The two women settled themselves in slightly threadbare armchairs at ninety degrees to each other. Frau Rolf perched on the edge of hers, hands clasped together as though to stop them shaking. The woman was a bag of nerves. The question was, why? Perhaps it was simply an unannounced visit from the police that had rattled her.

‘So do you have any idea where Lotti could be?’

‘Well . . . she’d started seeing that Englishman – the one at the university.’

‘Dr Southwick?’

‘That’s the one. They were pen pals since the 1930s. Lotti was besotted with him as a girl – his family stayed here just before the war broke out. This was a much more popular area for tourists then. We were doing well as a hotel in those days.’ The woman looked wistful for a moment, then covered her mouth with her hand, as though realising what she’d just implied. ‘Of course I’m not saying it was better under Hitler. I hope you don’t think that’s what I meant.’

‘I’m not here to judge, Frau Rolf.’ She could hear Tilsner banging about on the floor above – and wondered if he’d found anything.

The woman was clearly thinking the same thing. ‘He won’t make a mess, will he? It’s difficult to keep it all ship-shape on my own.’

‘Oberleutnant Tilsner always does things in a very professional manner, Frau Rolf,’ replied Müller. She wished what she claimed always held true. ‘So other than trying Dr Southwick’s digs in Dresden –’ Müller didn’t mention that the man was either dead, having been buried in concrete, or that he’d returned to the UK – ‘have you any suggestions where Lotti could be? Do you or her own or rent any other property?’

The woman creased her already leathered, wizened brow. ‘No . . . well other than the annexe, but that’s not been used for years. It’s hardly habitable.’

‘The annexe?’

‘It’s a little cottage – well, not much more than a wooden hut, really – in the Kirnitzsch valley. Near the waterfall.’

‘And how do we get there?’

‘Oh, it’s easy enough. There’s a tram.’ The woman had suddenly brightened up, as though she was in her element, pointing out Bad Schandau’s attractions to a visitor – something she’d obviously done for most of her life. She moved swiftly over to the window and pulled back the net curtain, beckoning Müller to look.