Schmidt had now returned, and Müller got him to take shots from a couple of angles.

‘Thank you, Petra,’ said Müller. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’ The detective knew that wasn’t really true – but it didn’t seem as though the lack of information was really the woman’s fault.

The woman shook Müller’s hand in a curiously formal way, then turned to go back inside her apartment block. After a couple of paces, she stopped and looked back.

‘Oh. I’ve remembered one thing that might be relevant.’

‘What’s that?’ said Müller.

‘The accents. The woman sounded like she was from the Dresden area. Lots of “nee” rather than “nein” – you know, the way Dresdeners say it. The man had a strange accent, though.’

‘Not from Dresden, then?’

‘Oh, no. Absolutely not. But more than that. His German was very precise, and correct – but there was a hint of a foreign accent. I don’t think he was German at all.’

Chapter 8

8

ARNIE

Autumn 1938

That kiss, well, it literally took my breath away. I got back to the bed and breakfast with Mother and Father none the wiser that I’d even been out. All I could think of was Lotti this and Lotti that. She just seemed so knowing. I barely knew what the word sex meant, and Lotti was always egging me on, trying to get me to do things I was scared of. For the rest of the holiday there was plenty of mutual fumbling, and at one stage – at the end of the valley where the tourist tram runs in Bad Schandau – she dragged me into the woods, hoiked up her skirt, and pulled my trousers open, expecting something to happen. But I was too nervous, too ignorant, to be able to take advantage. I can still feel my face burning with shame even now. I think Mother and Father eventually got wind of what was going on, and decided to cut short the holiday. Mother was disturbed by all the Nazi goings on, and Father had failed in his bid to climb the rock penis, so they were both very grumpy – lots of shouting at each other, and me when I disappeared off with Lotti.