‘He’s fine,’ he replied. Or at least as fine as a foster child could possibly be, back in a home right after having been freed from the clutches of perverted lunatics. Schwartz had waited until he’d recorded Pryga’s order to ‘give it to the boy in every hole’. The camera in the studs of his leather jacket captured the expectant grins of all the guests, to whom he’d turned before saying ‘toaster’, the agreed signal for the SWAT team to attack. Together with the seemingly positive HIV test and the video from Pryga’s tripod camera, they had enough evidence to put the bastards away for a very, very long time.

‘Maybe even two and a half years, with a bit of luck,’ Kramer had said gloomily as he drove Schwartz to the hospital where they gave him his PEP medicine: three pills a day for five weeks. Kramer had to sort out all the paperwork, which is why Martin was obliged to make his own way to the dental clinic, where now, after another two hours’ waiting, he was finally being seen.

‘I’m sorry,’ the dentist apologised. She had a small face with ears that were slightly too big, and cute freckles on her nose. In another life Schwartz might have considered asking for her telephone number, only to think twice because he was married. The timing was never right. Either you met a pretty woman and had a ring on your finger. Or the ring was off and every pretty woman reminded you of what you’d lost.

‘All they told me was that you’d injured yourself in service. That you were just a…’

‘A madman?’ Schwartz finished the part of the sentence the dentist hadn’t dared complete.

‘Yes. I didn’t know that—’

‘It’s alright. Just get the rest of it out and sew it all back together.’

Dr Fendrich shook her head. ‘It’s not as simple as all that. You must want it reconstructed…’

‘No,’ Schwartz said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

‘But surely you care about being disfigured like—’

‘If you knew how few things I care about,’ he said flatly. His mobile vibrated in his trouser pocket. ‘Hold on a sec, please.’

He had to turn to the side slightly to fish it from his back pocket. Whoever it was calling him, they were withholding their number.

‘Listen, there are other patients waiting outside—’ the dentist began another incomplete sentence, turning away in irritation when Schwartz ignored her protest.

‘Hello?’

No answer. Just a loud rustling that reminded him of old modems and the AOL advertisement from the 1990s.

‘Hello?’