The door slammed behind him with a bang. Merlin turned back to the large easel in order to finish his last work of art.

If Hannes and Fritz had left the abandoned farm just a few minutes earlier, they probably would have seen Ludwig Lachmann's green sedan turn onto the road at the lighthouse and speed away.

Fritz gazed at the lighthouse: he had always had a soft spot for lighthouses. Then his eyes returned to Hannes's car in front of him, which coasted along the winding route. It's time this guy buys himself a new car. Then he won't get carried away whenever he uses someone else's, he thought.

As he passed by Hohenberg Farm, Fritz thought he felt the gaze of the old farmer's wife on him. There was little in this desolate area that escaped the woman.

At a small intersection a little farther on, Hannes took advantage of the straightaway and accelerated, while Fritz slowed down and despite the complete isolation put on his turn signal. Let the speed demon race back to the city! Whenever he was in the area, Fritz liked to stop by his boat and take a fifteen-minute breather.

After parking his Jeep, he wandered over to the dock and could already feel the stress melt away and his mind clear. He looked lovingly on the old cutter. He had invested so much work and material into the boat and was proud of it. His handiwork had paid off.

"A real beaut," came a voice from beside him.

Startled, Fritz took his eyes off his Lena. "Oh, Ole. I didn't hear you sneak up. True, Lena is one hell of a girl. How's your old Seagull?"

"Back on the water. Thankfully, the damage looked worse than it really was. But still, you should have let me teach that pompous fool a lesson or two."

"Be glad I held you back. The guy probably would have sued you. He badly needs the dough."

"Well, in any case, he won't be showing up around here anytime soon. What really annoys me is that I had helped him out with a rope the day before. I even gave it to him!"

"Oh? On Saturday? When he was here with his blonde?"

"Blonde? I didn't see any lady."

"Eh, someone else saw her," Fritz said and then told his old school friend how the private detective had been shadowing the real estate agent.

"Oh, now I understand," said Ole as laugh lines fanned out around his eyes. "I had been wondering about this dark-green car, an Asian make. It was over there in the parking lot. It got here shortly after the boat did. I was a little suspicious and took a look inside. There was a little guy sitting in there." Ole roared in laughter. "But he didn't see anything-he was sound asleep!"

"When was that? Had Mr. Schneider, I mean the boat owner, already cast off?"

"He had just left. I helped him untie the boat before I peeked at the car. Like I said, I'm angry as hell that I help-"

"Forget about that! Did you see a woman on board? Or at least, a woman go on board?"

"What's it matter to you? No, I didn't see a woman, but of course-"

"That little bastard of a private eye! He told us he had observed everything, but he was sleeping on the job and actually didn't see anything! Are you absolutely certain he was asleep?"

"Yes, of course! His mouth was wide open and he was drooling."

Fritz frantically rummaged through his wallet. "I have that guy's business card here somewhere! Damn mess. If I only . . . Oh, wait, here it is!" He quickly dialed the number on the card. "Yes, Detective Janssen! Remember me?" he said into the phone. Then he let out a fierce torrent of accusations and threats of criminal consequences.

As soon as he hung up, Fritz called Hannes to brief him on the latest development.

"The guy admitted he was snoozing?"

"First he waffled, but then he conceded. He said the only woman who could have been with him was the assistant, Kustermann, because the two were constantly by each other's side. He was afraid his client would hear about his blunder and that's why he lied to us. But now he's afraid of the consequences this might have for him. So start looking into Schneider again. His work, cell phone, home, wife, neighbors-whatever. Track him down!"

"Sure," Hannes said. "I'll call you later."

Ten minutes later, Hannes called back. "Schneider's disappeared again! His cell phone was turned off, and his wife picked up at home. Or rather his soon-to-be ex-wife, if I'm correctly interpreting her outrage. She didn't mince words. She's already put the private detective's work to good use. She kicked her husband out, and as far as she knows, he's headed for the mountains with Ms. Kustermann. But she has no idea where or for how long. Mr. Schneider better hope we get to him before she does because-"

"Okay, so put out an APB. Monitor his cell, contact the various units, get the federal police involved, and so on. Ask Lauer. He'll tell you how you need to proceed. And check if there's any connection between Ben and this real estate agent."

"All right, boss," Hannes said. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed, especially since he could no longer get that photo of a terrified Merle out of his head.

The flap had been open for a few minutes. Merle's eyes had grown accustomed to the light. She was mesmerized by the sneakers she could see outside the door. She had given up hope. Her desperate yet unsuccessful attack the previous day had dashed her dreams of escaping.

She didn't care anymore what the guy on the other side of the door wanted from her. All she wanted was for it to be over. This way or that way. Let him stick her in ridiculous clothes, photograph her, and lace her food with sleeping pills. As far as she was concerned, he could stand in front of that door for hours. She had lost all will to resist.

