All that remained was to compile his report and arrange his journey back to England. The taxi dropped him in Vesterbro, about ten minutes’ walk from the apartment. As he got closer, he realised quite how excited he was to see Hanne. He’d no doubts now about either the nature or the extent of his feelings for her. It was the same feeling he had had in the early years of his marriage to Jane, before Grace was born. But he had to caution himself. He must assume these feelings were unrequited. It was all well and good him feeling so carefree: within days he’d be back in England. In a few weeks he’d probably be back as a detective in Lincolnshire and most important of all, with his son. Prince realised he was assuming Hanne felt the same way about him and he had to admit he had no real evidence for that. It was true Hanne had been warmer and friendlier than when they first met, but he’d have expected that anyway. He also knew that even if she did happen to share his feelings, her situation was very different to his. He could afford to relax; he would soon be out of danger. She could not contemplate either of those.

These uncertainties soon disappeared. Less than twenty minutes after he entered the apartment, Hanne arrived. Within seconds they had fallen into each other’s arms and they remained like that as they staggered into the bedroom.

For the next hour, not a word was spoken, and when they paused for the first time, an exhausted Prince spoke, aware that what he said was likely to change the mood.

‘I need to write my report and you’ve got to encode it. I presume you’ll drop it off on your way to work in the morning? If so, we really haven’t got long.’

She hauled herself up and brushed the hair away from her face, looking slightly disappointed. ‘I suppose you’re right. You write it while I get some sleep. Wake me up when it’s done. I’ll encode it before going to work.’

It took Prince three hours to write the report, constantly editing it to be as succinct as possible, but ensuring he quoted Kurt’s key answers as directly as possible. He decided to leave out what had happened when they left the restaurant. He didn’t think there’d be sufficient time and space, but he also felt – not entirely logically, he realised – its inclusion might disappoint London and somehow delay his return home. He did, however, allow the indulgence at the end of the report of a question about the arrangements for his journey back to England.

The report was placed in the dead letter box on the Friday morning: by the Sunday lunchtime it had been collected.