Müller turned in her seat. ‘How do you know all this, Jonas? Do you spend all your time studying history books?’

‘Not all my time, Comrade Hauptmann. But when we’re on assignment like now, away from the Hauptstadt and our families, it keeps me out of trouble.’

‘Ha!’ guffawed Tilsner, slapping the steering wheel. ‘I shouldn’t think you’ve ever been in any proper trouble in your life, Jonas. It’s just not your style.’

They drove on through Loschwitz, following the line of the Elbe, with Schmidt pointing out the sights, such as the historic cliff monorail, the Schwebebahn. Müller made a mental note that if she brought the children to Dresden one weekend to see where she worked, she would have to take them up it. Schmidt insisted the view over Dresden from the top was unparalleled – with the exception of their final destination, the TV tower, and its own observation platform and restaurant.

The final few hundred metres to the TV tower itself saw them winding up the Wachwitzer Bergstraße until finally they reached the top and the grey concrete TV tower – a miniature version of the Hauptstadt’s iconic landmark – came into view. The flashing blue lights of police cars and ambulances told them where the incident had occurred – directly at the bottom of the TV tower itself.

Once they’d parked the car and made their way past the onlookers and gawpers and through the police tape, Müller was surprised to see Hauptmann Magnus Schriver again overseeing proceedings.

‘Do they give you all the sudden deaths?’ asked Tilsner.

Schriver rolled his eyes. ‘It certainly appears so at the moment. You lot too, it seems.’

‘So what does it look like?’ asked Müller.

Schriver beckoned them over to a tent – which presumably had been erected to keep the body out of sight from those gathered the other side of the police line. ‘It’s not pretty – so I hope you’ve got a strong stomach.’ At the entrance to the tent, the three Berlin officers were urged to put on protective shoe coverings and gloves. ‘There’s a lot of mess around, if you know what I mean,’ said Schriver.

When they got inside the tent, Müller had to shield her eyes from the flashes of the police photographer’s camera. She was glad she had, and only gradually widened her fingers to allow sight of the body itself. While largely intact, the victim looked to have landed head first – his skull had shattered like a coconut.

‘He really wanted to kill himself,’ said Schriver. ‘At least, that’s what the pathologist says. Jumped from the restaurant. Normally, there’d be signs of trying to right the body – even in a two-hundred-and-fifty-metre fall. But he seems to have been determined to make sure his skull smashed into the concrete first.’