Radovan Vuksan had declined to remain in the room, returning instead to the kitchen. Music was coming from below. Radovan had turned the radio up loud and De Jaager could hear a late Schumann song, one of the lieder for children, rising through the floor. Perhaps Radovan had even chosen it deliberately, playing it through the Bluetooth system via his phone, as though an idyll of childhood might permit him to evade the reality of what was happening above his head.

Now Spiridon spoke in Serbian and one of the men by the beds began to remove his clothing, because skin was easier to clean than fabric. The other, younger, hesitated before arguing with Spiridon, who scowled in response but appeared to assent, however grudgingly. The younger man remained clothed and stepped back. Ilić displayed no similar reluctance and was already stripping.

Spiridon stood over De Jaager. In his right hand he held a sharp pair of meat scissors.

‘You’re going to watch this,’ Spiridon told De Jaager. ‘You’re going to watch every minute, because you caused it to happen. If you turn away, or close your eyes, I’ll cut off your eyelids.’

De Jaager looked into the faces of each woman and tried to communicate feelings that would have been beyond the power of speech even had he tried to use words. Both were terrified, but Anouk displayed defiance alongside fear. She had not asked him to avenge her husband’s death at the hands of Andrej Buha, but when informed by De Jaager of what he planned to do, she had held him tightly and blessed his name.

‘There may be repercussions,’ he had told her. ‘For all of us.’

‘I understand,’ she had replied. ‘But if it were in my power, I would kill them all, just to be certain.’

I should have listened to her, De Jaager thought. We should not have stopped at Buha.

The men moved onto the beds. Against their gags, the women began to scream.

Chapter VIII

Angel woke in the night to discover Louis seated by the window. He had an ancient flip phone in his right hand, one of many he kept as throwaways, and was opening and closing it repeatedly. It was this noise that had roused Angel.

‘What time is it?’ he said.

‘After midnight.’

‘Who were you going to call?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Louis. ‘Everyone?’

Angel got out of bed and stood beside his partner. He ran a hand through Louis’s graying hair.

‘Whatever it is, we’ll find out soon enough.’

‘Yes, I suppose we will.’

It was strange, Angel thought, how many people they had come to care about. It had not always been this way. He blamed Charlie Parker. Who knew that a conscience could be contagious?