This wasn’t a casual invitation. When a girl invited a boy to go to a movie night, that meant she liked him. Not all movie nights involved sex, but there was sure to be some kissing. Ralf knew very well that she was angry with Brian and felt he had let her down, but Brian was still his friend. On the other hand, Brian had never taken care of Naomi. If the robbery on Friday night had gone according to plan, they would have celebrated by hiring a couple of girls.

She gave him a deadly serious look. His silence had made her nervous.

Just as he was about to say that he would like to spend Saturday night with her, but preferably not with her friends, she added, “It’s at Sara Möhring’s place. Their house is an absolute mansion, and they have so much alcohol, her parents don’t even notice if a couple of bottles go missing. So we won’t need to bring anything with us.”

11

11

Helen opened the wine cabinet and looked inside. On the pale wooden shelves lay more than a hundred bottles of wine, just waiting to be drunk. Wines from France, Italy, Portugal, and Greece. Some of them were rare and expensive—gifts from suppliers to the Horn of Plenty. She hadn’t drunk a drop since the incident. Although she would give anything to feel that languid sense of satisfaction flow through her body once again—to feel her tense muscles relax—she was afraid that the alcohol would affect her in the wrong way, and that she would say or do things that couldn’t be undone. Inconsolable weeping, for instance. Shattering plates out of pure impotent rage, or arguing with Werner in front of the children. Or all three at once.

She closed the door and turned around. Werner was watching her from the kitchen island. She had the impression he’d been there awhile. “Better not,” he said.

“I know.”

“Later.”

She nodded. “Later” sounded good. It was a hopeful word. “Later” implied that one day all this would be over, and she would be able to go back to her normal life. Helen felt a need to embrace Werner, to get close to him, but his wild, almost vacant expression deterred her.

His jaw was clenched. “OK,” he said to nobody in particular, before walking past her and into the utility room. She heard the back door open and close, and saw that he was heading toward the garage.

12

12

Ralf was sitting up in bed, his computer buzzing on his lap. The name “Sara Möhring” didn’t produce many hits. Sara had made her social media accounts private, but her name regularly popped up on lists of tennis tournament results. He found her in some group photos on the tennis club website, but no other information was available.