The Bielkes's house was set back from the road, within a walled garden. The sea glistened only a few hundred meters away. Halders could smell the salt, see the water, hear the gulls, see the sails, a couple of ferries, a catamaran, the oil storage tanks, three cranes in the abandoned wharf on the other side of the estuary. A horizon line.

The house must be worth ten million, but he couldn't let that affect him. People had a right to more money than he had. It might be newly built. Inspired by Greek architecture. The thing looked like a whole Greek village.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, felt it on his back under his shirt. Aneta looked cool. Must have to do with genes or something. Black on the outside, cool on the inside.

'OK, then," he said, and rang the doorbell, which was a tiny button barely visible in the yellow-tinted plaster.

The door opened immediately, as if the man inside had been waiting for the bell. He was wearing shorts and a shirt, barefoot, sunburned, maybe fifty, glasses with thin frames, thinning hair longer in the back. Thin all over in fact, Halders thought. Red eyes. Scared eyes. Something had invaded his home.

Now reality was intruding for the second time: first a daughter who had been raped, then two plainclothes police officers. The two always go together. Hadn't occurred to me before, Halders thought. We're the ones who do the following up, the good after the bad; but for him we're each as shitty as the other.

They introduced themselves.

Kurt Bielke ushered them in. "Jeanette is in her room."

"Yes." Halders glanced up the stairs. "It won't take long. Then she can go to East General."

"East General?"

"The hospital. Women's clinic."

"I know what it is," said Bielke, stroking his high forehead. "But… does she really have to go?" He turned to face Aneta Djanali. "She says she doesn't want to."

"It's important," Djanali said. For numerous reasons, she thought to herself.

"Can we have a word with her now?" Halders asked.

"Yes… Yes, of course," said Bielke, gesturing toward the stairs. Then he just stood there, as if frozen, until his head moved once again. He wasn't looking at them. "It's up there."

They went up the stairs and came to a closed door. Djanali could hear the sounds of summer outside. A seabird laughed aloud, and the laughter was followed by more. The birds drifted off over the bay. A dog barked. A car tooted. A child shouted out in a shrill voice.

Bielke knocked on the door. There was no answer, and he knocked again.

"Jeanette?"

They could hear a voice from inside, but no words.

"Jeanette? The po… the police are here."

Some word or other from inside again.

"Let's go in now," Halders said.

"Should I come too?" Bielke asked.

"No," said Halders, knocking on the door himself. He turned the handle, the door opened, and they went in.

The girl was in her robe, sitting on the bed. It was as dark as she could make it in the room, with the Venetian blinds closed. The bright light of the sun was trying to break through. It's as though the girl is trying to hide from it on one corner of the bed, thought Djanali. She's clinging to the wall. She's named Jeanette, not "she." She has a name, but suddenly it has no meaning for anybody else; maybe not even for her now that she's a victim.

Now it's my turn to speak.

Djanali introduced herself and Halders, who nodded, said nothing, sat down in the desk chair, and observed her, gave her a friendly nod.

Half of Jeanette's face was hidden under the towel she'd wrapped around her head after her long shower. She was holding the collar of her robe closed with a dainty hand. Djanali's eyes had grown used to the half light in the room by now, and she contemplated the fragile skin on the girl's fingers. It seemed to be sodden.

She's been in the shower for hours. I'd have done the same.

Djanali asked a few brief questions, the simplest she could think of, to start off the first interview. The answers were even briefer, barely possible to comprehend. They had to move closer, but not too close. Jeanette spoke about the park. Yes, it had been late. No, early. Late and early. She was alone. She'd walked there before. Lots of times, at night, too. Alone? Yes, alone at night, too.

This time she'd been alone for only a moment. Or maybe it had been a few minutes. She'd been to two different places and she said where they were and Halders wrote them down. She spoke about the others who'd been there with her, for a little while at least. They'd been to a graduation party, just a small one. A quarter of the class. It was nearly a month since they finished their exams.

Djanali could see Jeanette's white cap on the chest of drawers under the window. She could imagine her joy at passing her exams, and earning the right to wear her white cap. It seemed luminescent in the darkness.

A little graduation party. Djanali shifted her gaze from the white cap to Jeanette's face. Nineteen years old. She would have liked to ask about boyfriends, but knew it was better to wait. The important thing now was basic questions about what had happened: when, how, when, how, when, how. Ask, listen, look. She'd done this often enough to know that the most important thing for an interrogator to do was to pin down what she called the incident behind the incident. Not just to take an account at face value. The victim's account. No, to start thinking about the difficult question: Is that really true? Is that really what happened?

She asked Jeanette Bielke to tell her what impression she'd gotten of her attacker.

Suddenly Jeanette said she wanted to go to the hospital, she wanted to go now. Djanali had known that would come, or maybe should have come before now.

"Soon. Just one more question. One second only."

"But I want to go now."

"Can you tell us anything about this man?"

"I can't remember."

"Was he tall?"

"He was big. Strong. Or maybe I didn't… didn't dar… want… didn't dare to try and struggle. I did try at first… but then I couldn't anymore."

She'd started to cry. She pulled at the towel and rubbed it over her eyes and it came loose and fell down and her wet hair became visible, stuck to her head as if by glue.

"He… he tied me," she said.

"Tied you?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Well, tied… he had a noose around my ne… around my neck. My arms… then…"

She grasped hold of her throat. Djanali could see it now, a red mark like a narrow line around her neck. Jesus Christ.

"It was like a dog leash," Jeanette said. "It didn't smell like a dog, but it was like a dog leash." She was looking straight at Djanali now. "I could see it shining. I think."

"Shining?"

"It was shining around the collar. I think. As if there were studs on it, or something."

She gave a shudder, cleared her throat, then shuddered again. Djanali looked at Halders, who nodded.

"Just one last question, Jeanette. Did he say anything?"

"I don't remember much. I fainted. I think he said… something."

"What did he say?"

"I didn't hear what it was."

"But you could hear words?"

"Yes…"

"You didn't hear what language?"

"It wasn't like a language."

"What do you mean? Not like a language?"

"It was…just sounds…didn't mean anything. It was just something he…something I couldn't understand."

Djanali nodded, waited. Jeanette looked at her.

"He did it three times, or whatever. Repeated it. Or maybe it was just once. Just when he was…when he…"

The gulls were laughing outside the window again: they'd come back from the sea. A car engine started. A child shouted again. Jeanette rubbed hard at her hair with the towel. It was hot and stuffy in the room.

Djanali knew Jeanette had said all she was capable of saying just now, and that it was high time they got her to the hospital.