Tom Schiwy finished his beer in one gulp and handed the barman his room card to put the drinks on his bill, before hurrying after the elegant blond.

In excited anticipation of the evening and everything it would entail.

About this book and thanks

Before my final surprise on page 401 (which of course you can jump to straight away if you’re not interested in my ramblings about how Passenger 23 came about) I’d like to honour tradition and first of all thank you for choosing my book from amongst the hundred thousand new ones that appear each year. Now you’ve finished reading it, I expect you’ve got completely the wrong idea of me.

Whether you believe me or not, I like cruises. Yes, I really do! As a small child I even once toyed with the idea of becoming a captain, but very quickly ditched this at the tender age of eleven when crossing the English Channel with my mother; the two of us had a competition as to who could feed the most fish by the end. Whenever I’m aboard a ship these days I always wear a scopolamine plaster behind my ear – a sure sign of a sissy on the high seas – but I’ll happily put up with the indulgent smiles of sea dogs so long as I control the destination of the food I eat rather than the other way around.

Although I enjoy being on water, Passenger 23 isn’t an expression of my – admittedly sometimes strange – sense of humour. For me it’s no contradiction to like cruise ships while making one the setting for gruesome crimes. I mean, I like Berlin too and have no scruples about populating my home town with people who collect eyes and crush souls.

When I say that I like cruises I’m not talking about prescribed fun on the sun deck or the highly regimented excursions, the advertising of which is strongly reminiscent of those political leaflets that promise outlandish miracles. It might not read ‘More pay for less work’ but you could well see something like ‘Idyllic Robinson Crusoe experience’ to describe the visit to a bonsai-sized cave with eight hundred like-minded people!