‘Not at all. And it’s as well I’m not a detective at the atomic level. Working out a timeline and establishing an alibi would be a problem. And anyway, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Physics. Particle physics.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. I’m a physicist.’

‘What?’

‘Yes. Perfectly true.’ Lady smiled. ‘And that’s the same expression my mother had on her face when I told her I was going to use my physics PhD to become a drag queen.’

Daníel pondered. People were still capable of taking him by surprise. He would have guessed that Lady’s background would have been in the theatre or music, not science. A disciplined academic background didn’t chime with her personality.

Once he had nodded goodbye, he crossed the lawn to the deck. He dried his feet on the doormat he had put inside the French windows, specifically to prevent grass being carried on his bare feet into the living room. In the kitchen he poured himself a cup of coffee from the flask he had made when he woke up during the night, and decided to wait until nine o’clock before calling Áróra to give her the news. It wasn’t a call he was looking forward to. For a moment he thought of ways he could get out of speaking with her directly – a Facebook message or an email – but dismissed the idea instantly. While there was an awkwardness between them, she was still the relative of a missing person, and as a police officer he had a duty to treat her as such. It made no difference that he was on holiday; she had approached him in his capacity as a policeman. It also made no difference that his investigation had so far been an informal one. It was time to make Ísafold’s disappearance a formal inquiry.141

It was as if Áróra had read his mind. As he sat at the computer, the phone rang, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw her name on the screen.

‘Ísafold has appeared!’ she said as soon as he answered, and he could hear the joy and relief in her voice. ‘She’s in Italy,’ she continued. ‘She put a picture on Facebook last night, and as I can see it, she must have made it public. I’ve sent her a zillion messages already, asking her to call our mother. I checked just now and she hasn’t called yet, but at least it’s a sign of life.’

‘Hmm.’

He opened Facebook and using the login details Violet had given him, went to Ísafold’s profile. There she was. The first picture that Ísafold had posted for three weeks. It showed her smiling by the blue sea, with Mediterranean-style buildings in the background, and a few words stating that Italy is just wonderful.

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