“But keeping one is even harder,” cut in Floris, before launching into a story about a friend who worked in a restaurant. Floris was making a rather ostentatious attempt to get in well with Sara’s mother, and if Ralf wasn’t mistaken, his anecdote also contained a job application. It seemed Floris was looking for part-time work waiting tables at the Horn of Plenty.

Ralf lost interest in the conversation. Now that Helen Möhring was talking to Floris, he could study her at leisure. He watched her expressions closely, examined her demeanor and mannerisms. He observed how she spoke and gestured, noted the way she constantly pushed up the sleeves of her top with her elegant hands. His breathing had quickened without his noticing. That’s her, then, he thought, the woman who knows what went down. She was standing just over an arm’s length away from him. All he had to do was step forward, grab her by the throat, and yell at her—loudly, deafeningly. Threaten to do terrible things to her so she would panic and tell him everything. In less than a minute, he could find out what had happened to Brian.

“Well, guys, shall we go and get a drink?” Sara led the group away and disappeared into the hall.

Ralf hesitated. He looked at Helen, who nodded back at him with a polite smile. Then he joined the rest of the group.

He studied his surroundings carefully. The house was ridiculously big, and everything inside it looked expensive. There were huge modern paintings on the walls, with spotlights shining on them. The whole place was flooded with light. His parents thought that sort of thing was wasteful. Of course, Sara’s father had four successful restaurants—he must earn plenty of money. There was a good chance he had other sources of income besides that too. Cash transactions, for example. There was a reason why Brian had targeted him.

Or had he just been tipped off?

Ralf looked at Sara, with her expensive clothing, her manners, her perfect makeup. She had “rich, cute, and stylish” printed on every inch of her flawless skin. If what Naomi had said was true—that she was into men—then what did she see in Floris, with his baby face and scrawny shoulders?

He sat down in one of the leather dining room chairs and placed his forearms rather awkwardly on the tabletop.

“Coke?” said Naomi, handing him a glass.

He took it from her but didn’t take his eyes off Sara.