Dr. Maggie Ross never usually drank alcohol at lunch. No drinks before 5 o'clock in the evening was an iron rule in her house, which had been heeded by her father and her grandfather before her. But today, she made an exception. Although an unintentional one. Because her hostess had ordered her a glass of red wine when she had only briefly disappeared to the restroom and held hers out to her in a toast. "To a long overdue reunion after so many years, Maggie," she called to the ME. "And to the protection of children."

Maggie, caught off guard by the situation, couldn't bring herself to refuse this disarmingly open and likable gesture. Reluctant inside because she hated nothing more than going against her principles but chivalrous enough not to let it show, the redhead raised her glass and clinked glasses with her counterpart.

Time has been kind to her, the ME thought, looking at the incredibly young-looking face of Dr. Katherine Isles. The psychiatrist with a doctorate in her field was one of the experts in the field of research into the long-term effects of abuse on children who had been affected at a young age. She was the same speaker who had reported on the Granther Experiment and Justin Booker at the conference Maggie attended a few years ago.

On the table in front of her was a salad with delicate fish fillets, and in her hand, as mentioned earlier, she held the glass of wine, which she thought was far too early in the day.

"Now, please tell me what brought me to Boston," Katherine said with a familiar smile. 'I can tell you right now that it's not to have a glass of wine with me.'

Maggie, feeling caught, couldn't help but smile. 'Was it that obvious?' she asked.

Katherine nodded with a benevolent smile.

"The wine is good," the redhead tried to apologize. 'It's just not my time yet. I mean, so early.'

Now Katherine had to laugh heartily. "Oh, Maggie. You don't need to apologize for that, God knows. But enough about the wine. What can I really do for you?"

Maggie cleared her throat. And then, she gave a detailed account of the Booker case. With every word, she drew Katherine more into her spell. The psychiatrist was obviously more aware of the process than the ME had assumed. Because when she got to the point where Booker had probably become the victim of a crime, Maggie saw how much his fate still obviously touched Katherine.

When Maggie had finished, the two women were silent for a moment. Katherine said in a choked voice, "Even though I have dedicated my life to the fight for the welfare of children and young people, in addition to forensic psychology, and have handled hundreds of cases, it is still devastating every time. The frightening thing is that there are many more cases than most people even realize. The WHO, for example, estimates that one in five girls and one in thirteen boys worldwide are victims of abuse." Katherine let her gaze wander around the restaurant. "And if I understand you correctly, the shadow of the past extends not only to the victims but possibly also to the perpetrators?"

"That's exactly what it looks like," Maggie nodded. "We, that is Ashlyn, who is also involved in the case, and I suspect that the perpetrators from the past fear that their crime could be uncovered and have an impact on the here and now."

Katherine chewed on the inside of her cheek while she nodded and frowned. "I see. Granther is dead now, but we both know that there are still numerous other people in the know, former protagonists and actors responsible for it."

"Exactly."

"And who are these others?"

"That, Kate, is exactly what we want to find out. Because of the long time since these unspeakable 'experiments,' only a few records are left. At least in the official records." Maggie leaned forward in her chair. "I was hoping you might still have some information you used for your lecture then."

Katherine Isles leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes as if she were delving into the past to find the answers to Maggie's questions. She remained in this position for about ten seconds before opening her eyes again and looking at Maggie, shaking her head. "I'm not sure I can help you anymore," she said. "When I moved from Boston to Virginia, I had a lot of files destroyed in the process. I had everything I thought I still needed to be digitized. I'm not sure if I still have the records for this case. Not out of the question, but I'd have to check again first."

Maggie nodded gratefully. "That would be a great favor for me. And it could also be beneficial for the present case."

"I'll do it the day after tomorrow when I get home," the psychiatrist promised. "But why don't we take our time walking in Boston Common. There is certainly a lot more we can talk about. I have a consultation until 3:00 p.m., but it would greatly pleasure me after that. It has been quite a while since we last spoke in person."

Maggie didn't have to think about it for long. 'I'd love to, Kate, I took the day off anyway.'

xxx

Dr. Maggie Ross had enjoyed the time until the agreed walk in the Boston Common to the full. Her daily routine was characterized by work, and afterward, she devoted herself to her family with joy and conviction. She didn't struggle with it; on the contrary, that's how she organized her life and how it made her happy. Still, the last two hours off were extraordinary for her, and she had enjoyed delving into the newspaper on a park bench in Boston Common.

"Maggie, I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long," Katherine startled her sister-in-law out of her reading.

Maggie folded up the current issue of the Boston Observer and looked at the psychiatrist joyfully. "Not at all, quite the opposite. I can hardly remember the last time I had the opportunity to devote myself to the press."

Katherine smiled broadly. "Well then. Shall we?"

"Absolutely," the redhead replied, getting up from the park bench. "What are you working on right now?" she said, opening the conversation.

"Good question. Especially with a phenomenon that always presents me with the greatest challenge in my work."

