When Felix awoke, he heard Giuliana’s breathing. There was a faint lisp at the beginning of each breath in, and now he felt it on his shoulder. The room came out of the darkness, and brought the shapes he knew and expected, the corners and bulks, the lines, light and dark. Felix let his eyes run along them many times and he listened to her breathing. Well, he had slept awhile anyway.

He had to think a minute to remember the big-shot detective’s name from the Kriminaldienst: S not Schmidt. It had two syllables. It was a real Austrian name: Speckbauer. Horst? Yes Horst.

How hard could it be to come up with a normal Austrian name like this, he wondered. It wouldn’t be that hard, unless your brain was scrambled by hours of interviewing, plodding, talking, writing, remembering, sorting out.

Speckbauer was a heavily moustached Oberstleutnant with hair running to grey. The rest of him was running to fat under the expensive suit that Gebi whispered they liked to wear. “They”:

Speckbauer and others, one a detective Engel who stood around a lot of the time, saying little, taking lots of digital shots and using a minicam.

Gebi had said he’d seen Speckbauer before somewhere, but he couldn’t remember where. It certainly wasn’t on a visit to HQ down in Strassgangerstrasse, in a western suburb of Graz. It might have been a piece in the Gazette. He looked like a proper Bananenbiegers, Gebi had muttered. When Felix asked him later what exactly a banana bender was, or did, Gebhart only waved the question away.

Speckbauer had a quiet tone like he was attending a funeral.