When the morning doctor’s round came, Müller was told they wanted to keep her in for another twenty-four hours for checks. Instead, she asked for the strongest painkillers possible and discharged herself. Then she wrapped herself up warmly in her still-bloodied police overcoat and took the short tram ride back to Dresden’s police headquarters.

Tilsner’s look when he saw her was more one of anger than surprise.

‘I thought they wanted to keep you in longer for observation?’

‘They did. But I feel fine,’ she lied, trying to ignore the headache that still pounded despite the drugs to alleviate it. ‘I discharged myself. How’s everything going? Did Jonas manage to turn up anything?’

‘He’s got a match to some prints.’

‘Really? Whose?’

Tilsner pulled her aside so they were out of earshot of any other officers, then whispered in her ear. ‘You’re not going to like it. Bahlow’s.’

‘The major from the MfS?’

‘The very same. He’s got a police record from way back, when he was a teenager.’

‘Have we pulled him in yet?’

Tilsner snorted in disgust. ‘What do you think? Half of the Stasi’s agents probably have criminal records. A housebreaker would have exactly the sort of expertise they need.’

‘So what do you suggest we do about it?’

‘Nothing. It’s useful knowledge to have, but that’s about it. You didn’t get a positive ID on him, did you? I doubt he’s involved in whacking you over the head, either. If they wanted you off the case, they’d just insist on it with Oberst Reiniger back in Berlin, or with the Kriminalpolizei bosses here in Dresden. I’ll have a quiet word with him and try to find out what’s going on. In the meantime, I’ve uncovered something more interesting.’

‘What?’

‘We think we may be looking for a foreigner, don’t we?’

‘If what Petra Abt says she heard amounts to a row of beans – and if she was correct.’

Tilsner pointed to one of the plastic evidence bags on his desk. ‘Letters to and from England. Dating back to the 1930s. It seems as though she was pen pals, perhaps more, with an English boy she met when he came over here on holiday. Although not all the letters were sent – some just seem to serve as a sort of diary. And the ones from England stopped when the war began. There was no direct mail between Germany and Britain during the war, although people sometimes got round it by using intermediaries in places like Switzerland. And it seems they rekindled the friendship more recently.’

‘Do we have a name?’