Tears streamed down her cheeks and snot ran from her nose. She whimpered when the puppy-eyed officer looped the belt around her head and tightened it into a gag in front of her mouth, thereby making it impossible to spit out the piece of glass. At a sign, the worker loosened the armlock.

‘Okay, let’s start from the beginning again, Shahla. You can say Yes. But you can’t say No. But you mustn’t lie either. Not unless you’re keen on having a second breakfast.’ The thug clenched his fist.

With a moan Shahla shook her head. Like Tiago, she’d understood what would happen if the madman punched her in the stomach again, triggering a swallowing reflex if she tried to breathe through her mouth in spite of the gag.

‘You found a little white girl, didn’t you?’ the officer began his interrogation.

She nodded without hesitation.

‘And the girl’s still on board?’

Another nod.

‘In Hell’s Kitchen?’

The cleaning lady answered this question in the affirmative, and the next one too. ‘And you’re getting lots of money for looking after her?’

‘Hmmmm!’

The man asking the questions laughed to his mate and switched to their mother tongue so that Shahla couldn’t understand him. Unlike Tiago, who was a wizard at languages. Besides his native Spanish, he could read and write German, English, and French, while Dutch wasn’t a problem either as he’d lived in Holland for three years as the son of a diplomat.

‘Didn’t I tell you this tart is sitting on a goldmine?’ the officer said to his accomplice. ‘They wouldn’t be making such an effort otherwise. I see large amounts of cash here for us.’

The taller man gave an inane grin. ‘Really? What’s your plan?’

‘We’re going to let Pussy here take us to the girl and—’

Tiago would never discover the second part of the plan.

At a frantic signal from his chum, the worker let go of the chambermaid, whose eyes suddenly looked as if they were going to pop out of their sockets. She tore the gag from her mouth and staggered into the narrow gap between the television and the bed. Grabbed her throat. And opened her mouth. So wide that, in spite of his poor viewpoint from the floor, Tiago could see her tongue in the mirror. Stretched out.

Red.

Shining.

Without the shard of glass, which was now somewhere halfway between her throat and windpipe, perhaps deeper, and which Shahla was desperately trying to disgorge.

21

Martin opened the door, but let Elena enter Anouk’s isolation cabin first.

‘Everything okay, darling?’ the doctor asked anxiously, but there seemed to be no cause for concern. Anouk had barely changed position.

She was still sitting cross-legged on the bed, but had stopped scratching. Although she was still refusing to look at Elena or Martin, her lips were moving very slightly.