It was fast, but regular.

Unlike Shahla’s.

Martin turned to the corpse. Stared into her wide-open, utterly expressionless eyes.

Even if it made no sense – for this culprit couldn’t possibly have raped Anouk – right in front of him, in her own blood, lay the chambermaid who had purportedly found the girl, but in all likelihood had abducted and kept her hidden for weeks.

And, if Martin wasn’t mistaken, below here was also where Anouk’s mother was being held prisoner.

In the blue shelf.

Where the floor had been vibrating for the ninety seconds or so that their struggle had lasted. As if it was moving.

As if the hatch was opening.

Martin stood up and teetered to the door in the vessel.

It took a further ten seconds for him to finally open it.

60

Now the floor beneath her feet was no larger than a narrow ledge, no wider than a bookshelf. The rest had already disappeared into the wall. And if Martin hadn’t opened the door to the cleaners’ entrance the blue shelf wouldn’t have had a floor at all any more. He had activated an emergency stopping mechanism which had halted the opening of the dumping chute.

At the last second.

One centimetre more and Naomi Lamar wouldn’t have been able to hold on any longer.

One third of her feet were protruding over the edge. She looked like a swimmer waiting for the starting gun before plunging into the water below. Martin was sure that the next time the Sultan pitched, Anouk’s mother would disappear into the ocean.

‘Naomi,’ Martin yelled, but she was as paralysed with shock as her daughter had been earlier. She didn’t react. Perhaps she hadn’t even heard him; the Atlantic was roaring so noisily beneath her.

From below, spray slapped her scratched face. This filthy woman, her skin covered in weals, was dripping all over. Martin, too, was soaked by the showers of water.

‘Come.’ He was holding on to the edge of the vessel door, leaning perilously forwards into the shaft. He held out his free right arm as far as he could into the refuse compactor. With a little courage, surely Naomi would be able to grab his hand. But Anouk’s mother gave Martin an impression of world-weariness and looked anything but courageous. As if she didn’t want him to help her. At any rate she wasn’t showing the slightest inclination to move towards him. She stood there as if screwed to the floor, staring into the foam bubbling at her feet.

‘Anouk’s alive!’ he shouted, and the mention of her daughter’s name did seem to have an effect.

Naomi moved her head. Raised it. Turned her chin to the side, in his direction. Looked at him. And opened her lips.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, or something similar.

Her voice was far too weak to compete with the raging of the sea.