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The night is wet and cold on this late October evening and the girl is clearly not dressed for this kind of weather. But her attire isn't the only thing that is wrong about her. She also looks lost and this isn't a good neighborhood for a young woman to be lost. Of course, being lost is always an unpleasant experience, but there are places where it's better to be lost and then there are places where you don't want to be lost. This place clearly belongs into the latter category. Dark buildings and wet tarmac, sparsely illuminated by street lamps that sway in the chilling wind, dancing shadows everywhere. There is a better lit street with a lot of traffic and many people about not far away, but the cul de sac the girl is standing in is deserted, except for the cab that had brought her here. There's a flash of red silk beneath her short black coat when the headlights of the taxi catch her standing on the sidewalk as the driver backs into one of the many dark corners to turn around and head off in search of a new fare.

The girl is standing in front of an old industrial building where until a few years ago huge diesel ship engines have been constructed, assembled and tested before they were disassembled again and loaded onto freight trains, destination Rotterdam or Hamburg or wherever ships have been built in those days, to be put into freighters and cruise ships. As a matter of fact, her own grandfather worked in this factory, she remembered him telling her about the gruelling work in the foundry and the ten miles he had to cycle to work, every day, six days a week, in the heat of summer and on icy roads in the winter, for fourteen long ...

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