The feet moved a little closer. Merle heard a soft metallic noise, but she couldn't pinpoint its source. Her gaze traveled up from the door, and she thought she saw a small spot of light at eye level. Suddenly it was gone. Shortly after, the sneakers moved to the left out of Merle's field of vision, and the small dot was back.

A peephole, thought Merle. So what? Go ahead and watch me, I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore! Her fingers stroked the splinters of wood chips she had saved from the broken tray. The next time you look in here, you'll be surprised at what you'll see . . .

The sneakers reappeared and a hand pushed two items into her room. Merle's face was devoid of emotion. She simply stared straight ahead. What is that? She already recognized the tray of food and the bottle of water. It seemed to be fries. But what was the elongated object next to the food? She looked closer. A flashlight! She would finally have light! Merle felt life course through her once more.

She looked back toward the door and saw a brief movement behind the little peephole. If he would at least talk to her! She could barely remember how another human voice sounded. Her pleading eyes stared at the door as if she were trying to hypnotize the man on the other side. And when a voice finally spoke to her, Merle wasn't sure if she had only heard the softly spoken words in her head or if they had been said aloud.

"It'll be over soon, Merle. You don't have to wait much longer for the end."

SATURDAY AT NOON.

"This doesn't count as the dinner you still owe me, right?" asked Maria as she stirred her latte in a small cafe near the medical examiner's office.

"No, of course I didn't forget, but right now there's just too much going on. Maybe next week?"

"So you want to solve the case by next week? I've heard a buddy of yours is the prime suspect and managed to evade arrest."

Maria's question hit a sore spot. Hannes could imagine what kind of impression his colleagues had of him now. The rookie who puked when he saw his first body and then lived for a week with the Ternheims' murderer.

"It seems all they do down at the station is gossip," he said. "Unfortunately, it looks as if Ben is at least in some way involved."

"That doesn't sound very convincing . . ."

"Imagine that there's sufficient evidence to suspect that a friend of yours is guilty of killing someone. Wouldn't you search for explanations as to why she couldn't have done it?"

"And do you have any explanations?"

"No. But I also don't have any explanations as to why he would do it. Of course, there's no disputing the fingerprints on the tattoo machine, but why everything else?"

"These are things I don't have to think about, fortunately."

"Well, what did Mr. Ternheim's corpse tell you?"

Maria put her glass down and leaned back in her chair. "First, I can tell you the death occurred at about nine last night. The sedative is the same one we found in his sister's blood, but at a much higher dose. It's Letharmol, which is used to treat anxiety as well as relieve pain."

"How easy is it to get this stuff?"

"You need a prescription."

"How's it taken?"

"Either in tablet form or as drops. It's extremely fast and in higher concentrations can cause serious side effects like muscle failure and cardiac arrest."

"So what was the cause of death?"

"Asphyxiation. He likely suffered a lot. And he was pumped so full of Letharmol that he was completely helpless, his muscles paralyzed."

"And how long would it take to tattoo his arm like that?"

Maria shrugged. "I don't think whoever did the tattoo knew what he or she was doing. So it's hard to say. As a beginner, it'd probably take at least half an hour."

"Damn, that's long! Whoever did this must have nerves of steel. Someone could have walked into the room at any time."

"That's true. But maybe it was done by a professional who wants to throw us off by screwing up the tattoo."

"How do you know so much about tattoos?"

"I have three. Here, for example." She pulled her shirt up a bit so he could see her tanned, flat stomach. Curled around her belly button was a little dragon with two small flames shooting out of its mouth. "Don't you want to know where the other two are?" she asked. "One on the shoulder and another on the ankle. What do you think?"

He didn't know how to respond and laughed.

Hannes found some time for practice and headed to the boathouse after his meeting with Maria. This time he properly returned the patrol car and walked to his apartment. He didn't know if it was snake-free, but he had no choice. Anna had said she would bring Socks by at seven, so he only had an hour to sort out his thoughts.

He kept thinking of the young woman who was being held captive in a room somewhere. How did Ternheim get her photo, and what did Merle von Hohenstein have to do with him? Hannes had given the photo to Marcel after returning to the city, but his reaction had been lukewarm: "I can't see anything that would be of much help. The room's empty. It could be anywhere." Hannes had remembered Mrs. Olsen's statement about often seeing a young woman in the area. Marcel had promised to show her Merle's photos to see if there was a possible match.

Hannes walked into his apartment and was greeted by that slightly musty smell that comes when a place has gone without fresh air for days. He opened all the windows. Fruit flies swarmed around a rotten apple on the kitchen table.

