Radovan got to his feet. He badly needed to pee, but he would not do it here. He hoped Spiridon and the rest had also resisted the impulse, because the forensic investigators, when they came, would examine the toilet bowls for DNA. Then again, even if they found evidence and used it successfully to identify any of the perpetrators, the Dutch would have to seek their extradition from Serbia. Since that country was not a member of the European Union, this would be a political as well as a legal issue, one that could be postponed almost indefinitely, aided by the Vuksans’ allies in the Serbian Ministry of Justice and the brothers’ position in the larger Serbian criminal hierarchy. Still, Radovan’s preference was that extradition should not even become a subject for debate, because who knew how circumstances might change in the future? Money could not buy loyalty indefinitely, and the word of a politician was written in smoke.

Radovan looked out the kitchen window. An unmarked van was pulling up in front of De Jaager’s safe house – and how ironic that nomenclature now seemed. Luca Bilbija was behind the wheel. The younger man had left the killing to the others, preferring to wait in the van. He had no more stomach than Radovan for watching women being killed.

‘You have blood on your head,’ said Spiridon. ‘Did you injure yourself?’

‘It dripped through the ceiling. I thought I’d washed it all off.’

‘It seems that it’s as close as you’ll ever come to being blooded,’ said Spiridon.

The old argument, even now.

‘I’ve played my part in making us wealthy,’ said Radovan.

‘As have I. You may think, but I act.’

‘Rashly, at times. You, too, have blood on you.’

He pointed at the stain. Spiridon spat on his fingers and used them to wipe away the mark.

‘And you’re too cautious,’ he said, ‘always.’

For a moment the two brothers faced off, before Spiridon smiled and kissed Radovan.

‘But let’s not argue,’ said Spiridon. ‘It is done, and we are finished here. No more loose ends, and no more killing. We will leave this land and return to our own. We will spend our last days together by Zaovine Lake, drinking rakija and speaking of old times.’