‘What you both got up to in the war.’

‘Be that as it may, I don’t have as much to lose as he does. You’ve already threatened to expose him in the western press once.’

Müller narrowed her eyes at her deputy. She didn’t really want to discuss all that in front of Schmidt. ‘So what are you saying?’

‘Confront Jäger face to face. Call his bluff on this Bodo Achterberg – perhaps use what you know about Jäger’s activities in the war to try to find out what’s really going on. Otherwise we’re going to be dancing like puppets on strings for the rest of this investigation.’

The trouble is, thought Müller, we’re always dancing like puppets on strings.

She just wasn’t sure if, this time, Jäger was really the puppet master – or if it was someone higher up the chain. If Jäger himself was having to dance to someone else’s tune, and was as frustrated as they were, then it might offer them the glimmer of an opening.

*

As Tilsner was driving along Leningrader Straße on the way back to the People’s Police HQ, a call came through on the radio.

‘There’s a fatality at the TV tower. The colonel has asked that your team attend on behalf of the K, please, Comrade Müller.’

‘This is Hauptmann Müller here. Message received. We’re on our way.’ She didn’t want to admit that neither she nor Tilsner knew the way to the TV tower, even though it could be seen looming over the city from plenty of vantage points. Western TV might be difficult or impossible to receive in Dresden’s valley environment, but the Republic had made sure its own signal would come through strong and clear – positioning the tower on a plateau high above the Elbe.

‘Jonas?’ asked Tilsner. ‘Are you going to provide directions?’

‘Of course, Comrade Oberleutnant. You can stay on this road, cross the Elbe, and then head along Bautzner Straße as though you were going to Stasi headquarters. After a few kilometres we need to bear right, but I’ll let you know when we get to the turning.’

*

Once they’d taken the right-hand fork, Müller realised they were entering a more exclusive part of Dresden – one that didn’t look to have been as badly damaged by the bombing.

‘Some very nice houses here,’ said Tilsner, as though he was echoing her thoughts. ‘Probably where the local party bigwigs live.’

‘This is Loschwitz,’ said Schmidt. ‘And historically it has been more exclusive.’ He pointed to the left. ‘Up the hillside there, behind Loschwitz, is the Weißer Hirsch. That is indeed where bigwigs used to live – Nazi bigwigs, before and during the war. It was virtually undamaged during the bombings in 1945 – so most of the city’s important Nazis escaped. One of the ironies of war, I suppose.’