I finish parking, just managing to squeeze in without any damage, and turn the engine off. Part of me had been hoping Roemers would get back to me with something straightforward, something that would mean I could just forget about it. Instead it’s just provoking questions, reigniting old paths in my brain, the investigative mind probing, constructing scenarios. It almost feels good. Which, I reflect as I reach for the door handle, isn’t good at all. I pass the postbox and before I know what I’m doing I pull the crumpled letter out of my pocket and jam it in the slot.

‘Jaap, we need to talk!’

I’m crossing the gangplank when Leah emerges on deck, waving her arms to get my attention. And she’s having to shout just to be heard above all the barking.

‘Sorry, Leah,’ I yell back. ‘I’m sure he’ll settle in soon. He’s just got to get used to it.’

‘He’s been doing that since you left; it’s driving me crazy.’

‘I’ll get it sorted.’

Though how, I’ve no idea. Kush explodes from the bathroom in a frenzy when I open the door; he almost seems pleased to see me. I take him up onto the roof and flop down in a deckchair. I’m finally starting to feel normal again. Going to the prison was a pretty good reminder of why I’m getting out. Clearly I’m still prone to stress reactions which can escalate way too quickly. Just as well I posted the letter.

But Klaasen.

I barely even recognized him, that’s how bad his injuries were. And if he wasn’t responsible for killing Lucie Muller, then …

Here was a man who’d always protested his innocence and I was finally starting to believe him. Only that line of thought would quickly lead back into panic; if he really is innocent, then I’m responsible for what happened to him. And what about Huisman? Why is he giving large sums of money to charity – and given what he must earn two thousand euros is a very large sum – then disappearing on holiday? And …