I managed to get out of the car and hurried to my front door. It was late and the street was empty. I fumbled for my key and tried to put it into the lock but my hand didn’t work. He was right, I was drunk.

I heard him start the car and drive away. Finally I wrestled the door open. I glanced up and down the road. The houses were dark—all but Pam’s. There was a light glowing in her upstairs window; no doubt she’d seen the whole thing.

I went into the kitchen and drank a glass of water. My hands were trembling and some of it spilled into my lap. I thought: I’ve lost two more friends. Things will never be the same between us after this.

I suddenly had an urge to hear my children’s voices. I’d told them by now, of course, but I’d kept my tone light, even jokey, as if I were describing a cop show on the television. I didn’t want them to feel obliged to fly over. Trouble was, it had worked rather better than I had imagined. They’d both been sympathetic enough—Lucy in particular had been eager to hear what she called ‘the gory details’—not the most sensitive way of putting it, but my daughter had always been something of a blunt instrument. ‘You were just sitting in a dentist’s waiting room,’ she said. ‘How did Calvin know you were single, and had a nice big house in Muswell Hill?’ I’d replied tartly: ‘He just found me attractive. Is that so difficult to believe?’ A long silence had followed this.

Neither of them had offered to come and support me. As I said, I’d played it down, but I couldn’t help feeling abandoned. It was too late to phone Reykjavik but in Pasadena it would be early evening, so I rang Max. However, I only got his answerphone.

So I took two sleeping pills and went to bed. In the morning I had a crippling hangover; nothing unusual about that.

I couldn’t see Calvin again, not after the Johanna revelation. Though ‘revelation’ sounds too awe-inspiring—even biblical—to describe something so grubby. However, I needed to find out more about what happened, so I decided to visit Doug, Calvin’s business partner. This required some courage. After all, I hardly knew the man and suspected he’d colluded in Calvin’s financial dealings. Commercial aviation was not my speciality—nor, indeed, was murder—but Doug and I did have betrayal in common and he’d seemed amiable enough when I met him.

So I drove to Elstree Aerodrome and made my way past the helicopters to the office.

It was empty but I heard a lavatory flushing. An inner door opened and an enormously fat man emerged, zipping up his flies.

‘Whoops,’ he said. ‘Sorry about that. Can I help you?’