Helen went back through the kitchen and hurried up the stairs. In her mind’s eye, she saw Werner convulsing on the bathroom floor—an epileptic fit, a stroke. She had learned in the hospital that hardworking, apparently healthy men Werner’s age could fall victim to a serious attack of that kind without warning.

She sprinted past Sara’s and Emma’s rooms, leaping over discarded items of clothing and a pile of schoolbooks, and cast a quick glance into the bathroom. It was empty. The noise was coming from the bedroom at the end of the hall. It was the biggest in the house, almost as big as the kitchen, with a high, gabled ceiling lined with exposed beams—when she saw it for the first time, it had reminded her of a chapel.

The bed sat against the right-hand wall, close to the door. A little farther back on the left, directly below the skylight, stood the low bench and the table they had gotten from Werner’s parents.

It took a full second for Helen to grasp what she saw. There was a man in a balaclava squatting next to the bench. In front of him was another man lying facedown on the floor. The intruder was tying his wrists together. Helen noticed dark spots on the victim’s blue polo shirt. Red splashes on the carpet.

“Not so tough now, are you?” she heard the robber hiss. “Maybe I’ll take it all, sucker. Every penny you have.”

Air escaped from her throat. “Werner!”

The masked man leapt to his feet and looked straight at her.

Helen stared back paralyzed, powerless to move.

The intruder widened his eyes so much, the whites became visible—the look of a madman. Slowly, his attention shifted toward the bed. There was a pistol lying on the duvet.

But Helen was closer. Instinctively, she dived, grabbed the gun, and took off.

She sprinted back down toward the staircase. Footsteps thumped close behind. Sniffing noises, cursing. She could hardly take it in—it was like she was running through a long tunnel. Her feet scarcely touched the steps; she half fell, half skidded down the stairs and dashed toward her bag—toward her phone.

15

15

If you hadn’t heard a gunshot before, you could have easily thought the bang was a firecracker. But Ralf recognized it right away. He pressed his fist against his mouth. There was no mistaking it. After a brief silence came two more shots in quick succession.

That couldn’t have been Brian’s BB. Had he underestimated the man in the house? Ralf flashed to his friend’s response when he’d pointed out that the guy might shoot back. Brian’s contempt, convinced as he was of his own superiority. Are you kidding? Or had Brian lied and taken a second, real gun with him?