Cambridge, UK, 1947. Martin Friedrich, a German philosopher, is cycling through an intersection on his way to give a lecture when a speeding car strikes and kills him. Shortly afterwards, Detective Sergeant Stephen Minter - an Austrian-born cockney Jew, whose parents were interned during the war as enemy aliens - stands over the body of Friedrich, contemplating the age-old question: who did it? Friedrich might have been one of the finest minds of his age, but he was problematic: arrogant and a womaniser, he was also a member of the Nazi Party in the 1930s. As Stephen is soon to discover, there is no shortage of suspects. Friedrich was hated by almost everybody, even those who loved him. Is there any sense to his death, or was it just a case of rotten, random luck? Has the universe spoken? Or are there more sinister factors at work?
