‘This is a little puzzling. I went up the chain as far as Normannenstraße. There are no agents of that name anywhere in the organisation.’

Jäger cleared his throat. ‘In any case, to me that sounds more like a Swiss-German or Austrian name.’ He turned to Müller. ‘Are you sure you got it right, Karin?’

‘Of course. He showed me his Ministry for State Security ID.’

Jäger shrugged. ‘No doubt we’ll get to the bottom of it eventually. Now I’m glad you two have come in for this meeting, because we do actually have some new evidence on our side.’ He handed each of the detectives a sheet. On it was a list of printed numbers – one to thirty-two – each with a handwritten code alongside. The code letters corresponded to a printed key, while the numbers obviously referred to a diagram in the top left corner of the sheet. Müller had seen this sort of thing plenty of times before – as, no doubt, had Tilsner.

‘As you can see,’ continued Jäger, ‘it’s a set of dental records.’ Then he lent back in the armchair, and folded his arms across his stomach. ‘A perfect match for our Concrete Man.’

‘Southwick, presumably?’ said Tilsner.

Jäger shook his head. ‘No. Someone entirely different. A middle-aged man – yes – but he lives . . . well, lived . . . in Gorbitz. There is no connection to this Southwick, or indeed this Lotti Rolf who everyone seems obsessed with.’

Müller took a long gulp of coffee to try to compose her thoughts. She was immediately suspicious. Jäger suddenly appears on the scene – and as if by magic he instantly removes one of the stumbling blocks to progressing the inquiry: the identity of the victim. ‘How did you come by these records and the victim’s identity?’

This time Bahlow answered. ‘One of his neighbours reported him missing. Perhaps they’d seen all the police activity and put two and two together.’

Müller heard Tilsner sigh. He sounded as dubious as she was. ‘So does this mean you’re taking over the case?’ he asked.

Bahlow shook his head. ‘No. Nothing for us here, really. Here’s the man’s name and address.’ He handed a typewritten note to Müller. ‘I’m sure you two are perfectly capable of wrapping up the formalities. But I suspect there wasn’t any foul play, or if there was, it was some sort of drunken fight.’

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Müller.

‘He was probably the best customer of Zum grüner Heinrich. Their takings will be down.’

‘What is Zum grüner Heinrich?’ asked Müller.

‘It’s the new pub they’ve built in Gorbitz – in the Platz der Bauarbeiter. Near where the tramline will run and one of the new stations will be, once that’s all sorted. It’s just behind Leutewitzer Ring, where the man lived, and near where the body was found.’