He was pricked by doubts about his faith, which in spite of everything he’d never abandoned altogether. He was convinced that there was more than just a long, dreamless sleep awaiting him after death. But he could only hope that he’d be spared a meeting with his maker. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to restrict himself to just a friendly chinwag with the being responsible for manning the ticket office of life, issuing innocent children with one-way fares to the torture chamber of sexually disturbed psychopaths.

‘I’ve brought you something,’ Martin said softly, taking the teddy from the bag. A faint sign of recognition flashed in Anouk’s eyes. As if she were worried he might pack it away again, she hastily grabbed the filthy cuddly toy from his hands and buried her face in it.

Martin watched her in silence, noting the red blotches spreading across her neck and wondering whether he was doing the right thing.

It was possible that Yegor and Bonhoeffer were just bluffing and the girl wouldn’t be in any danger at all if he notified the authorities and thus the whole world about this unbelievable case. But it was a huge risk. For there were indications that the captain was right and he already wore a stamp on his forehead that said ‘scapegoat’. In all likelihood the truth was somewhere in between. The only thing for sure was that the moment he raised the alarm he wouldn’t have any further opportunity to speak personally to the girl, or at least attempt to. And thus he was torn between the desire to do the right thing and reveal the cover-up, and the hope that through Anouk he might learn something about the fate of his own family.

Churned up by these unsettling thoughts, he’d decided to pay her a second visit, this time alone, without the doctor.

‘I’ve got something else for you,’ Martin said, taking from the bag a cardboard box wrapped in transparent film.

‘It’s a toy computer,’ he explained, having removed a pink plastic device from its packaging. He’d picked it up in the ship’s toyshop on deck 3.

The rectangular thing looked like a tablet from the technological Stone Age, manufactured clumsily and cheaply, but it didn’t have any sharp edges and Anouk wouldn’t be able to do herself much harm with the blunt stylus stuck to its side.

Martin turned it on, checked that the batteries were working, and put it beside Anouk on the bed.

Then he took a step back and slipped his hand into his jeans pocket. With a single press of a button he activated the record function of his smartphone.

‘When I came to see you a couple of hours ago with Dr Beck you mentioned a name to me, Anouk. Can you remember what that was?’