“All right. What did you find out?”

“Nothing. Commissar Herzefelde’s case notes were placed under an interdiction by those detectives now investigating his murder. As a result, I wasn’t able to do what I set out to do, sir.”

“And so you took out your frustration at being forbidden to look at Herzefelde’s case notes on a fellow officer.”

“It wasn’t like that at all, sir. The sergeant in question-” Melcher was shaking his head. “I told you I don’t want to hear your reasons, Gunther. There’s no excuse for hitting another officer.” He glanced Mosle’s way for a moment.

“No excuse,” echoed the DPP.

“So where are you with this case?”

“Well, sir, I think our murderer might be from Munich. Something brought him to Berlin. Something medical, perhaps. I think he’s been having treatment for venereal disease. A new treatment that’s being pioneered here in the city. Anyway, when he got here, he met Anita Schwarz. Possibly he was a client of hers. It seems that she was an occasional prostitute.”

“Nonsense,” said Melcher. “A man with a venereal disease does not usually go and have sex with a prostitute. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“With all due respect, sir, that’s how venereal disease is spread.”

“And this notion that Anita Schwarz was a whore. That’s nonsense, too. I tell you frankly, Gunther, it’s my belief, and the belief of several senior detectives around the Alex, that you’ve cooked up this whole line of inquiry just to embarrass the Schwarz family. For political reasons.”

“That’s just not true, sir.”

“Do you deny that you eluded the oversight of the political officer who was assigned to this case?”

“Arthur Nebe? No, I don’t deny it. I just didn’t think it was necessary. I was satisfied in my own mind that I wasn’t remotely biased against the Schwarz family. All I’ve ever wanted to do was catch the lunatic who killed their daughter.”

“Well, I’m not satisfied. And you’re not going to catch her murderer. I’m taking you off the case, Gunther.”

“If you’ll permit me to say so, sir, you’re making a big mistake. Only I can catch this man. If you could arrange for me to see Herzefelde’s files, sir, I’m sure I can wrap this case up in less than a week.”

“You’ve had all the time you’re going to get on this one, Gunther. I’m sorry but that’s how it is. I’m also reassigning you. I’m taking you out of the A Inspectorate.”

“Off Homicide? Why? I’m good at my job, sir.” I looked at Gennat.

“Tell him, Ernst. Don’t just sit there looking like a meat pie. You know I’m good. It was you who trained me.”

Gennat shifted awkwardly on his enormous bottom. He looked pained, as if his hemorrhoids were giving him trouble. “It’s out of my hands, Bernie,” he said. “I’m sorry. Really I am. But the decision has been made.”

“Sure, I get it. You want a quiet life, Ernst. No trouble. No politics. And by the way, is it true? That you were one of the detectives who turned up in Izzy’s office with a bottle of wine to toast Dr. Mosle here, when he got Izzy’s job?”

“It wasn’t like that, Bernie,” insisted Gennat. “I’ve known Mosle for longer than I’ve known you. He’s a good man.”

“So was Izzy.”

“That remains to be seen, I think,” said Melcher. “Not that your opinion really matters here. I’m transferring you from the A Inspectorate to J. With immediate effect.”

“J? That’s the criminal records department. It’s not even a proper inspectorate, damn it. It’s an auxiliary inspectorate.”

“The move is a temporary one,” said Melcher. “While I decide which of the other seven inspectorates can best use a man of your investigative experience. Until that happens, I want you to use that experience to suggest some ways in which the records department might be improved. By all accounts, the trouble with Records is that it has no real appreciation of how a real investigation works. It’ll be your job to put that right, Gunther. Is that clear?”

Normally I would have put up more of an argument. I might even have offered my resignation. But I was tired after the rail journey from Munich and very sore from the beating I had received. All I wanted to do was go home, have a bath and a drink, and sleep in a bed. Besides, there was still the small matter of a general election in a few days’ time, on July 31. I still held out some hope that the German people would come to its senses and make the Social Democrats the largest party in the Reichstag. After which the army would have little choice but to restore the Prussian government and throw the likes of Papen and Bracht and Melcher and Mosle out of their illegally held offices.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“That’s all, Gunther.”

“Permission to take a week’s leave of absence, sir.”

“Granted.”

I walked out slowly, with Ernst Gennat bringing up the rear. Mosle remained behind in what was, for a while, Melcher’s office.

“I’m sorry, Bernie,” said Gennat. “But there was really nothing I could do.”

“So you can talk, after all.”

Gennat smiled a small, weary smile. “I’ve been in the force for more than thirty years, Bernie. I was a commissar in 1906. One thing I’ve learned in that time is to know which battles to fight and which ones to concede. There’s no point in arguing with these bastards any more than there was a point in going up against the army. To my mind, Papen’s government is doomed one way or the other. We just have to hope and pray that the election turns out right. After which you can go back to being a homicide detective. Maybe Izzy and the rest of them as well. Although after what happened to your friend Herzefelde in Munich, I rather think he’s well out of it. Martial law will be lifted in days, I suspect. They won’t dare try to hold the elections with the army still on the streets. And the charges against Weiss and Heimannsberg will be dropped for lack of evidence. Grzesinski’s already planning a series of speeches around the city to defend his policy of nonviolence. So. Go home. Get well. Put your faith in German democracy. And pray that Hindenburg stays alive.”

I WAS WORKING LATE in my office at the Casa Rosada. It wasn’t much more than a desk and a filing cabinet and a coatrack in the corner of the larger SIDE office overlooking Irigoyen and facing the Ministry of Finance. My so-called colleagues left me quite alone, which reminded me a little of Paul Herzefelde’s desk in the detectives’ room at police headquarters in Munich. It wasn’t that they thought I was Jewish, merely that they didn’t trust me, and I can’t say I blamed them. I had no idea what Colonel Montalban had told people about me. Perhaps nothing at all. Perhaps everything. Perhaps something quite misleading. But that’s the thing about being a spy. It’s easy to get the idea you’re being spied on.

The KRIPO case files from Berlin were open on the desk in front of me. The box that had contained them was the nearest thing to a time machine I was ever likely to encounter. It all seemed so long ago. And it seemed like yesterday. What was it that Hedda Adlon used to say? The Confucian curse. May you live in interesting times. Yes, that was it. I’d certainly done that, all right. As lives went, mine had been more interesting than most.

By now I had a clear recollection of everything that had happened during the last months of the Weimar Republic, and it was plain to me that the only reason I hadn’t managed to solve the Anita Schwarz murder was that following my meeting with Kurt Melcher I never worked Homicide again. After I came back from a week’s leave, I took up my new post in the records department, hoping against hope that somehow the SDP would turn its fortunes around and that the republic might be restored to full health. It didn’t happen.