Ernst sat next to Ria on the red sofa. He was wearing a pair of turned-up gray pants, a shirt, and a dark-red sweater. Ernst didn’t talk much. He had moved here from Germany in the seventies to work for a division of a German company. It was meant to be a temporary posting, but the company extended his contract, and Ernst met Ria and started a family. Their three sons all had children of their own now. And so, Ernst had never gone back. In all that time, he had made little effort to master the Dutch language. Helen had the impression that Ernst viewed that as a shortcoming, and that he compensated for it with a rather distant and reserved attitude.

All in all, Werner’s parents weren’t the sort of people you would voluntarily choose to spend your Sunday afternoons with.

“Helen, could you fetch my father a glass of cognac?” she heard Werner ask.

She stood up and walked through to the kitchen. In the hallway, she passed the basement door. It had never been locked before, but it was now.

Helen took her time in the kitchen. She washed her hands, then put the cups and plates on the counter into the dishwasher. Checked the soil in the herb pots on the windowsill—basil, curly-leaf parsley, and chives. Watered them. She examined the mark on her top and dabbed at it halfheartedly with a damp dishcloth. That only made it worse. Suddenly, another stain swam into view on the wall immediately in front of her. She had found a constant succession of new ones since last night. Brown spots on the table leg, on the side of the kitchen island, on the handle of a rarely used drawer. She wiped the wall clean and threw the dishcloth into the trash can.

2

2

It had rained again overnight, and the dense shrubs were slowly releasing moisture onto Ralf’s clothing. A drop of water ran down his neck, and a thick branch scraped persistently down his back. Ralf’s hiding place wasn’t comfortable, but it offered a perfect view of the front of the house.

A gray BMW 5 Series had pulled up half an hour ago. Two stylish retirees had gotten out—the husband wearing a red windbreaker, and his wife a long beige coat. The red-haired husband had welcomed them in. There was a black shadow down the side of his right eye, which was half-closed from swelling, and he also had something wrong with his lip. That face had looked better before Brian had gone into the house.

The girl who had been wandering around outside yesterday had kissed the old-timers on the cheeks three times and called them “Grandma and Grandpa.” The man’s parents, Ralf guessed—“Grandpa” was also a ginger. After that, they had gone inside.

3

3

“Did you get up to anything exciting last week?” asked Ria.

Helen opened her mouth. “Well, no, we—”