In the vacuum of its aftermath my mind speeds up. What else could I have done, what else isn’t as it seems? The houseboat fire. Could I have started that, done it to make myself look like a victim, show I wasn’t just being paranoid? Had I hurt Kush in the process? A wave of nausea hits me. Is Kush even real? The first time I saw him I thought he looked like the black wolf. Had part of my mind conjured him up? And then, further back, could I have been the one to kill Marianne Kleine? And if so, why, why would I do it, what reason would I have other than some kind of psychic echo from the original Klaasen case, something the black wolf has been feasting on inside me for years? I’d broken down; they called it Uncomplicated PTSD, and I thought I’d got better. But what if it wasn’t a breakdown, more like a change of form, a dark metamorphosis?

I feel like crying. I feel like laughing. It’s coming, I can sense it. They took the tin off me. I need it. I need it now or it’s going to get worse. Or do I? Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe that’s what’s causing this …

I let my head fall back and from out of my throat rushes an ear-splitting, all-consuming scream. Only to part of me, part of me that’s rapidly disappearing, it sounds more like a howl.

I’m on the ground, pavement pushed into my face. Or the other way round. It’s hard to tell.

‘What happened?’ Vermeer’s voice.

‘He went fuckin’ nuts. Had to restrain him,’ says a voice close to the back of my head.

‘Get him in the car.’

I’m hauled up, the car door is opened and one of the uniforms uncuffs me. The other grabs me by the upper arm, guiding me roughly into the back seat. His grip’s tight and I can feel the wound reopen on my arm. Vermeer gets in the driving seat and one of the uniforms takes the front passenger seat. The third gets in beside me. I stare forward through the safety cage. A caged animal. Nobody says anything, and Vermeer starts driving. I can tell we’re heading back to the station. The panic’s not far away. I can sense it, almost toy with it, but for the moment I appear to be in control, my rational mind trying to make sense of the situation.