She spent two hours alone in the condominium above Michigan Street. Two blissful hours in absolute silence. That was what she needed. When she finally left, she was singing quietly to herself, and the shake had disappeared from her hands. The pain in her ankle was gone. Her confidence was back. She could do anything, defeat anyone, win any battle. After the dark days since Jay’s death, when she had felt nothing but despair, she was floating on air again, and she believed for a moment that she might not lose everything. She could almost see a future for herself through the storm.

Her Mercedes was where she had left it, on the top floor of the ramp. Flurries blew around it. A streetlight cast shadows. It was a pretty night. She walked with a lightness in her heart, breathing in the cold air, until she realized that someone was waiting for her.

A man appeared near her car and walked toward her. Janine froze.

‘Don’t worry, Dr. Snow,’ he called.

She didn’t move. She had no weapon and no rape alarm, and even if she did she couldn’t afford to use them. Not when it meant answering questions. Such as what she was doing downtown at that time of night.

The man seemed to know her dilemma.

‘I just want to talk to you,’ he said. He stopped ten feet away with his gloved hands in the air.

‘Who are you?’

‘My name’s Melvin Wiley.’

‘What do you want?’

‘It’s pretty cold out here,’ Wiley said in a reedy voice that was hard to hear above the wind. ‘Would you prefer to talk in your car?’

‘We’ll talk right here. If we talk at all.’

Wiley shrugged, but he wasn’t put off. He was the kind of man who didn’t get noticed in a crowd. You could pass him at the grocery store and not remember he’d been there. He wasn’t short; he wasn’t tall. He wasn’t fat or thin. He had windblown brown hair with a high forehead and a bushy mustache. He had metal glasses that could have been worn by any man on the street. He wore chocolate-brown corduroys, old sneakers, and a blue down coat that he kept half-zipped. Underneath was a flannel shirt. She decided he was in his forties.

‘What do you want?’ Janine repeated.

‘I knew your husband,’ Wiley said. ‘I did some work for Jay.’

‘What kind of work?’

‘You sure you wouldn’t be happier in your car?’ he asked.

Janine said nothing. She waited.

‘People like Jay come to me when they have questions,’ Wiley said.

‘Questions?’

‘Yeah. Typically, the question is, who’s been banging my wife?’

Janine felt the shiver in her body from her feet to her neck. ‘You’re a private detective.’