Sam stared at the girl's photo. That had to be Summersby's first victim, little Danielle. Danielle's parents were wealthy Swiss. Her father was an influential banker, now managing Sam's substantial finances. He did this for over four years, and yet she knew him mainly only by short, factual phone calls. They were not really likeable. Sam suspected that he was working for her for one reason only. Not because Ben's persuasions were so clever, no, Mr. Banker simply went for a better starting position to clear up his daughter's abduction.

Six months after kidnapping his daughter, he had asked Sam to search. Danielle had just disappeared on the way to school. The banker was on the verge of going insane when all his influence and fortune did not bring his daughter back. Danielle was swallowed up from the ground. No traces or evidence. Nobody had seen anything.

The Swiss police reduced the investigation to a minimum after six months. The desperate parents researched the Internet and came across by chance on Sam's homepage. The professionally designed site was a small thank you from Sam's first client, the godfather of 12-year-old Tamara.

Sam had not only earned personal satisfaction in fulfilling her own oath through her various assignments. Their clients paid well and in the meantime a small but well functioning network of specialists has come together.

Among them lawyers, doctors, bankers and others, helpful spirits.

Sam shook his fingers over the picture. It was a portrait. Danielle's eyes stared into the camera in fear. The girl tried to make a smile. But somehow she could not stop it, it seemed to slip from her lips. Again Sam felt hot anger rising in him. Presumably, Summersby had forced Danielle to hold her pretty face happily in the camera. The result was a mask of horror.

Hesitantly, she flipped the thick page. The tissue paper rustled softly. More photos of Danielle. Full body shots, Danielle from the front, from the back and from the side. On the right side of the book a single photo. Danielle with her eyes closed, on the metal table with the gutter on which Summersby had also photographed Sam.

Sam could hardly bear the burgeoning hope. Should Summersby be more harmless than she thought when her instincts made her believe it? Maybe he shot only with a harmless camera on his victims and then just held them to scan them again and again.

Sam's gentle faith in hope and mercy was shattered into a thousand shards by turning the next page. The rustling of the tissue sounded in Sam's ears like a soft whisper.

Sam closed her eyes with exhaustion and agony. Not before physical, but before mental Auszehrtheit. She had seen many atrocities in her life. The legacies of sick and perverted souls considered. Himself brought bloody death over the scum of humanity. But the sight of the following photos wanted to ruin her eyes.

At first slowly, then in torrents, Sam's tears flowed from under the closed eyelids and ran down her face and neck. She would not be able to hand over any of the missing children into the wide-open arms of her relatives.

Carefully, Brutus broke away from Sam and disappeared into the bathroom. Sam heard the noise of the shower. A grim smile crossed her features as she quietly closed the door of the bathroom behind her. What thought had just flashed through her mind? "Let's see who laughs last?"

Carefully, she stepped behind Brutus's broad back. Gently she traced the structure of his muscles with her fingers. He turned around. Sam dropped slowly to his knees. "A pact with death must be sealed twice."

Freshly showered, Sam lay on her bunk, feeling sleepy and dizzy with alcohol. She recalled the last hours with Brutus. Sex on the couch and in the shower. Sam grinned.