Ralf chewed on his thumbnail. Had this been Brian’s idea, or had he been hired to do it? But by whom? And what about the five thousand euros Brian had expected to make from the robbery—had that actually been his fee for the murder? Or had Brian simply made it up to persuade Ralf to be his chauffeur?

Ralf’s head spun. He looked at the photos of Helen—a woman he barely knew, but whom he had liked from the moment he met her. She was unaware of any danger. Smiling trustingly at the camera.

“You were supposed to die,” whispered Ralf. “But you didn’t. Brian did.”

15

15

“Bye-bye, Brighton,” said Helen softly.

They left the coast behind them and drove north, heading inland. On their way out of the city, they had driven down streets lined with small antiques shops, fashion boutiques, and stores selling Asian goods. It was so different from home, where the shopping streets all looked the same in every town and every village.

“Are we coming back to Brighton tomorrow? Or maybe on our last day?”

“You don’t want to go shopping, do you?”

“Just quickly. To buy something nice for the kids.”

“No way.” He laid his hand on her knee. “It’s a waste of time. We’re only here for two nights.”

“Yes, but—”

“You can always buy something on the ferry.”

Helen recalled the shop on the boat. It mainly sold perfume, liquor, and tourist trash. Not an amazing selection, but he was right—they were here for such a short time, and if she did go shopping, they would easily lose half a day.

Reaching for her bag, she noticed that the zipper was open. Strange—she was normally very careful about that. She opened it farther and peered inside. That was lucky: her wallet was still there. The only thing she didn’t see was her phone. She searched the main compartment, opened the zippers on the side, and felt around with the flat of her hand. To the left. To the right. No phone.

“Huh?” she said out loud. Had she left it at the café? No, she was positive she’d put it in her bag.

“What’s up?”

“I can’t find my phone.” She took her jacket from the back seat and searched the pockets. Empty. “It’s definitely gone, Werner.”

16

16

A gentle rain had begun to fall. The drops fell onto the weed-choked parking lot outside Brian’s place. Ralf pulled up the collar of his jacket and hurried over to his car. He wondered who had put Brian up to it. Who wanted Helen Möhring dead?