Ahead, Tvist turned to a colleague. None of this was new to him.

I felt a movement beside me. Elsa’s face was clouding with anger. Around us people were exchanging looks, shaking heads. I turned around. Vee’s eyes met mine from the back of the courtroom, full of fury.

The translator’s voice in my ear. “In other words, the police had the information needed in order to apprehend the suspects with no loss of life.”

You could hear the translator sipping water while the prosecutor continued to speak. I caught Tvist’s eye and he smiled; a careful smile, studiedly neutral.

“In fact,” the translator began again, “at one point a police cruiser was directly behind the suspects’ car. We know this from camera footage taken from the police cruiser.”

The anger in the courtroom was intensifying. Elsa was gripping my arm tightly. I could sense the mounting outrage, could feel it rising in me too.

The Post-it note.

The white car.

The police cruiser.

Licia missing, presumed drowned.

The prosecutor finished speaking; she stood looking out across the court; she walked to her desk; she sat down. The translator’s voice continued, catching up with the prosecutor’s words.

“No one at police headquarters thought to pick up and read the note until seven fifty-seven, by which time both suspects had been in police custody for six minutes. And on the island ninety-one people, eighty-seven of them teenagers between the ages of thirteen and seventeen, lay dead. The police, of course, are not on trial here, but . . .”

I saw the look on Elsa’s face. They should be.

I took off my headphones. Elsa leaned in. “I’m okay,” she said.

“Tvist lied to me,” I said. “About the Post-it note. Or it wasn’t exactly a lie . . .”

At the back of the courtroom something clattered to the floor. I looked around. Vee was on her feet; she pushed past her friends and out into the aisle. Her eyes met mine. Her face was streaked and blotched.

“Let’s go,” I said to Elsa, my voice a low whisper.

“You stay, Cal,” said Elsa. She got to her feet.

Vee was at the door of the courtroom.

“You sure?” I said.

Elsa leaned in, spoke very quietly. “One of us needs to witness this.”

In the rows nearby people were staring at us. A woman, a court official in a dark skirt, was making her way toward Vee. Elsa reached the aisle, headed toward the rear exit, exchanged words with the official. The official opened the door and held it. Elsa put her hand on Vee’s back, guided her through it.

The accused men watched as my wife and daughter walked away down the corridor. John Andersen said something to Paul. Paul smirked.

They had noticed our daughter’s distress. They liked it.

Twenty-Five

Tvist caught up with me on the way out of the courtroom. “Cal.”