The receptionist took him up in an elevator and along a corridor to an open door leading into a small office. The young man at the desk did not at first look up from the papers in front of him. Observing him, Macke guessed he was about twenty-two years old. Why was he not with a front-line unit, bombing England? The father had probably pulled strings, Macke thought resentfully. Werner looked like a son of privilege: tailored uniform, gold rings, and over-long hair that was distinctly unmilitary. Macke despised him already.

Werner wrote a note with a pencil then looked up. The amiable expression on his face died quickly when he saw the SS uniform, and Macke noted with interest a flash of fear. The boy immediately tried to cover up with a show of bonhomie, standing up deferentially and smiling a welcome, but Macke was not fooled.

‘Good afternoon, Inspector,’ said Werner. ‘Please be seated.’

‘Heil Hitler,’ said Macke.

‘Heil Hitler. How can I help you?’

‘Sit down and shut up, you foolish boy,’ Macke spat.

Werner struggled to hide his fear. ‘My goodness, what can I have done to incur such wrath?’

‘Don’t presume to question me. Speak when you’re spoken to.’

‘As you wish.’

‘From this moment on you will ask no further questions about your brother Axel.’

Macke was surprised to see a momentary look of relief pass over Werner’s face. That was puzzling. Had he been afraid of something else, something more frightening than the simple order to stop asking questions about his brother? Could Werner be involved in other subversive activities?

Probably not, Macke thought on reflection. Most likely Werner was relieved he was not being arrested and taken to the basement in Prinz Albrecht Strasse.

Werner was not yet completely cowed. He summoned the nerve to say: ‘Why should I not ask how my brother died?’

‘I told you not to question me. Be aware that you are being treated gently only because your father has been a valued friend of the Nazi party. Were it not for that, you would be in my office.’ That was a threat everyone understood.

‘I’m grateful for your forbearance,’ Werner said, struggling to retain a shred of dignity. ‘But I want to know who killed my brother, and why.’

‘You will learn no more, regardless of what you do. But any further inquiries will be regarded as treason.’

‘I hardly need to make further inquiries, after this visit from you. It is now clear that my worst suspicions were right.’

‘I require you to drop your seditious campaign immediately.’

Werner stared defiantly back but said nothing.

Macke said: ‘If you do not, General Dorn will be informed that there are questions about your loyalty.’ Werner could be in no doubt about what that meant. He would lose his cosy job here in Berlin and be dispatched to a barracks on an airstrip in northern France.

Werner looked less defiant, more thoughtful.

Macke stood up. He had spent enough time here. ‘Apparently General Dorn finds you a capable and intelligent assistant,’ he said. ‘If you do the right thing, you may continue in that role.’ He left the room.