‘I don’t know. Maybe.’ He squinted at the picture. Then, unexpectedly, he grabbed my arm. His fingers were sharp and dug into the bone of my arm. ‘But this woman . . . there’s a darkness about her aura too. It’s screaming at me, even through a photograph. Black and red. Blood red. She’s dangerous, Andrew.’ He hissed in my face, a noseful of halitosis. ‘Dangerous.’

I snatched my arm away, rubbed at it. I felt terribly claustrophobic, scared, desperate to get away.

‘Be careful,’ he said, as I yanked open the door. ‘Please. Be careful.’

There was one more place I needed to go before I went home. King’s College Hospital, which dominated Denmark Hill, not far from my flat. Charlie’s old workplace, where she’d met Fraser. I remembered reading in the newspaper reports about Kristi’s attack that she was being cared for there. It had been weeks ago but I guessed she would still be there, given the severity of her injuries.

As I entered the hospital, I had a growing sense of a clock ticking. I needed to resolve the swirling questions in my head before Charlie got back. Otherwise, how would I be able to act normal around her? So far, all I had were questions and doubts. Everything was ambiguous.

I wasn’t sure which ward she would be in but, after consulting the board in the lobby, I figured she would most likely be in the Brunel Ward, where patients undergoing facial surgery stayed. I would try there first.

I felt queasy with nerves as I negotiated the maze-like corridors. Would she agree to see me? Would they let me? I had no idea, but I had to try.

I eventually found the Brunel Ward and, acting as confidently as I could, told reception I was here to see Kristi Tolka. The woman behind the counter said, ‘Bed thirteen’ and I inwardly thanked God for providing me with this stroke of luck. Dark spirit, be damned.

Bed thirteen had a plastic curtain drawn around it, and I could hear voices from within. I paused. The voices were speaking a language I didn’t recognise. Albanian, I assumed. I cleared my throat and said, ‘Excuse me.’

The curtain was jerked back and a young woman with black hair and suspicious eyes peered up at me. Now I wished I’d brought flowers.

‘Yes?’ she said in a thickly accented voice.

‘I . . . er . . . I came to see Kristi.’ I couldn’t see beyond the curtain to the bed.

‘Who are you?’ the woman asked.

‘My name’s Andrew Sumner. Kristi was my cleaner and I, er, heard about the terrible . . . thing that happened. I just wanted to check how she is.’

Then Kristi said something in her native language, addressing the other woman as Dita. Reluctantly, Dita gestured with her chin for me to step beyond the curtain.