wasn’t quite a teenager then. Of course, I’ve never married because I’ve never found the right man. That’s just the luck of the draw, isn’t it? But I’d be horrified if any husband of mine started kissing an old girlfriend – what is it they say? New flames burn brighter, but old flames burn longer. That’s it.