Gans took off his jacket and hung it on the peg to the left of the door. Then he went into the kitchen, piled some boeren Kool -chopped cabbage-onto one of his microwave-resistant plastic plates and added a piece of smoked sausage. While he was waiting for it to heat, he remembered the DVD and returned to the hall to fetch it. Then he went back into the kitchen and picked up some utensils, a bottle of Oranjeboom, a glass, and a paper napkin. The utensils and the napkin he put on the coffee table. The beer he poured into his glass. The DVD he loaded into his player, pressing the pause button to make sure it wouldn’t start until he was ready.

Five minutes later, his dinner in one hand and his half-empty glass of Oranjeboom in the other, Gans went back into the living room and sat on the couch. He put down the food and drink, picked up the remote control, and hit the PLAY button.

Fourteen minutes after that, Marnix Gans stumbled into his bathroom and vomited everything he’d just eaten into the toilet.

Then he called the police.

Chapter Two

BRASILIA, BRAZILIAN FEDERAL DISTRICT

Nelson Sampaio pushed away from his desk, distancing himself from his chief investigator. “They’re doing what?”

“Raping Nardoni five or six times a day,” Mario Silva repeated, “which is exactly the reason I put him there.”

Sampaio, the director of the Brazilian federal police, held up a faultlessly manicured hand. The gesture reminded Silva of a traffic cop.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Are you telling me you expected the man to be sexually abused?”