Maggie curiously raised her eyebrows.

"After children have been abused, they often repress the act. As you know, this is a well-known phenomenon in psychoanalysis. Victims protect themselves by pushing the bad and distressing memories of sexual abuse into their subconscious. Far away, in a locked drawer."

Maggie nodded slowly. From her many years of work in child protection, she knew the mechanisms of self-protection all too well.

"And that's what makes it so difficult for us," Katherine continued, frowning. "To help the children, we need to know what happened before we can work through it together and find a way for those affected to deal with what happened and learn to live with it."

Katherine stopped and looked out over the city for a moment. "Sometimes it takes decades before the memory returns. Many different triggers can open the drawer, often quite unexpectedly. That, or even a melody. Sometimes, as crazy as it may sound, even dates somehow related to the event at the time."

Maggie took a deep breath and nodded with gritted teeth. "I see. And because the memories are often buried so deep and the children have no influence on the triggers that hold the key to the memory, it is difficult to help them."

Katherine looked her sister-in-law directly in the eye and nodded slowly. "But that's not all," she concluded, "because until we get to the point where the memories return, we also have to help the people. We can't leave them alone with themselves, their situation, and the acute side effects." She paused and licked her lips. "I find it challenging to treat the symptoms over a long period. In addition to depression, anxiety, sleep, and eating disorders, victims also repeatedly show aggression and disturbances in their own sexual behavior."

"Which is not surprising," Maggie agreed with Katherine. 'Given the experiences that shaped their childhood.'

"Exactly. And that's why it's so important to take the matter seriously. I still find it unbearable how little the subject is discussed in public. It's almost taboo. Yet more and more data indicates that the number of unreported cases is many times higher than that of known cases."

Later, after they had said goodbye to each other and Maggie was already on her way home, she thought about their conversation for a while. Maggie hoped that Katherine would find the documents and further notes of her lecture. Her thoughts also turned to Katherine's assessment of the effects of abuse in early childhood on the victims. How did their psyche develop, what possibilities were there for them to cope, and how could they deal with all that they had repressed and pushed into the farthest corner of their subconscious? And what impact would all this have on their specific actions and decisions? Maggie wondered what role this played in their case.

Or, more precisely, what was going on at Tim Garner?

xxx

Tim Garner had to use all his strength to pull open the heavy door of the cowshed. There was an exasperating squeak as it moved only slowly.

It needs oil urgently, Garner thought. And it could be more neatly on its hinges, too.

He decided to discuss this with Holland later. He could find some lubricating oil in the tool shed and deal with it independently.

Cora, the farm dog, ran around him as he put down the wheelbarrow with food. Even though there was still a lot to do here, he was pleased to see how comfortable the six dairy cows felt in the new cubicles. He shoveled the food towards them, and the first cows rose.

They know exactly what's for breakfast!

Cora started barking excitedly, and Garner reached into his pocket and threw her a treat. The dog deftly snatched her reward out of the air and vigorously wagged her tail.

After Garner had taken care of all the animals and checked the drinking trough, he paused momentarily. Somehow, he felt unusually comfortable in the presence of the animals. For the first time in a long time, he felt he was doing something useful, something that brought him fulfillment and fun in equal measure.

"Come on, Cora," he said. 'Let's go and check on the other animals now; they're hungry too.'

He left the barn with the farm dog and made his way to the shed where the food was stored. This time, he loaded a smaller amount and pushed it towards the small meadow. In the area marked off by a wire mesh fence, at least twenty chickens pecked the air eagerly with their claws. He threw the grains between the fowl with a sweeping motion, which pounced on them greedily.

Cora pranced around him, and Garner tossed her another treat.

Time for a break.

Satisfied, he flopped down on the grass and lay on his back. He pushed Cora aside, who tried to lick his face in a gesture of affection. Then he closed his eyes and fell into a state of perfect calm. It was charming here, unlike in the city. And without him meaning to, his thoughts jumped back to Boston from one moment to the next. And everything that had happened there. And everything that was waiting for him there. The relaxation left his face, and the corners of his mouth involuntarily pulled down. He thought of Justin, his friend, and everything started spinning.

He still couldn't believe that he was supposed to be dead. Unbelievable. How could that have happened? Garner felt nausea rising up inside him. He opened his eyes and looked up at the sky, where small white clouds passed by rapidly. He forced himself to sort out his thoughts. Ever since Justin had left, ever since his lawyer had told him that the body in the water had been identified as his friend, nothing had been the same. And no matter how hard he tried to suppress it all, he knew too well that he would fail. The past would keep catching up with him. And as hard as it was for him, he realized he would have to face the situation one day. The jolt, the stress, the fear, all these feelings that threatened to overwhelm him would not just disappear. Not after all these years.

Garner clenched his fist and made a decision. He decided to talk to Tracy Payne again the next day at the latest. They had to do the interview now.

They had been talking about it for far too long. It had to end before it was too late.