‘We know all about you, Young,’ he said. ‘You went to Hamburg after the last war and acquired German citizenship. And now you’re back, murdering your parents and trying to kill a child. You also thought you’d killed your parents’ maid – but you didn’t, so she will be a vital witness at your trial. We know, too, that you were aboard that E-boat. Kapitänleutnant Flettner told us all about you. He didn’t like you one little bit.’

Jung stabbed his cigarette into Wilde’s exposed throat, and held it there. Wilde screamed in pain, his back arching against the bare metal springs. Jung held the cigarette there until it had been extinguished. The smell of burning flesh and tobacco smoke filled the room.

‘Now talk.’

Wilde opened his eyes. The old woman was holding a lighted candle. She knelt beside Wilde, her movement slightly strained as though she might have a touch of arthritis, then she eased herself underneath the bed and held the flame up to his spine, playing it back and forth. He roared out as the fire began to sear his flesh, his body bucking vainly against his bonds.

After ten agonising seconds she pulled the candle away and he slumped back against the metal of the bed.

Jung stood and watched. ‘This will get worse, Wilde. Where is she?’

He was fighting for breath. His heart was thundering in his chest. He knew he couldn’t put up with this for long. No one could.

‘Just a few simple words, then this is over.’

‘You’re not going to get out of this, Young – you know that.’

‘Perhaps not. But nor are you, Wilde – and unlike me, you will suffer untold horrors. I wonder how painful a red-hot needle through your eye would be.’

The room was cold but Wilde was bathed in sweat. Even without the flame to his back, the pain was still raw and unbearable, and he knew it was only the beginning.

‘Fuck you both!’ he spat.

The flame rose again beneath his back and once more he emitted a howl from the depths of his soul. The smell of burning meat filled the room. This time she held the flame for longer and closer, extending the line. Perhaps a quarter of a minute, the hot wax dripping over her fingers. Through the agony and the raging Wilde wondered whether he would lose consciousness. He wished for it.

*

Wilde’s screams had subsided to a low groaning. In the sudden quiet, Jung pricked up his ears.

‘Scheisse . . . Is that a car?’

Mrs Vickery stopped what she was doing and listened.

Jung frowned. ‘I’m sure I heard something.’

She slid out from under the bed. ‘Would you like me to go and have a look?’

‘Take the pistol.’