She climbed back up the gentle slope that was the Varkausring, hoping her boots would keep their grip on the pavement. Then she turned left into Straße der Jugend – aiming for the block the bus driver had pointed out. Of course, she had no idea of the woman’s full name but what she saw now on the ground floor of the block, in the far corner, gave her hope. A pharmacist’s that still seemed to be open. It sounded as though this Lotti was well-known around here. Surely the local pharmacy would have her details? If, as the bus driver insisted, her face had been badly burned in the 1945 terror bombing, they would at least recognise her – perhaps even provide her with salves and medicines for the old burns.

Müller hunched further into her coat, and pulled the hat completely down over her ears. The gentle fall of snow had become more insistent, accompanied by a driving wind now. Almost blizzard conditions. If it kept up like this, she might struggle to get back to Dresden tonight – the trains and buses might stop running.

In the pharmacy, the pharmacist started muttering about patient confidentiality trumping everything, and that he couldn’t possibly reveal the address or full name of the woman known as Lotti.

Müller decided to up the ante. Sometimes it was the only way. In front of his shocked assistants, Müller raised her voice.

‘Herr Oppenheimer. I can assure you that you absolutely are required to give me the information I request. This is a murder inquiry . . .’ Müller paused for a moment, savouring the gasps of the assistants. ‘Should you refuse to co-operate with the police, I will not hesitate to arrest you immediately, take you to the district People’s Police offices in Pirna, and lock you in a cell where you can contemplate the error of your ways. If I were to do that, your career as a pharmacist would be as good as over. It’s your choice, but I know what I’d do.’

That did the trick. The man went white in the face, and then started leafing through various papers.

‘You should have said it was a murder inquiry straight away,’ he protested.

‘You should have co-operated with the People’s Police straight away,’ countered Müller.

After a few minutes shuffling through a pile of papers, he found what he was looking for, and handed it to her.

‘This is her latest prescription. Her address is on there.’

Müller noted it down.

‘It’s in this block,’ continued the man, now figuratively bending over backwards to be helpful. ‘Go in the main entrance, climb the steps to the third floor, then turn right along the corridor. It’s the fifth or so apartment on the left.’

*