‘But that’s not necessarily a bad thing,’ he’d said. ‘If they really are okay but just don’t feel like getting in touch, then they have only themselves to blame. I just want to know they’re all right.’

Noah was close to tears when he thought back to the conversation with Tina. There was no chance whatsoever that Dan was okay, that he and his family were having a great time. There was no chance whatsoever that his terse messages were an indication that he was pissed off with Noah because he hadn’t supported their Australian adventure. Dan wasn’t like that.

I just hope it’s not too late.

That was the worry constantly eating away at Noah. So many weeks had passed; did that mean they’d run out of time? Because where could you hide an entire family for that long? And why would you hide them and keep them alive? Wasn’t the only logical conclusion that they were dead?

Noah’s heart raced, panic threatened to swallow him whole. He had to keep a cool head, keep the hope alive. The email must provoke some kind of reaction, a reaction that would prove once and for all that there was a problem – and give him something to show Alex.

Help is on the way, Noah thought. Help is on the way.

Chapter 7

The air inside Malcolm Benke’s house was heavy and hard to inhale, as if someone had mixed it with smoke. Just enough to make itself felt, not enough to be visible. Fredrika hesitated in the hallway. What had got into her? Coming back here to play Sherlock Holmes. Actually, it was worse than that – she wasn’t playing, she was taking the whole thing very seriously.

Alex was right behind her.

‘Go on in,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this over and done with.’

His breath smelled of curry, and for a moment Fredrika imagined what it would be like to kiss him. Not that she wanted to – just because. She’d had the same thought when they went drinking after finding out that Berlin was going to be their new boss. She’d been far from sober on that occasion; she didn’t have the same excuse now.

Surely bottomless grief doesn’t make you horny?

She moved into the living room, where Benke had been found. The CSIs were long gone, leaving traces of their meticulous work. Bernhard would be the first of Benke’s relatives to see what the house looked like.

If that were me, Fredrika thought, if I lived in Vienna and came home to see my parental home like this, in a mess and with stuff all over the place . . . And the armchair in which my father was found shot dead. I don’t think I could cope.