Her bright, brittle humming turned into a throaty sound, grew…

With unknown men. Lots of men.

… into a scream, which got louder and louder until, multiplied by the echoes deep down inside the well, finally managed to…

But because three years ago I…

drown out in her head…

I started to…

… the thoughts of the worst thing she’d ever done.

… because I…

A scream so loud and stifling that for a while all she felt was the desire to see her lovely little girl just one more time before, finally and hopefully, her life came to a rapid end.

53

Anouk. Torch. Pencils. Drawing.

Single-word thoughts made a racket in Martin’s head, knocking him violently from the inside against the bell of his skull and producing a muffled, droning sound, which like discordant film music accompanied those images that were currently playing in his mind’s eye. Images in which he recalled his meetings with Anouk: the girl in her nightshirt, sitting silently and stoically on the bed, her arms a whetstone for her fingernails.

Martin thought about how Gerlinde had told him of the torch and remembered on his way to the captain barging into the disco-goer with his luminous drink. All of a sudden, seemingly unconnected scraps of thoughts were piecing together.

For this – as Martin assumed – final descent to Hell’s Kitchen, Bonhoeffer had let him go alone, although to begin with he’d raced after him and even blocked his way by the entrance to the staff deck.

‘What have you discovered?’ he’d asked.

Martin was just about to explain his suspicions to Bonhoeffer when the captain’s mobile rang.

Julia Stiller, the mother of the missing girl, had woken up in his cabin and was demanding to see Bonhoeffer. To be precise, she was screaming at him.

‘YOU FUCKING BASTARD! WHERE ARE YOU? HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO ME?’

Martin had been able to hear every word, even though Bonhoeffer had pressed the phone tightly to his ear.

The captain had promised to return as quickly as possible once he’d seen to Julia, but right now Martin was standing alone outside Anouk’s room. His fingers were sweating as he swiped the key card. He entered without knocking.

And stood in an empty cabin.

For a moment he was unable to formulate a clear thought. He gazed hypnotically at the abandoned bed, as if Anouk would materialise before his eyes if he stared long enough at the crumpled sheet.

How can that be? Anouk doesn’t have a key. She can’t get out of here!

Martin’s bewilderment lasted little more than a second, before he was freed from his paralysis by the noise of the loo flushing. The bathroom door on his right opened and Anouk shuffled out. She was wearing a fresh nightshirt and must have taken off her tights. Her feet were bare. When she saw Martin, she retreated to the bathroom in fright.