Müller laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Vati. I’ll be a sensible girl.’

‘That’ll make a change.’

*

Pension Schönblick had certainly seen better days. It appeared to Müller as though it was still in private hands: there was no mention of it being a Free German Trade Union holiday home. But as a result, the paint on the window shutters, frames and doors was faded and peeling, and the snow hadn’t been properly cleared or swept from the entrance pathway.

Tilsner rapped hard on the door, as though to prove his manliness. At first there was no reply. Then Müller spotted a bell at the side and rang it. Still they waited with no response.

Then a flick back of one of the curtains in a first-floor window. Müller held up her ID. ‘People’s Police. Open up please,’ she shouted.

Still they had to wait, until – eventually – they heard the lock on the front door being turned, then the door slowly opened. An elderly woman, hair covered by a dirty-looking flowered headscarf, began to mumble through a gummy mouth.

‘I can’t understand what you’re saying,’ shouted Tilsner, again brandishing his ID. ‘We’re the police. Kriminalpolizei. We need to talk to you.’

The woman gave a small nod, opened the door further, and ushered them inside.

‘What can I do for you?’ she asked in a quivering, nervous voice.

‘We’re looking for Lotti Rolf,’ said Müller.

‘Why? She’s not in any trouble is she?’

‘We hope not,’ said Tilsner. ‘But we need to talk to her. Is she here?’

‘No,’ said the woman, giving a good impression of looking perplexed. ‘She doesn’t live with us anymore. She lives in Pirna. Do you want her address?’

Tilsner had moved past the woman, intent on searching the bed and breakfast hotel, warrant or not.

Müller kept her talking while her deputy went about his business. ‘That won’t be necessary, Frau . . .?’

‘Rolf. Elfriede Rolf.’

‘We already know Lotti’s address in Sonnenstein. She doesn’t seem to be there at the moment.’

‘Oh,’ said the woman. But the look on her face was not one of surprise. Müller got the feeling that the mother knew more about what was going on with her daughter than she was prepared to admit.

‘So you don’t know where she is?’

The woman shook her head, but was looking at the floor, as though she couldn’t bear to meet Müller’s eyes. ‘Would it be easier if we sat down while I ask you my questions, Frau Rolf?’

‘Of course, of course. How silly of me. Please come through to the sitting room. There are no guests here at the moment. I’ve stopped opening in the winter, ever since I lost Waldemar.’

‘Waldemar?’

‘My husband – Lotti’s father. He passed away some five years back. God rest his soul.’