He sat down with his laptop and a pitcher of ice-cold mineral water on the tiny balcony. He trusted that Ben was no murderer, and he couldn't for the life of him see a motive for killing the Ternheims. Although Ben fought neo-Nazis, the siblings showed no such leanings. Their father and grandfather were to blame for the company's link to the Nazi regime, so why would Ben wipe out the next generation? Was there a connection he didn't know about?

He decided to search the forum that Ben had showed him. He had retrieved the paper with the log-in information, so he had no problems opening the page. He immediately clicked on the link to the archives and scanned the contents, file by file.

He stopped when he came across the photos of concentration camp prisoners. One of the prisoners was holding out his skinny arm, and Hannes could see a series of numbers tattooed on his forearm. As he was well aware, prisoners at Auschwitz had their respective numbers tattooed on their forearms. He quickly counted six digits. If the two murders were actually related to Lagussa's Nazi past, then the tattooed numbers were definitely a message. Only what was the message?

He went back to the forum's home page and scrolled through the various topics. Lagussa was just one of many headings. One entry interested him in particular: Where is a list of concentration camp prisoners and their numbers?, a user called "tapeworm" had asked.

Several people had replied to this question, and a member named "Ralfa64" recommended a website where you could search for concentration camp prisoners according to various criteria, including names or numbers. Hannes clicked on the link, which opened a search page. He quickly entered the five numbers they could decipher on the Ternheim siblings into a field marked "Prisoner number." He was unsure what to choose as the sixth number, so he entered zero. No matches. He got the same result when he tried a one and then a two. After typing three and clicking search, a name appeared. Stunned, he fell back in his chair.

"What do you mean, you found a Maria?" said Fritz over the phone.

"Old Ternheim had muttered something about a Maria and a Josef. But he wasn't talking about the Bible! I found some website where you can search for former concentration camp prisoners. I entered the numbers tattooed on the Ternheims' forearms and added a three for the sixth number. And I got a hit! Now hold tight: the number belonged to a Maria Lwenstein."

Hannes heard only breathing on the other end.

"Did you hear me? The painter recognized the numbers. He must have known it had something to do with Maria Lwenstein. We've solved the mystery of the tattoos! The murders are actually connected somehow to Lagussa's Nazi past. Maybe the murderer tried to extort the two Ternheims, but they refused."

"A stroke of genius," Fritz said. "Did you find out anything about Maria Lwenstein or a connection between her and the Ternheims?"

"No, I haven't started researching."

"The question now, of course, is who is this Josef? Maybe her husband?"

"Hold on, I can search for that right now." He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and entered Josef Lwenstein into the search.

"Nope, nothing. If he was her husband, then he wasn't in the concentration camp."

"Or he was at another concentration camp. Or he isn't in the database. Try to find out what you can about the prisoner. Maybe you'll stumble across a Josef Lwenstein."

"Okay, will do. Gotten anywhere searching for Ben?"

"No, we visited the home of Frank Richter, who was caught in the control room. We wanted to question him since he might have been involved with the murders. But we didn't find him or Ben. Maybe Richter has gone underground now too. We will definitely keep an eye on the apartment and expand the manhunt to include Richter. We've just checked the addresses of two other activists who've been arrested with Ben at demonstrations. The two allegedly claim they haven't seen him for weeks, and there was no evidence of him in their apartments."

"What about Ms. Ternheim's car?"

"Nothing yet. The guys from forensics are trying to save her phone's SIM card, but they probably won't get anywhere. The acid really penetrated the device."

"All right, I'll get back to you when and if I find out anything else about Maria Lwenstein or Josef."

"Do that. And if you run into Jesus while you're at it, say hi for me." Fritz hung up.

Hannes's theory initially seemed to lead nowhere. Although he was able to find information on a total of six different Josef Lwensteins, all of them deported to concentration camps, he was unable to connect a single one of them to Maria Lwenstein.

His phone rang.

"Hannes, it's Marcel. Isabelle and I were just at the farm. Mrs. Olsen is certain that the woman she saw walking along the road was Merle von Hohenstein. But that was all she could tell us."

"Then maybe she's still in the area. What are you going to do now?"

"We'll ask around and distribute pictures of her. We'll also visit the old painter again. We have to get him to talk!"

"Good luck," Hannes said. "I suspect questioning the other residents will get us nowhere. But keep us up to date if you find anything else out!"

Hannes heard excited barking on the street, then the buzzer rang. Hannes opened his door. Socks came running up the stairs and jumped in his arms, almost knocking him over, and tried to lick his face. Anna reached the landing.

"Hey, I saw a small Italian restaurant around the corner. What do you say about getting some pizza? We'll need to stop by Ben's place first, though. I think I left my purse there."

"Sure, no problem."

Socks sniffed around the apartment, and Hannes brought the laptop inside. Anna peered over his shoulder. "What are you up to?"