Müller looked back down the hillside, beyond the little shack-like cottage, to the inn and the tram stop. The tram – after no doubt stopping at most of the stops en route – had only now caught up with them and reached its terminus. Two figures emerged. One from the driver’s cab – the other from the rear of the two passenger cars. It was the same hooded figure they’d seen when they’d set off, but Müller still couldn’t get a good look at the man’s face. She saw, however, that he was following the exact same route they had, to the Rolf’s rather grandly titled cottage ‘annexe’.

She pulled Tilsner back into the cover of the trees. As she did so, two more figures emerged – from the Lada parked further along the road. Perhaps the men she’d assumed were Stasi agents hadn’t been following Müller and her deputy after all. Perhaps they were more concerned with this new arrival. What everyone appeared to have an interest in was the whereabouts of Lotti Rolf. But she, along with the footprints – hers or not – had simply disappeared.

‘Who’s who, do you think?’ whispered Tilsner, perhaps conscious that in a quiet valley like this one, echoes of their voices could travel far if they weren’t careful.

‘I don’t know,’ said Müller. ‘But I get the impression they’re not working together.’

Suddenly, from above them, Müller heard a crack of wood and a muffled cry that almost sounded like a baby.

‘There’s someone further up,’ hissed Tilsner.

Müller felt her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Had they finally found Lotti? And if so, was she the answer to this strange case? The three men below them clearly hadn’t heard anything awry – Tram Man had now almost reached the cottage, while the two from the Lada were hanging back, as though unsure whether or not to confront him.

Tilsner began to climb towards the source of the noise, with Müller following.

Then more rustling, another cry, and in her peripheral vision Müller saw something running off through the undergrowth. But it didn’t look human.

‘False alarm,’ said Tilsner. ‘Foxes getting into a fight.’

Müller sighed. ‘But they didn’t make those footprints leading from the cottage.’

‘No. But the prints have disappeared. I don’t think we’re going to have any more luck up here. We’d be better off getting back to that cottage and catching our mysterious Tram Man red-handed, and seeing what he has to say for himself.’