When they’d finished raping her, they left her lying on the coffee table and sat in a circle on the floor snorting coke until they were totally blasted. They had screamed their lungs out laughing and Kristian had slapped her hard a few times on her naked thighs. Apparently as a sign of reconciliation.

‘Come on, Kimmie!’ Bjarne shouted. ‘Don’t be so prudish. It’s just us.’

‘It’s over now,’ she snarled. ‘Finished.’

She could tell they didn’t believe her. They thought she was too dependent on them, and that she would come crawling back before too long. But she wasn’t. Not ever. In Switzerland she had managed without them. She could do it again.

It took her a while to get up. Her perineum was burning. The ligaments in her hips were sprained, her neck ached and humiliation weighed her down.

That feeling returned with a vengeance when Kassandra greeted her at the house in Ordrup with scorn in her voice, and the words: ‘Is there anything in this world you are capable of doing right, Kimmie?’

The next day she learned that Torsten had bought her place of employment, Nautilus Trading A/S, and that she was now out of a job. One of the employees who had been her friend gave her a cheque and told her that unfortunately she would have to leave the premises. Florin had made the personnel changes, her colleague said. So if she wanted to lodge a complaint, she would have to approach him personally.

When she went to the bank to deposit the cheque, she discovered that Bjarne had emptied their account and closed it.

Under no circumstances would she be allowed to escape from their clutches. That was the plan.

During the following months she stayed in her quarters in the house at Ordrup. At night she fetched her food from the main kitchen and took it up to her flat. During the day she slept, her little teddy bear clasped in her hand and her legs tucked beneath her. Kassandra often stood outside the door, exercising her shrill voice, but Kimmie was deaf to the world.

For Kimmie didn’t owe anything to anyone, and Kimmie was pregnant.

‘You have no idea how happy I was when I discovered I was going to have you,’ she said, smiling at the little one. ‘I knew instantly that you were a girl and what I would call you: Mille. It was simply your name. Isn’t that funny and strange?’

Her hands fumbled a bit as she swaddled the body again. There she lay in the white cloth, like a tiny, wee Jesus child.

‘I so looked forward to having you and to our living in our house, just like other people do. Your mother was going to find a job as soon as you were born, and after Mum picked you up from the day nursery, we were just going to be together all the time.’

She pulled out a bag, set it on the bed and stuffed one of the hotel’s pillows into it. It looked secure and warm.

‘Yes, you and I were supposed to live in that house, just the two of us, and Kassandra just would’ve had to go.’

Kristian Wolf began calling her during the weeks before his wedding. The thought of being shackled made him desperate, as did her repeated rejections.

The summer was a grey one, yet it was a blissful time for Kimmie, who began to take control of her life. She had put the terrible things they’d done behind her. Now she was responsible, beginning anew.

The past was dead.

It wasn’t until Ditlev Pram and Torsten Florin were standing in Kassandra’s living room, waiting for her one day, that she realized how impossible it was to escape the past. When she saw them scrutinizing her, she remembered how dangerous they could be.

‘Your old friends have come to visit you,’ Kassandra chirped, in her nearly transparent summer dress. She protested at having to leave her domain – ‘My Room’ – but what was about to happen wasn’t intended for her ears.

‘I don’t know why you’re here, but I want you to leave,’ Kimmie said, fully aware that that was just the beginning of negotiations over who would be in charge and who wouldn’t by the time the meeting was over.

‘You’re too deeply involved in everything, Kimmie,’ Torsten said. ‘We can’t have you pulling out. Who knows what you might do.’

She shook her head. ‘What are you talking about? That I’d commit suicide and leave ugly letters behind?’

Ditlev nodded. ‘For example. There are also other things we could imagine you might do.’

‘Such as?’

‘Does it matter?’ Torsten said, coming closer.

If they grabbed hold of her again she would smash them with one of the massive Chinese vases standing in the corner.

‘The main point is that we know where we’ve got you when you’re with us. You can’t live without it either, just admit it, Kimmie,’ he went on.

She smiled crookedly. ‘Maybe you’re going to be a father, Torsten. Or maybe you, Ditlev.’ She hadn’t intended to say it, but it was worth it to see their faces tighten. ‘Why would I want to go with you?’ She laid a hand on her belly. ‘You think it’s good for the child, maybe? I don’t.’

She knew what they were thinking as they exchanged glances. They both had children, and they’d both been through a number of divorces and domestic scandals. Another one wouldn’t destroy their reputations. Her insurrection was all that troubled them.

‘You’ll have to get rid of that child,’ Ditlev said, unexpectedly harsh.

‘Get rid of’, he’d said. With those three words, she knew the child was in mortal danger.

She raised her hand towards them to demonstrate the distance between them.

‘If you want to protect your interests, then let me be, understand? Just leave me alone – totally.’

She noted with satisfaction how her shift in tone made them screw up their eyes.

‘If you don’t, then you should know I have a box which contains items that could completely destroy you. That box is my life insurance. Rest assured, if anything should happen to me, the box will see the light of day.’ In fact she’d never planned it this way. Granted, she did have the box tucked away, but she’d never considered showing it to anyone. They were just her trophies. A little object for each life they’d snuffed out. Like the Indian’s scalps. Like the matador’s bull’s ears. Like the hearts of the Incas’ victims.

‘What box?’ Torsten asked, as the wrinkles in his fox-face became more pronounced.

‘Just things I’ve collected from our assaults. With the contents of that box, everything we’ve done can be exposed, and if you touch me or my child, you’ll die behind bars, I promise you.’

Ditlev clearly bought it. Torsten, on the other hand, seemed sceptical.

‘Name one thing,’ he said.

‘One of the earrings from the woman on Langeland. Kåre Bruno’s rubber anklet. Remember how Kristian grabbed him and shoved him off the board? Then maybe you also recall how he was standing outside Bellahøj afterwards with the anklet, laughing. I don’t think he’ll laugh when he finds out it’s currently keeping company with a couple of Trivial Pursuit cards from Rørvig, do you?’

Torsten Florin looked away from her. As if he wanted to be certain that no one was listening on the other side of the door.

‘No, Kimmie, you’re right,’ he said. ‘I don’t think he will, either.’

Kristian visited her one night when Kassandra was passed out cold from drinking.

He stood over her by the bed and said the words so slowly and emphatically that every single one of them bored into her.

‘Tell me where the box is, Kimmie, or I will kill you right now.’

He pounded her brutally until he almost couldn’t raise his arms. Pounded her abdomen and her groin and ribcage until bones cracked. But she didn’t tell him where the box was.

Finally he left. Totally drained of aggression. Fully confident that his mission was completed and that Kimmie had simply made up the story about the box and its contents.

When she came to, she was just about able to call the ambulance herself.