‘None,’ said Louis, yet still he was shocked by what he saw. The flash on Hendricksen’s phone had created a chiaroscuro effect, accentuating the pallor of skin while deepening the surrounding shadows. The result was a vision of brutality that resembled the most anguished imaginings of medieval and Renaissance art. He felt the final agonies of these four people and allowed the rage to build inside him. But as the wave broke and the tide subsided, he raised barriers that he would not permit to be breached again. Emotion would only hamper his efforts, and he had long ago learned to compartmentalize his hatreds.

Yet his features displayed none of this, remaining impassive throughout.

‘They made De Jaager watch what was done to the women,’ said Louis. He had moved on to the photographs of the upstairs bedroom, with its two bloodstained beds, its reddened boards, and a single chair lying on its side, a pair of cable ties nearby. ‘These are foul men.’

‘Go to the last of the photos,’ said Hendricksen.

Louis did, and discovered a series of images of a van, obtained from what must have been a building’s external security camera. The date and time on the pictures indicated that they were taken on the morning after De Jaager’s final, long night. In the third image, the driver’s face was almost visible. The pictures that followed were enlarged and enhanced versions of the same face. Louis wouldn’t have been able to swear to it in court, but he was reasonably certain that the driver was Luca Bilbija. A second man sat beside him, but his face was turned to the right, and was therefore not visible.

‘Where were these taken?’ asked Louis.

‘About half a kilometer from the safe house,’ said Hendricksen.

‘Did you get them from the police?’

‘No, these emerged from my own inquiries.’

Louis was impressed. He could only imagine the kind of dedication this had required.

‘I have police contacts,’ Hendricksen continued, ‘good ones, but I decided it might be wiser not to use them unless absolutely necessary.’

‘And why would that be?’ said Louis, although he already guessed the answer.

‘Because I doubt you’re here to perform a citizen’s arrest on these men.’

‘No, I’m here to kill them.’

Better it was said aloud so that Hendricksen would not have to lie to himself, now or later.

‘As I thought.’

‘And how do you feel about that?’ said Louis.

‘I would have preferred it to be otherwise,’ said Hendricksen. ‘Perhaps I yet retain some hope that a legal solution might present itself. Incidentally, do you see where we are?’

They were passing a sign for the truck stop at Meer, close to the Belgian-Dutch border. It was here that Louis and Angel had first met Hendricksen, in the company of De Jaager and his only nephew, Paulus.

‘Yes,’ said Louis, ‘I remember this place.’