Martin massaged his neck, pressing his thumb directly onto the extension of his cervical spine, in the hope that it might increase the pain level at first before reducing it. As he did this he cocked his head to one side, looked up and, above the door saw the red lever Elena had shown him on his first visit to Hell’s Kitchen.

‘In an emergency you can unlock the door that way…’

Without hesitating, Martin pulled the lever. He heard a hydraulic hissing, then the door opened slightly inwards.

‘Elena?’

He entered the dimly lit cabin, which was furnished exactly like Anouk’s. The same blend of hotel and luxury sanatorium. The air smelled of a mixture of bad breath and room spray.

The doctor was lying on her side, head facing the door, eyes closed. In the glow of the bedside light the consequences of the attack were still unmistakeable. Swollen eyes, puffy cheeks, a bloated neck. But her breathing was regular and she didn’t appear to be in pain. He also took it as a good sign that she didn’t have any tubes in her arms or a mask on her face.

He went over to her bed and stroked her bare upper arm. When she failed to react he tried to shake her awake.

She grunted, smacked her lips softly and made a sluggish movement to knock his hand away, but he just held it there more tightly. ‘Elena, you’ve got to help me.’

Drunk with sleep, she opened her eyes and didn’t seem to recognise him at first. Only gradually did her eyes become clear.

‘Whash…’ she asked in a daze.

He bent down to her. ‘I need your key! Where is it?’

She pulled a face as if having bitten into something sour. A faint quiver around the corners of her mouth was the sign of a suppressed yawn.

‘Why, you’ve got… you… must… have…?’

Martin didn’t want to lose a second. He was locked in here, Anouk running around the ship on her own, and even if all probability dictated the opposite, his gut feeling told him that her mother was alive. And in great danger.

‘The key!’ he yelled, grabbing her by the shoulders.

Terrified, Elena looked to the chair on the left, over which a dressing gown and her uniform were hanging. Martin understood without the need for any words.

He limped to the chair, feeling first in her trousers, but then found it in the breast pocket of her blouse.

‘Where are you going?’ he heard Elena’s hoarse voice say when he was at the door.

He turned around. ‘Do you have any idea what the blue shelf is?’

The doctor’s eyes opened wide.

‘The blue shelf?’ she asked, her elbows digging into the mattress to push her up.

‘Yes.’

Elena threw off the duvet, beneath which she’d been lying in just panties and a T-shirt. Her eyes flashed with distress.