‘It’s not you I’m interested in,’ said Müller. ‘It’s one of your passengers from Monday evening.’

‘Oh yes,’ he said, cautiously, beginning to drive off.

‘Can you remember who you picked up around 5 p.m. – a couple of minutes before, actually – on Monday?’

Even though Müller hadn’t asked him to, the man balanced a timetable on his lap, and leafed through it to the relevant page, while steering the bus with his knees.

‘Make sure you drive safely,’ she warned.

‘Of course, officer.’ He put one hand back on the wheel, while using the thumb of his other hand to turn the pages. ‘Ah, there we are. Well, it should have been from the stop you got on at or the next one, according to this. I’m trying to remember.’

‘A woman, middle-age to late middle-age.’

‘Ah yes!’ he suddenly exclaimed. ‘It was Lotti. I can picture her face now, poor thing. She got on at the same stop as you, right enough. She lives in the block that overlooks the park. I can tell you because I live in Sonnenstein too.’ He suddenly sounded slightly worried. ‘It’s not that I’ve been checking up on her or anything, but she’s fairly well known round here.’

‘Why?’ asked Müller.

‘Her face. Half of it is terribly disfigured. She’s from Dresden originally. Survived the firestorm, but her face . . . well, it didn’t fare too well.’

‘Surname?’ asked Müller curtly.

‘Sorry, no idea.’

‘OK,’ Müller said. ‘Stop the bus.’

‘Stop the bus? Why?’

‘Just do it! And thanks,’ she shouted behind her, as she jumped out.

*

Müller knew there was no time like the present in murder inquiries. Trails quickly ran cold. At the back of her mind she was still thinking this was too easy. There was no firm link to the victim. No firm link even to the argument witnessed by Petra Abt – which may or may not have had something to do with the victim’s murder. And above all, the path she was following was like that of a bird picking up a carefully laid trail of seeds or berries. Had it all just fallen into place naturally? Unlikely. This was almost certainly something she was meant to follow – tasty morsels offered up, no doubt, by Bahlow or one of his sidekicks, designed to steer her in a particular direction. As likely as not, away from the truth rather than towards it.