Werner pulled up and turned off the engine. A second man, also in uniform, hurried over. The two employees greeted them politely, and one of them took the car keys from Werner while the other placed their suitcases on a trolley and escorted them inside.

The entrance hall was magnificent. On the floor lay gleaming marble in a complex pattern. The white walls were lined with wood paneling, and chandeliers hung from the high ceiling. Richly upholstered sofas, enormous Persian carpets. Grandfather clocks with gold detailing.

“Werner, pinch me.”

He put his arm around her waist. “Good choice?”

“Wonderful,” she replied, almost breathlessly.

6

6

It was a selfie, taken from slightly overhead. Naomi looked frightened. The man next to her was holding the camera; he had bent his knees slightly to be at the same height as Naomi, and his cheek was pressed against hers. It looked like they knew each other intimately. The man’s crossed eyes were fixed directly on the camera, and his stubby teeth were bared in a mocking grin.

Ralf forgot to breathe.

Mikey.

Naomi was with Mikey.

Below the photo, it said:

See you soon. Looking forward to it!

Ralf could feel a vein throbbing in his temple. A monotonous buzz filled his ears. The photo didn’t show much of their surroundings—all he could see was a gray carpet, a radiator, and the bottom of a curtain. Dusky pink. He recognized that curtain.

They were in Brian’s room.

Ralf stuffed his phone into his pocket and sprinted up the stairs—two, three steps at a time. In his bedroom, he hauled the stack of magazines out of his nightstand, grabbed the gun, and tucked it under his waistband. He pulled his jacket on over it and zipped it up.

On the landing, he ran into his father, who had just emerged from his bedroom and was yawning as he tied the belt of his bathrobe. “You’re up early. That’s not like you.”

“I have to go out,” muttered Ralf, ducking past his father and heading for the staircase.

“Ralf?”

Their eyes met, long enough for him to see the open, contented expression on his father’s face give way to concern.

“Is everything OK, Son?”

Ralf opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. He turned his back on his father, hurried down the stairs, and sprinted down the street. Flustered, he put the key in the ignition. By the time he hit the road, all his doubts had vanished, and his fear had been replaced by a sharp and clear image of what he had to do.

7

7

Mr. Hawtrey wore a neat suit and a waistcoat. He had a big, friendly face, and short legs that propped up a significantly oversized torso. Maybe that explained why he walked in such a strange way—waddling slightly, like a character from a fantasy movie. Helen guessed he was around seventy.