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the yard. Terry's lead was so short that he could hardly move, let alone run away. His legs buckled as soon as I hit him. I could see him whimpering and grovelling on the ground, but I didn't stop. I kept hitting him and hitting him. I was only eight years old and out of my mind with fury and hurt. After about ten blows, I must have snapped his spine. He lay there, howling in agony and coughing up blood, and I battered him to a pulp. He didn't even look like a dog when I was finished.’
    Viktor tried not to show his disgust. ‘What made you do it?’ he asked calmly.
    ‘I loved my father more than anyone in the world. Terry came next. For some reason I got it into my head that I didn't want Terry if I couldn't have my dad. I was punishing him for being alive.’
    ‘It must have been very stressful.’
    ‘It was. But not for the reason you think.’
    ‘I beg your pardon?’
    ‘The story doesn't end there. I'd lost my father and beaten an innocent dog to death, but that wasn't what really upset me.’
    ‘No?’
    ‘What upset me was that Terry didn't exist. I made him up. We adopted a cat, but never a dog. I still have nightmares about what I did to Terry, but I know for a fact that it was a delusion, a product of my illness.’
    ‘When did you find out it wasn't real?’
    ‘Much later. I started seeing a therapist when I wasabout eighteen and after a while the truth came out. It was the first time I summoned the courage to mention it to anyone. I didn't want people knowing that I'd murdered my dog. They'd only think I was crazy.’
    The poor girl , thought Viktor, giving Sindbad an absent-minded pat. The retriever was sleeping peacefully at his feet, untroubled by the distressing revelations. Anna had suffered dreadfully because of an act of cruelty that she had never committed. That was the tyranny of schizophrenia. Most delusions had the effect of making the sufferer feel useless, evil and unworthy of existence. It wasn't uncommon for patients to surrender to their imaginary taskmasters and take their own lives. Viktor took another look at his watch and was astonished to see how late it was. He would have to leave the Bunte interview for another day.
    ‘Very good, Ms Glass.’
    He stood up purposefully to signal that it was time for her to go. He took a step towards Anna and felt surprisingly light-headed.
    ‘I hope I've made it sufficiently clear that I'm not in a position to treat you,’ he said firmly. He wanted to escort her to the door but he was afraid he might sway.
    Anna looked at him impassively and rose to her feet.
    ‘I understand,’ she said, unexpectedly brightly. ‘Thanks for listening. I'll be sure to follow your advice.’
    Viktor watched her walk to the door and was reminded of something. He tried to pin down the memory, but it eluded him.
    Anna turned round. ‘Are you feeling all right, Dr Larenz?’
    ‘I'm fine, thank you,’ he replied, embarrassed that she had noticed his dizziness.
    The truth was, he felt as if he were recovering from a long voyage at sea.
    ‘Where are you staying?’ he enquired, trying to move the conversation on. He opened the front door and Anna stepped on to the porch.
    ‘At the Anchor.’
    He nodded. Of course . The Anchor was the only guesthouse that stayed open throughout the winter months. It was run by Trudi, whose husband had drowned on a fishing expedition three years earlier. She never turned anyone away.
    ‘Are you sure you're all right?’ she persisted.
    ‘Absolutely. I get a bit dizzy when I stand up too quickly.’ He hoped that he wasn't succumbing to the flu.
    She seemed satisfied with his answer. ‘I'd better get going. I need to pack my things and get an early night. I don't want to miss the first ferry.’
    Viktor was pleased to hear it. The sooner she left Parkum, the better. He wanted to be left alone.
    He shook hands with her again and they parted on affable, almost friendly, terms.
    Later, Viktor wished that he had listened more