‘Hi, Eric. Remember me? Or do you prefer Columbus?’ Fabian said on his way in, as the woman who had just been tattooed got up and left the room.

‘What are you doing here?’ Jacobsén said, while the redhead carried on as though nothing was happening.

‘Maybe the name Molly Wessman rings a bell? Or how about Vera Brahe or any of the other women you’ve been spying on?’

Jacobsén grabbed the woman’s titian locks roughly and pushed her away. ‘I think you’d better leave now.’

‘But we—’

‘Another time. Come on. Off with you.’

The woman sighed, climbed out of the jacuzzi and walked unhurriedly towards the door without casting Fabian so much as a glance. The door closed behind her and at the same time a fist hit him so hard in the stomach the air was knocked out of his lungs and he doubled over in pain.

When he could breathe again, Jacobsén was already on his way out. ‘Stop,’ Fabian shouted, then, braced against the pain, he rushed after Jacobsén and shoved him forward hard enough to make him smack his face against the door.

It was far from an elegant strategy, but the crunching sound of Jacobsén’s nose and the blood dripping down on the white tiled floor indicated it had at least been effective.

He had absolutely no experience of fighting, but he knew instinctively he couldn’t just stand around and wait for Jacobsén to recover, so with pain searing his chest with every heartbeat, he hooked his arm around Jacobsén’s neck and pulled him backwards into the room.

Jacobsén, who was surprisingly strong, fought back and managed to get in quite a few hits, despite the awkward angle. Fabian endured blow after blow to his head before managing to force his opponent down on to the floor.

But in the end, lactic acid overwhelmed him and when Jacobsén managed to wrap his legs around him and roll them both over, he was at an undeniable disadvantage. The blow to his temple a moment later made everything go dark, and when he snapped back in a few seconds later, he couldn’t understand where he was, until he saw Jacobsén’s broken nose about a foot above him, blood dripping from it on to the surface of the water.

He tried to get out of the jacuzzi, but the hand around his throat forced him further down. At that point, fear sank its claws into him for real. Soon, he would start to suck water into his lungs. Was Jacobsén going to kill him? Until then, Fabian hadn’t even considered that. Running was one thing. But killing a police officer?