One parent. One child. A third person who pays for the cruise, but isn’t on board themselves.
Just like Naomi and Anouk Lamar.
Just like Nadja and Timmy.
The parallels were becoming increasingly clear.
And even if Martin wasn’t able to make sense of the clues, he knew that it couldn’t be a coincidence.
‘But… where… where, I mean… a trip like this is expensive, where did Lisa get the money from?’ the bewildered mother said, to no one in particular.
‘Was the booking made by credit card, debit card or transfer?’ Martin asked.
‘I’ll have to look,’ Bonhoeffer said, hurriedly checking his watch. Apparently he was expected back at any moment.
‘Lisa doesn’t have a credit card,’ Julia said, before slapping both hands over her mouth.
‘Oh, Christ, the video!’ she gasped.
‘Which video?’ Martin asked.
The captain put his raincoat down on a chest of drawers and came into the sitting room, shaking his head.
‘That’s nonsense, Julia, and you know it.’ He tried to put his arm around her, but she moved away.
‘I don’t know anything any more.’ she screamed at him. ‘Would I recognise my daughter if she were here with me now and not somewhere…’ Her voice cracked.
‘What video are we talking about?’ Martin tried again.
‘It supposedly shows her daughter prostituting herself,’ Bonhoeffer explained. Then, turning to Julia, he added, ‘It’s a nasty fake, like everything on isharerumours. Lisa’s the victim of cyberbullying, not a whore selling her body to pay for a cruise.’
There was a crackling in the ceiling and Martin heard a whisper that grew louder when the captain turned a knob on the cabin wall.
‘… we request you to switch to channel 5. Lisa Stiller was last seen yesterday at dinner in the Georgica Room. We apologise for disturbing you in the middle of the night, but we hope that with your help…’
Bonhoeffer turned down the volume of the cabin speaker again. Having found the remote control on the glass coffee table, Martin switched on the plasma-screen television. Channel 5 was showing a close-up of a portrait taken for a biometric passport. Because you weren’t allowed to smile for these photos, the young, sleep-deprived girl with her chalk-white skin and jet-black hair looked rather grumpy. At the sight of her, Julia Stiller burst into tears. And Martin’s heart did a double beat.
‘I know that girl,’ he said, his gaze fixed on the screen. ‘I saw her yesterday.’