“That might be slightly short notice on a Saturday.” She had a lot more to say, but she swallowed her angry words. This wasn’t Werner’s fault. She’d assumed that they would go out for dinner or catch a movie, but Werner probably didn’t see the need given that they were leaving for England early the next morning.

High expectations lead to disappointment.

Maybe she should get that tattooed on herself somewhere. On her forehead, for example. In mirror writing.

2

2

“Ralf . . . Ralf? Wake up.”

Ralf opened his eyes. His mother was leaning over his bed. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was breathing heavily.

He was instantly alert, sitting straight up in bed. He wanted to throw off the duvet and stand up, but then he remembered the dream from which he had been so rudely awakened. Naomi. Her tongue circling around his. Her naked body pressed against him, her legs around his hips as she . . . He gripped the duvet and held it down over himself.

“We have visitors,” said his mother hurriedly.

“Who?”

“Two police officers.”

“What? What do they want?”

“It’s about Brian. His mother reported him missing yesterday, and they think you were the last person who saw him.”

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Ralf?” she whispered, and gave him a searching look. “I’m here for you. Whatever is going on. But you have to be honest with me.”

He clenched his jaw. Great timing, Mom.

“Could you leave the room?”

“But the officers are downs—”

“I’ll be right there, OK? Just give me a minute.”

It didn’t escape his attention that she glanced at his window. Then sought his eyes again. “Don’t do anything silly,” she said softly. “I only have one child.”

“Come on. It’ll be fine. I don’t know anything about it.”

“And what about that dealer? The man who—”

He pointed at her. “Don’t say anything about that, Mom. Not a word! I’m taking care of it.” He looked straight at her, breathing rapidly, his mouth half-open. “Do you promise? Mom?”

Ralf saw all kinds of emotions pass over her face. Her voice was hoarse when she said, “I sometimes wonder who you are, Ralf Venema. Or should I say, who you’ve turned into?”

3

3

Every step seemed to take an eternity. The shopping bags felt heavier than on previous trips. As if she were dragging two millstones around with her. The last pieces—quite literally, as Werner had packed the two guns as well.