As you walked home one night, well past the average hour when everyone would return from work. The streets of Berlin are dark, cold and almost dull with colour. As you passed a parked car, just on the curb. A black Volkswagen, you didn’t think much at first. Nor stopped just for a split second to glance back. As you knew better. But when the sound of the car door opened and slammed shut. Sharp boots not going unrecognised, a Gestapo officer. “Entschuldigung.”