The cemetery was a popular place to visit. Some people came to see Hans Christian Andersen’s grave and those of other notables, but most just came to enjoy the grounds, with their avenues of tall trees and well-tended shrubberies. It was particularly popular at lunchtime, and so there was nothing unusual in Hanne strolling round, picking a quiet bench to eat her sandwich or just looking for some peace and quiet amongst the graves.

She made a point of going there every two or three days, though for obvious reasons she avoided having a routine. On this particular day she entered the cemetery on Jagtvej and strolled for ten minutes or so before pausing for her lunch. There were three graves she needed to see, none of them belonging to notable people. The first was clear, but the second – chosen like the other two for its shaded setting – had a chalk mark on the side of the stone. It was not obvious and was hard to make out, so much so that she had to go to the rear of the stone to check for a second, more distinct mark. It was there: a casually drawn chevron. It confirmed that a message would be waiting for her elsewhere. She would now have to try and get away from work a bit earlier than planned. Checking that no one was watching, she took off her scarf, spat on a corner of it and quickly erased the marks.

On her way home, she got off the bus a stop before her normal one and went into the small grocery store to buy some apples. By the time she’d left the shop, she was sure no one had spotted her. She hurried along until she came to the abandoned warehouse. She allowed herself one glance behind her and then turned left down the side of the building. As she walked across the rubble to the large gap in the wall that had once been a doorway, she cursed herself for once again forgetting to change her shoes. Inside the building she paused for a minute: she could hear her own heartbeat, and rats scurrying around. At the far end of the building, near where the roof had caved in, a pair of pigeons were flapping frantically. She had an excuse ready in case she’d been followed: she was desperate for the toilet and was looking for somewhere private.

But no one appeared, so she picked up a wooden chair, placed it against the wall and climbed onto it. Stretching up, she felt around inside the rusty junction box above her and retrieved a slip of paper.

She read the message three times, holding it against her chest as she repeated it to herself as if reviewing for an exam. Satisfied that she’d memorised its contents, she lit a cigarette, used the match to burn the letter and continued on her way.