They ploughed through the files for a couple of hours, taking a note of any entries that bore a remote similarity to the victim. They found middle-aged men without blue eyes, middle-aged men with blue eyes, but who were very obviously the wrong height and weight. Even a couple of entries that matched eye colour, hair colour, height and weight – but then the reference to chest scarring and gold dental work was missing.

Nevertheless, they took a note of those two entries with a view to following them up.

Their thankless task was interrupted by Schmidt, returning from his search for forensic evidence.

‘Anything to report, Jonas?’ asked Müller.

‘A few bits and bobs which may prove interesting that I recovered from the bin, Comrade Hauptmann. Of course, they may not be in any way relevant.’

‘Well come on then, Mr Esteemed Forensic Scientist,’ said Tilsner. ‘Don’t keep us in suspense.’

‘All right, so first these.’ Schmidt brandished a transparent plastic evidence bag, containing a pair of large-framed, wire-rimmed spectacles. They were considerably the worse for wear. It didn’t look like they’d just been dropped on a hard floor. The way the glass was shattered and frames mangled, it appeared as though someone had ground them into that floor so that they would never be of any use again.

‘Hmm,’ mused Müller, turning the package in her hands. ‘They certainly look similar to the ones Petra Abt described. We’ll have to ask her. Do you think there’s any chance of lifting any fingerprints from them, Jonas?’

‘From the lenses, where you’d get the best result if they hadn’t been cleaned recently, no. They’re too badly damaged. From one or other of the temple tips, possibly, but it’s likely to only be a partial, Comrade Hauptmann.’

‘Temple tips?’ asked Tilsner.

Schmidt pointed to a section of the bag. ‘These bits. The plastic covered ends that fit over the ears – that’s their technical name. But they’re not wide enough to get a full print from. And people don’t tend to clean those bits very often, so you’ll have print on top of print, on top of hair grease . . .’

‘Lovely, Jonas,’ said Müller. ‘We get the picture. See what you can do, anyway. Anything else?’

‘This purse. That was interesting.’

‘Why?’

‘Well it’s still got money in it. Nearly a hundred marks, in fact. Who throws a perfectly good purse with a hundred marks in, into a bin?’

No one with any sense, thought Müller.

‘Any identification in the purse?’

‘No, nothing. There were two things of interest, though.’

Tilsner gave a long sigh. ‘Don’t drag things out, speccy boy. Just get to the point.’

Müller watched Schmidt’s face colour up. She ought to admonish Tilsner for the slight, but she too rather wished Schmidt would give them everything at once.

‘Well, there’s a train ticket from Pirna to Dresden.’