He neared the top of the flight, and could tell that the rape was taking place in a room off to the right of the small landing. He heard grunts coming from the man, and still the same chilling sounds of female pain. His mind turned briefly to Anna, praying that this had not been meted out to her, but he forced himself to return to the present. He noticed that his pistol was shaking, which he steadied by holding it in both hands and taking a few deep and silent breaths. Slowly he walked the few feet to just before the open door. One more deep breath, and in he burst, his pistol pointing into the room.

“Stop it!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

It was a sight that he had hoped never to see. On a filthy mattress toward the back of the stinking room, a woman was on all fours, her light-blue floral dress hitched up onto her back. An old and water-stained pillowcase had been placed over her head. Over this pillowcase and around her neck was tied a belt, the end of which was being held by the man, who was penetrating her from behind. His trousers were down and his tunic was undone. The left sleeve was visible to Lockhart, and on it was a Union Jack. The skeletal face, half obscured in the darkness, was that of Matthew Butcher.

Had the Luger been loaded, Lockhart would have shot the rapist immediately. Instead, maintaining the element of surprise, he ran over to Butcher and smashed him over the head with the butt.

“Bastard!” Lockhart shouted, hitting him again. “You fucking bastard!”

The blows knocked Butcher away from his victim, and off the mattress onto a charred rug. Lockhart couldn’t help but notice the color of Butcher’s penis—it was red. He looked at the woman’s vagina, which was bleeding heavily. He stopped over the mattress and kicked Butcher in the groin, whereupon he let out the most ear-shattering and high-pitched cry. It took all of Lockhart’s self-control to stop himself from beating Butcher to death. He allowed himself one more kick, this time to Butcher’s stomach, which caused him to gag, retch and then vomit. Satisfied that Butcher would remain immobile for the time being, Lockhart put his pistol back in its holster and turned his attention to the woman.

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s all right.”

He squatted in front of her, untied the belt from around her neck and removed the pillowcase. After what he had just seen, Lockhart didn’t think he could grow more angry, but when he saw that the woman was in fact a girl who could be no older than fourteen, he nearly went berserk. Restraining himself, he made the girl his priority. Butcher could wait.

“Get up if you can,” he said to the girl as gently as he could. “Here, take my hand.”