Ideally Rossett would have stayed clear, but he had little money and no transport, both of which were waiting for him at home.

Once inside, he had made a call to Wapping Police Station and tentatively inquired whether anyone was looking for him. The desk sergeant there had sounded bored, tired, and uninterested in Rossett. This meant that so far, he wasn’t a wanted man after the previous night’s incident involving Neumann and March.

Maybe Koehler had been right? Maybe they weren’t interested in him?

Rossett had taken the precaution of setting up a mutually agreed rendezvous, where they could leave messages in the unlikely event that they had been split up.

That unlikely event had arisen, and in the minutes before he was due to set off to Cambridge after eating and changing into warmer clothes, he had telephoned the café. They were used to him checking in through the day; he’d used the café for years as a meeting place and message point, in an attempt to stay out of the pubs and clubs where police work was so often done. In truth he hadn’t expected to hear from Koehler. In fact, he wondered if he would ever hear from him again, so when the waitress told him there was a message, he wondered if it was a trap.

“Meet Ernst at one P.M.”

“That’s what it says?”

“Yes, Mr. Rossett.”

“Who took the message?”

“Ethel, sir.”

“Is she there now?”

“Gone home, sir.”

Rossett had placed the phone down and stared at the wallpaper in the hallway.

If it was a trap, why not stake out his lodgings and arrest him there?

He looked at the frosted stained-­glass front door and half expected a team of storm troopers to come kicking their way into the hallway.

They didn’t.

Maybe Koehler had been released?

Maybe the joint mission was back on?

He’d picked up the phone again and rung around a few police stations, checking overnight logs. He spoke to the few detectives and sergeants who would still speak to him, checking for anything out of the ordinary.

He came up blank.

He’d had a few hours before the scheduled meeting at the café, so he had driven around the dark side of the city, rolling a few old underworld informants out of bed in search of information about Lotte and Anja, but again, nothing had come to light.

All of which led him to believe Koehler was right: the kidnappers weren’t locals. This was something that went beyond the usual villains and resistance operators.

He was in uncharted waters, alone and surrounded by sharks.

And he loved it.

HE’D WALKED AROUND the block four times before deciding to enter the café himself. Everything seemed normal, so he bit the bullet and went inside to get out of the cold.

The waitress spilled his tea when she put it on the table in front of him; he wiped the spill with a napkin and checked his watch: quarter past one. Koehler was late.

Nothing new there.

Rossett glanced out the window at the growling blizzard outside. He could barely see the other side of the street, it was coming down so thick and fast. A taxi driver was scraping some snow off the roof of his cab next to the window, head buried in his shoulders, sweeping armfuls into piles next to the cab. Rossett wrapped his hands around his hot tea in sympathy.

Maybe Koehler hadn’t made it through the snow? He took out his cigarettes, put one in his mouth, and started to pat his pockets for matches.

“Do you mind not lighting that?”

Rossett looked up.

Neumann looked down.

Rossett stopped patting his pockets and took the cigarette out of his mouth. Holding it in his left hand, he tilted his head, checking to see if March was loitering around.

Neumann read Rossett’s mind. “He’s waiting in the car. May I sit?”

“I’m waiting for someone.”

“I know: me.”

Neumann put his hat down on the table, which was still damp from the tea spill. Rossett thought about telling him but didn’t bother, and instead went back to patting his pockets looking for his matches, eyes all the while on Neumann’s.

Neumann sat down after growing tired of waiting for the invite. Rossett found the matches and put the cigarette back in his mouth. He took out a match and struck it against the side of the box, letting it flare, and waiting for a reaction.

“Please, Inspector, I’d much rather you didn’t. I have a chest complaint.”

Rossett touched the match to the cigarette, shook out it out, and dropped it in the ashtray.

They sat in silence, Neumann leaning back from the smoke, as the bustle of the café crashed around them. Rossett took another drag and then removed the cigarette from out of his mouth, smoke drifting between them.

“Can I get you anything?” The waitress hovered.

“No, thank you,” Neumann replied without looking at her.

Neumann turned to the window, then back to Rossett.

“I’d heard you were an arsehole,” he finally said.

Rossett didn’t reply, so Neumann continued. “We’ve all heard of you, even before this case. Everyone knows that you are impossible to work with.”

Rossett still didn’t reply.

“I have to add, I don’t buy all this ‘British Lion’ bullshit, either. The British were desperate for a hero and you came along. You were lucky.”

“You were lucky,” Rossett echoed impassively.

“What?” Neumann raised an eyebrow.

“You were lucky I didn’t kill you last night.”

“You’re lucky I don’t arrest you right now.”

“You’re lucky you haven’t tried.”

The boiler behind the counter started to hiss and Neumann looked across toward it, and then back at Rossett.

“Look,” Neumann tried again, shifting in his seat. “Koehler sent me.” He lowered his hand from his mouth and placed it flat on the table next to his hat.

“Where is he?”

“Scotland Yard.” Neumann lifted his hand, inspected his palm, and then looked at the damp patch on the table.

“Is he in custody?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I had him arrested.”

“But you’re here.”

“Indeed.” Neumann slid his hat away from the damp spot and then looked at Rossett.

“And you haven’t tried to arrest me.”

“No.”

“So what do you want?”

“To pass on a message.”

“What message?”

“Koehler’s wife is dead.”

“How?”

“Shot. Found by the Thames, east of St. Katharine Docks.”

“Koehler didn’t do it.”

“I know.”

“But you’ve arrested him?”

“After issuing a countrywide warrant I couldn’t do much else, could I?”

Rossett didn’t reply, the cigarette now at his lips.

“We don’t know where his daughter is.” Neumann’s voice took on a gentler tone.

“Anja?”

“Anja,” Neumann repeated.

“Why are you here?”

“I have a daughter.” Neumann shrugged and looked at the table. “If she was hurt, or in danger, I’d do anything to help her.