Petra opened the door and walked down the hall to the lift. Not in her wildest imaginings could she have come up with this scenario for her first meeting with Marijke. It was hard to picture anything less romantic than leaving her to comfort a rape victim while Petra went in search of a killer.

The doors opened and the two women faced each other. Petra couldn’t stop the smile. Taller than she’d imagined, but far more attractive in the flesh than in the photographs Marijke had sent her. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Your timing is terrible.’

‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ Marijke said huffily.

‘Christ, Marijke! Carol’s been raped, Radecki’s taken Tony prisoner and he’s going to kill him. I can’t think about anything else right now.’

Marijke’s face crumpled in shock. ‘How is this?’

Petra pushed past her into the lift, gabbling all the while. ‘Somehow, Carol’s cover has been blown. I don’t know how, I haven’t had the chance to ask her. Radecki raped her, beat her. She’s in a hell of a mess. I need to try and stop him killing Tony. You have to look after Carol, she shouldn’t be alone.’ She gave Marijke a quick kiss on the lips and gently steered her out of the lift. ‘I’ll call.’ As the lift doors slid closed, she shouted, ‘I’m really pleased you’re here, Marijke.’

Stunned, Marijke stood staring at the brushed steel doors. This wasn’t the encounter she’d fantasized about. She wasn’t sure if her English was to blame, but she thought Petra had told her Carol had been raped and Tony was about to be killed. It was hard to take in. Only a few hours had passed since she had talked to them both on the phone. She raised her eyebrows, shrugged her backpack more firmly on to her shoulder and started looking for 302.

The door was ajar, and she could hear the sound of running water. Marijke stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Now she could hear that it was a shower cascading from behind a door on her left. She put down her backpack and knocked hard enough to be heard over the downpour. ‘Hello?’ she called tentatively.

The water stopped. ‘Marijke?’ a voice said.

‘It’s Marijke, yes.’

‘Come in, it’s not locked.’ The shower resumed. Marijke entered to find a woman she presumed was Carol Jordan leaning against the wall of the shower cubicle, scrubbing herself with a bar of soap. Her face was a mess. The soft tissue had ballooned, her nose was clearly broken and her eyes were shrouded in bruises. That her wet hair was plastered to her head only made it look worse.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Marijke said.

‘I’m doing OK,’ Carol said. ‘Really, I am.’

‘I think you should not be washing yourself like this?’ Marijke said.