It was the wrong approach. “Who said I felt guilty?” Fricke snapped. “Why should I? I told you—she didn’t say one fucking thing that would have helped anyone find her. Get off my back…”

“Fine,” Gini said, and decided to try another tack, since sympathy evidently made the girl feel angry and cornered. “Then let’s stick to some facts. Let’s start with you—who taught you your slang, Fricke? Were they American or British, because someone did.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Everyone Dutch speaks good English. I’ve been learning it since I was six.”

“Come on, Fricke. You didn’t learn four-letter words in a classroom. You use them in a very idiomatic way. You scarcely pause to think.”

“So? It’s a crime, is it, to have English friends, American friends?” She gave Gini another scornful look. “All year Amsterdam’s full of foreigners, people my age. Sure I talk to them. I meet them all around the place…”

“Where all around the place?”

“Just all around. In cafés. Art galleries. Here in the Leidseplein.”

“Oh, come on, Fricke. Let’s stop fencing around. You covered for Anneke, didn’t you? All the time your mother was explaining how careful she was, how she always knew where Anneke was, I was trying to figure out how Anneke got around the restrictions. It didn’t take a great leap of imagination. You did it together, didn’t you? Gave each other alibis? Backed each other up?”

“So what? Everyone does. So we skipped jail once or twice…”

“Sure. And your sister ended up dead. Who introduced her to Star, Fricke? Was it you? One of your American or English friends?”

“No, it fucking wasn’t. I never met him. I never saw him in my life…” Her voice rose. “You’re getting this all wrong. You’re just like my parents. You think Anneke was my sweet little kid sister. Listen, she went on the pill when she was twelve. It was Anneke the boys all chased, it was Anneke who was screwing around, not me. And last January she got thrown over by this boy she really liked. It really cut her up. My mother thinks she was so happy—well, she wasn’t. She used to cry, she’d come to my room every night, and we’d talk, and she’d cry some more… That’s why she went to Star, because he understood.”

“What?” Gini said. She had known that if she kept the pressure up, Fricke would eventually make a slip. She had just done so, and she still hadn’t realized. She was staring at Gini blankly.

“She went to Star, that’s what you just said. Not—went off with him, to him.”

“I made a mistake.”

“No. I don’t think so, Fricke. Your English is too good. I know why you phrased it that way. Anneke already knew Star, didn’t she? She didn’t meet him the day before she left, the way she wrote in that note. She’d planned to leave.” Gini sighed. “Oh, come on, Fricke, you’re sixteen, you’re intelligent. Why do you think I’m pressuring you like this? Your sister’s dead. Another girl in England is dead. Mina is with Star right now, and she’s at risk. I want Star found, and I want him stopped. You want that too—surely you do? So why the hell can’t you trust me and give me your help?”