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down with a grunt, pulling a typewriter close. ‘Lab boys were asking about getting a positive ID on Meist.’
    â€˜I don’t fancy getting the landlady or Fleischer to do it. You didn’t find anything in the apartment to indicate any family?’
    â€˜Nope.’
    â€˜I’d call that strange, wouldn’t you?’
    â€˜Just add it to the list.’
    â€˜Well it’s not all bad. Look, I’ve got something for you to put in the report.’ Trautmann handed Roth the photograph, flipped over so he could read what was on the back. ‘Part of the photographer’s name and address. We’ll get the murder commission to come up with a list of possible matches.’
    â€˜That is something,’ Roth said, his voice a little brighter.
    â€˜Do you still have those scraps from the fire?’ Trautmann got a clean sheet of paper from his desk drawer. ‘Empty them onto here and let’s take a look.’
    Roth brought his envelope over and tapped it softly to dislodge the scraps onto the sheet of paper. Trautmann dug some tweezers and a magnifying glass from the drawer and used the tweezers to lay the scraps flat.
    They were small pieces of paper, and singed a good deal. Two of them were blackened beyond usefulness. Two of them were blank. But there were thin green lines printed on the others, and handwriting on two of them. The loop of what looked like a ‘G’ – or was it a lower case ‘l’? Part of what could be an ‘e’ – or possibly an ‘a’. That was definitely a ‘7’, written with a line through it.
    Trautmann passed the looking glass to Roth.
    â€˜Here, see what you make of it.’
    â€˜Some of these edges have been torn,’ Roth said after a few seconds. ‘That’s a “g”, I think. And a number seven. Not sure about those others. Think we can trace the paper?’
    â€˜Let’s get the lab on it.’
    â€˜I’m wondering if the graphologist could make something of this,’ Roth said. ‘If we had another sample from a suspect to put alongside. The seven is quite distinctive.’
    â€˜You want to get handwriting samples from everyone now?’
    â€˜Well, why not? Ok, so it wouldn’t prove they were there. But what if we matched the handwriting and we told them so?’
    â€˜A confession,’ Trautmann said. ‘Yes, good thinking.’
    Roth rolled the sheet of paper with the scraps inside and carried it to the lab while Trautmann drank more coffee. What was so damning it was worth tearing up and then setting alight?
    Roth returned and managed to get some paper into his typewriter to make a start on their report. With only one hand it was a slow business. Trautmann turned his attention to the picture frame.
    Behind the cracked glass, the photograph had slipped in the frame. Trautmann caught a flash of white peeking out from beneath the print.
    â€˜Hello,’ he said, ‘what’s this?’ He opened up the back of the frame and found some folded paper. ‘The lab boys didn’t mention this?’
    Roth paused in his typing. ‘Not to me.’
    Trautmann pulled on some rubber gloves and carefully lifted out the folded sheets. He laid them on his desk and used the tweezers to unfold them.
    â€˜Now this one definitely is a letter.’ He read it, turning the pages with his tweezers. Then he sat back with a grin and took a celebratory puff of his pipe.
    â€˜Well?’ Roth said.
    â€˜Our man Meist was living under an alias. Listen to this...’
    Chapter 8
    â€“–––––––
    2 4 Douglasstrasse
    Grunewald
    29 May
    Dearest Rudi,
    This is not the news you want to hear.
    I cannot give you what you ask for. I’m sorry, but your father controls our accounts, and there would be no way of withdrawing funds without him being notified. Until you two are reconciled – or at least on some kind of speaking