The red door swung open, and Werner Möhring stepped out of the house. The swelling by his right eye had gone down since Sunday, Ralf saw, but there was still a dark shadow around it. Werner zipped his jacket up to his chin and got into his car.

“That’s him,” said Ralf softly.

“Yeah, and?”

“You told me yesterday that Sara’s father banned her from going out with Brian. So, what’s he doing at Brian’s mother’s house?”

“That’s not what I said. I don’t think he even knew about Brian. Sara just wasn’t allowed to go out with anyone on the staff. She still isn’t, for that matter.” Naomi shrugged. “It makes sense, really. She’s the boss’s daughter.”

Ralf studied the row house. Sheer curtains hung in the front window, but you couldn’t see what was going on inside.

“Maybe he was here to talk about work or something,” suggested Naomi.

“Work?”

She gestured with her chin at the departing Mercedes. “Emily works in the office at the Horn of Plenty.” She frowned. “Doesn’t Brian tell you anything?”

“Not about his mother, no.”

Naomi got out. She rested her forearm on the door and looked him in the eye. “Are you coming?”

5

5

A woman stepped through the door, a stack of paper in her arms. Solidly built, in her fifties, with a sun-bed tan and bleached-blonde hair pulled back from her face. Helen recognized her instantly: Marjan de Boer from HR.

She flinched when she saw Helen. “Jeez, you scared me to death, Helen! What are you doing here?”

Helen snatched her bag from the floor and tried to look as composed as possible. “Hey—hi, Marjan.”

The woman smiled apologetically. “I didn’t expect to see anyone here.”

Me neither. “You OK?”

“Yeah, fine, thanks.” Marjan regarded her with slight surprise before looking around the room—perhaps to make sure that Helen was alone.

“I need to get going.” Helen pressed her handbag to her side and hurried down the corridor, striding briskly toward the swing doors. She felt Marjan’s eyes boring into her back.

It wasn’t unusual to run into hospital employees outside their normal departments. Sometimes there were meetings to attend, items to collect or dispose of. But what on earth could explain her presence here? And with the door closed, for that matter? The recovery room had its own refuse containers. She had no business in the waste room whatsoever.

6

6

Emily still didn’t look like anybody’s mother—not someone Brian’s age, anyway. She had large coffee-colored eyes and olive skin, and she wore her thick dark-brown hair in a braid over her right shoulder.

She smiled, exposing a row of white teeth. “Well, if it isn’t Naomi! How are you? And Ralf, I haven’t seen you in a while.” She peered over their shoulders and down the street. “Isn’t Brian with you?”