The woman to the right had long gray hair and faced the wall, but Hendricksen did not need to look upon her features to know that this was Anouk. Had he required any further confirmation, he would have found it in the two wedding rings that hung from a chain around her neck, caught between her remains and those of the woman with her.

Beside Anouk lay her son, Paulus. Someone had draped a patterned tablecloth over him in an approximation of a shroud or robe. There was less blood on him, and the gunshot wound to his head suggested he had not suffered as much as the others. His right cheek rested against his mother’s bare back and his left hand hung over her shoulder.

The wall behind them was mostly ancient brickwork, broken by a series of vertical wooden pillars that were as much decorative as practical. De Jaager’s body had been nailed to two of these posts, his arms outstretched, his feet resting on a stool to take his weight. The nails had been fired through his wrists, the palms of his hands, the elbow joints, and his shoulders, and were buried deep in the flesh. In addition, a rope had been slung around his neck and fixed to one of the ceiling beams: additional security to ensure that the tableau was not ruined by the old man’s body yielding to the nails.

Hendricksen held the flashlight on the crucifixion, as though to fix it in his mind, although he knew that he would never forget what he had seen here. On his deathbed, the memory of it would accompany him from this world to the next. De Jaager’s eyes were half-open, and for the briefest of moments Hendricksen thought that the old man might somehow yet be alive. Hendricksen advanced a single step before stopping, his left foot inches from the first of the blood, before he realized the foolishness of this.

De Jaager’s face was unmarked, his eyelids intact. He had not turned away.

And at his death, he had prayed that others would not turn away either.

Chapter XX

Louis was packing for the Netherlands when his cell phone rang. Angel answered, and the expression on his face showed no warmth as he held up the device.

‘You need to change this number,’ said Angel, ‘unless you’re planning on smuggling in the phone when they eventually lock you up.’

Louis tried scowling at him for effect, but Angel had been rendered immune by decades of exposure.

‘Who are you,’ said Louis, ‘my mother?’

‘If I was your mother, I wouldn’t admit it.’

‘Just give me the fucking phone.’

Angel gave him the fucking phone.

‘I heard about De Jaager and the others,’ said Ross. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You tried,’ said Louis, ‘and for that I’m grateful.’

‘I could have made the call earlier.’