If she and Tilsner knew what they were dealing with in Bahlow, the man sitting in front of them – with his slightly unfashionable sandy shoulder-length hair – was altogether harder to read. He was the man who Bahlow could easily have modelled himself on – Müller’s old sometime nemesis, sometime collaborator, Klaus Jäger. Now reduced in rank to the level at which Müller had first encountered him: an Oberstleutnant, or lieutenant colonel.

As Müller and Tilsner entered, both Stasi men got to their feet and smiled. They could almost be an idealised Republic father and son, standing as they were under a portrait of Erich Honecker, and with a bust of that other communist stalwart Felix Dzerzhinsky on Bahlow’s desk. Iron Felix was the former head of the Soviet secret service, the Cheka, on which the Stasi modelled itself.

‘Karin, Werner,’ said Jäger, extending his hand across the desk above the miniature white head of Dzerzhinsky. ‘Good to see you again.’ Müller took his hand and shook it, but she didn’t echo his greeting of pleasure, and she wasn’t very sure it was sincere in any case. Instead, she stuck to formalities.

‘Comrade Oberstleutnant. What are you doing in these parts?’

‘Ah. I thought your bosses at Dresden People’s Police headquarters would have told you. I’ve been asked to take an overview of the case you and Major Bahlow here are working on. But I promise I won’t be interfering.’ Jäger said this last sentence with a thin grin plastered to his face. Both he and Müller knew it wasn’t true.

‘Now,’ said Bahlow, ‘what was it you wanted to see us about? I believe you have some new evidence?’

Müller tried not to look shamefaced. In fact, they had very little evidence at all. But they did have some new information.

‘Not evidence, as such. More of a question, actually.’

‘All right,’ said Bahlow, pleasantly. ‘Go on.’

‘What was one of your men doing at the Rolfs’ bed and breakfast annexe near Bad Schandau a few hours ago?’

Bahlow looked genuinely puzzled. ‘I’m not aware of that. Did you get a name?’

‘Hauptmann Gustav Weiß.’

Bahlow’s frown deepened. ‘The name doesn’t ring a bell. Are you sure it was the Dresden department he worked for? Which section? Was that his real name or code name? Presumably his real name if he used his title.’

Now it was Müller’s turn to frown. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t get any of that.’

‘No matter. Why don’t you two sit with Klaus over there on the armchairs? I’ll order us up some coffee, and make a few calls to try to find out what this Weiß bloke was up to, and who he works for.’

*

By the time the coffee arrived, Bahlow had got his answer.