Fabel had spent so little time in this room during the last twenty-five years, but he could still close his eyes and picture everything exactly where it was: the sofa and chairs were new, but they were in exactly the same positions as their predecessors; the reproduction of The Nightwatch by Rembrandt; the bookcase that was too big for the room and was crammed with books and magazines; the small writing table that his mother still used for all her correspondence, having let the world of e-mails and electronic communication pass her by. As well as its contents, the very fabric of the house was still so familiar to Fabel. The thick walls and heavy wooden doors and window frames always seemed to embrace him. He had a strange relationship with Norddeich: he came back to it only to visit his mother, and he felt no real affinity with the place. Yet this was the only world he had known as a child. It had formed him. Defined him. He had left East Friesland in stages: first studying at the Carl von Ossietzky University in Oldenburg, then at the Universität Hamburg.

When she came back into the parlour with a tray set out with the tea things, he shared the thought with his mother. ‘I never thought I’d end up being a policeman. I mean when I was growing up here.’

She looked surprised and a little confused.

‘It’s funny that now, at my age, I’m giving it up and going to work for someone who grew up right here in Norddeich.’

‘That’s not strictly true,’ said his mother. She poured some tea, added milk and dropped a Kluntje into the cup before handing it to Fabel, despite the fact that he hadn’t taken sugar in his tea for nearly thirty years. ‘You were always such a serious little boy. You always wanted to look after everybody. Even Lex. Goodness knows he got into so many scrapes and it was always you who got him out of them.’

Fabel smiled. His brother’s name was short for ‘Alexander’. Fabel himself only narrowly missed being called ‘Iain’, his Scottish mother finally compromising with his German father and calling him ‘Jan’, which had been ‘close enough’. Lex was the older of the two, but Fabel had always been the wiser, more mature one. Back then, Lex’s carefree attitude to life had annoyed the young Fabel. Now he envied it.

‘And that painting …’ His mother pointed to The Nightwatch. ‘When you were tiny you used to stare at that for hours. You asked me about the men in it, and I explained that they were patrolling the streets at night to protect people from criminals. I remember you said, “That’s what I’m going to be when I grow up. I want to protect people.” So you’re wrong. You did think about being a policeman when you were young.’ She laughed.