They may even be waiting to see if he shows up this morning. So he may not be on the list. But we have to consider two other possibilities, do we not? One: he went missing some time before he died. Two — and we know from hard experience this is not impossible — Eisler has screwed up the time of death.”

“The guy isn’t fit to be a vet,” said Jaeger.

March counted swiftly. “One hundred and two names. I’d put the age of our man at sixty.”

“Better say fifty, to be safe. Twelve hours in the drink and nobody looks their best.”

True. So we exclude everyone on the list born after 1914. That should bring it down to a dozen names. Identification couldn’t be much easier: was grandpa missing a foot?” March folded the sheet, tore it in two, and handed one half to Jaeger. “What are the Orpo stations around the Havel?”

“Nikolassee,” said Max. “Wannsee. Kladow. Gatow. Pichelsdorf-but that’s probably too far north.”

Over the next half hour, March called each of them in turn, including Pichelsdorf, to see if any clothing had been handed in, or if some local derelict matched the description of the man in the lake. Nothing. He turned his attention to his half of the list. By eleven-thirty he had exhausted every likely name. He stood up and stretched.

“Mister Nobody.”

Jaeger had finished calling ten minutes earlier and was staring out of the window, smoking. “Popular fellow, isn’t he? Makes even you looked loved.” He removed his cigar and picked some shreds of loose tobacco from his tongue. “I’ll see if the Duty Room have received any more names. Leave it to me. Have a good time with Pili.”

THE late morning service had just ended in the ugly church opposite Kripo headquarters. March stood on the other side of the street and watched the priest, a shabby raincoat over his vestments, locking the door.