‘As lifelike as possible. From a quick glance at these, would you say he had good teeth?’

‘I’d say reasonable for his age. The gold replacement tooth is a sign that – at some stage – he’s spent some money on his dentistry, and from what I can see, there would be no obvious signs of teeth missing – that sort of thing. Plenty of people of his age would have at least one false tooth. Other than the gold one, there’s no sign of that.’

‘That’s useful to know,’ said Müller. Through the windscreen, she could see Tilsner stamping his feet in front of the car, showing signs of impatience. ‘Anyway, if you can do your best with an artist’s impression. We’ll be back soon.’ She tossed him the ignition keys. ‘If it gets too cold, start the engine.’

*

Everyone seemed to know Bodo Achterberg – or at least know who he was. It became clear to Müller he was considered a bit of a local ‘character’ – principally because of his ability to sink prodigious quantities of alcohol. On its own, that wasn’t that unusual in the Republic. But Achterberg had a reputation for turning violent when too drunk.

‘He was a sad case, to be honest,’ said one woman who lived on the same floor in the same block. ‘There have been times my husband’s found him when he was too sloshed to even manage to get the key in his own front door. At times like that, he’d always bang on about some “lost love” of his. I can’t imagine that was recently. But maybe when he was younger he wasn’t such a mess.’

‘And you say he regularly got into fights?’ asked Müller.

‘That’s what my husband reckons. And it looked like that from the state of his face, to be honest. Broken nose, plenty of scars.’

‘What about his teeth?’

‘His teeth? I can’t say I ever got close enough to see – he certainly had terrible bad breath, I can vouch for that. But if you want to know any more, you’d be better off at Zum grüner Heinrich. That’s where you’ll find all his drinking buddies.’

*

Müller returned to the Wartburg to catch up with Schmidt, and retrieve his now-completed dental sketch.

She wasn’t sure what the ‘Green Henry’ in the name of the pub referred to. From her police college days, she had a vague memory of a police truck for transporting prisoners that had the nickname – but if so, it seemed odd to then bestow the name on a bar-restaurant.

Like everything else in Gorbitz, Zum grüner Heinrich was brand new – a shining example of the Republic’s efforts to improve the lot of its citizens. But to Müller, its square lines and modernist architecture gave it a slightly soulless feel.