Brian entered an address on Google Maps and zoomed in on the aerial photo with rapid, impatient movements. The image froze above a detached house on the outer edge of a well-to-do suburb. This house had the biggest yard of all, plus a light-blue rectangle lined with deck chairs.

“Nice,” whispered Ralf.

“Should I tell you a secret?” Brian leaned in closer. His small brown eyes glittered. Brian’s left eye was slightly smaller than his right, giving him a permanently angry, defiant look. “Did you know these people keep cash in their house? A lot of cash?”

Ralf didn’t stir. He tried to keep his expression neutral. They’d talked about it so often. A robbery. Not a shop or an office, where there would be cameras everywhere and maybe even a gun behind the counter, but somebody’s house. That was where the easy money was, ripe for the taking in the form of watches, gold, diamonds, and cash—provided you knew where to look.

“How do you know?” Ralf tried to swallow, but there was a lump in his throat.

“I’ve got eyes and ears.” Brian looked back at the screen. He zoomed the aerial photo out until you could see that the house stood on a dead-end road, partly hemmed in by trees and shrubs. “Perfect,” he whispered.

4

4

Wildenbergh was nearly one hundred years old by the time an entire neighborhood sprang up around it during the early nineties. That was why their backyard was so much bigger than those of the other houses. She and Werner had neighbors on only one side: a childless couple—both architects—with whom they didn’t have much contact. Woodland, shrubs, and ditches surrounded the yard on the other two sides. Behind that lay an embankment overgrown with bushes and poplars, on top of which there had once been a railroad line. The cart track that ran along it now was rarely used. Total privacy. Nothing but greenery and freedom. Living in a place like this felt like a permanent vacation.

Helen had known about the former farmhouse for a long time. She had biked past it often enough back when the nearby towns and villages hadn’t yet swelled into one big sprawl. Even as a child, she had found the house beautiful and imposing, with its big, tall windows and grand front door, and that love had never left her. Werner had been easy to convince when it came up for sale seven years ago. Thom and Sara were in third and fourth grade back then, and Emma was still in first; they had grown up in the house that their mother used to daydream about as a child.