The girl stopped sucking her thumb and, without letting go of the teddy, picked up the drawing computer. She placed it on her knee. Then she looked up.

‘Do you have any idea where you are at the moment?’ Martin asked. Anouk frowned in response. She looked tense, but not in pain. Like a schoolgirl given a difficult mental arithmetic problem she can’t solve.

Martin decided to try some simpler questions.

‘How old are you?’

His question was accompanied by a piercing beep, followed by six more and concluded with a final, drawn-out toot. The noise, muffled by several doors, seemed to be coming from the corridor leading to Hell’s Kitchen. Suspecting that it was an internal alarm for staff, Martin ignored it.

Anouk looked as if she hadn’t heard the noise at all.

Her lips were moving like Timmy’s had when he had to learn something by heart. But they didn’t form any words, not even a sound. Instead she lifted her nightshirt to scratch her tummy above the waistband of her tights.

Martin saw a number of circular burn scars, on either side of her belly button, which looked as if cigarettes had been stubbed out on her.

‘My God, who did that to you?’ he asked, unable to conceal the revulsion in his voice. He turned away so that Anouk didn’t relate the fury in his face to herself. When he’d composed himself again and was about to resume his questions, he couldn’t speak.

That can’t be true!

Anouk had put the teddy down beside her and written a single word on the drawing computer:

Martin

His name. In clear letters. Right across the touchscreen. Anouk still had the stylus in her hand.

She can’t mean me, that’s impossible.

Martin forced a smile and counted down from ten until his heart rate was sufficiently normal for him to ask calmly, ‘But you know I’m not a bad man, don’t you?’

I’d never hurt you.

It must be a silly coincidence, he thought.

He hoped.

Martin was a common name, in the US too. It wasn’t unfeasible that the abuser might also coincidentally be called it.

Or called himself Martin. Or wore a shirt from the Caribbean island of St Martin…

Anything was possible.

But was it likely?

Anouk turned her head to the side. She looked around as if she were taking in her surroundings for the first time. Then she grabbed the stylus again and skilfully drew the outline of a large cruise ship. Martin peered through the portholes out at the water, which looked much darker than two hours ago. He had another stab at a direct question: ‘Can you tell me the name of the person you’ve been with all this time?’

Anouk closed her eyes. Counted something on her fingers.

11 + 3