‘Because it turns out the day he was convicted he was put in a van and transported from the court to Bijlmerbajes prison. Only he got in a fight with another prisoner during the journey, and when he arrived he was in a really bad state. Had to be loaded into an ambulance and sent straight to the ICU. He was in a coma for a few weeks, and when he finally came out of it they found he was severely brain damaged. He can move around, but he can’t talk, can’t write, doesn’t seem to remember anything or anyone.’

For the second time tonight I find all the mellowness draining away. The breeze brings me a cloud of Vermeer’s perfume; it’s rich and spicy and floral. It’s a strong contrast to the taste of combustion in my mouth. The boat rocks gently and the gangplank creaks with it.

‘So what are you saying …?’

‘Klaasen had been kept in solitary from the time he was arrested right the way through to his trial. He had no contact with other prisoners.’

I don’t like where this is going. I should tell her to get off my boat and leave me alone. But I can’t help myself.

‘You’re telling me that Sander Klaasen didn’t have the opportunity to tell anyone about how he’d killed Lucie Muller?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Which starts to make it look like it wasn’t him after all, and the real killer is still out there.’

THREE DAYS BEFORE

Crumbled Away

He’s laughing now, and before I know what I’m doing I have the gun in my hand. I shove it right in his face. That shuts him up. There’s a flash of fear in his eye. The barrel pushes his lip, revealing teeth so it looks like he’s sneering. A night insect buzzes by. I can feel the trigger, the tension of it against my finger. His Adam’s apple bobs and I …

… wake on my back, heart thudding, hand clasped tight round something. I lift it to see it’s not a gun but an empty cup. A boat glides past and I lie gently rocking in its wake, the subtle movement gradually slowing my heart and breathing down.