The ground crackled with frost as Gessen cut across the lawn to meet the uniformed officers at the gate, a ruddy-cheeked young man with sandy hair, and an older woman whose face was impossible to read. His stomach lurched at the sight of them. Even as a child he’d feared the police. A holdover from the time he was a young boy living in a city of intrigue and secrets, where a man in uniform was something to fear. He couldn’t remember who had taught him this, or if he was taking his cues from the wary-eyed adults around him.

The air was thick with impending snow, forecast for the afternoon. He shook hands with the officers and invited them through. Once inside the gate, they paused to look around, silently absorbing the vast sweep of the grounds, the manicured gardens and spacious chalets. He knew how it looked to outsiders: a fairy-tale village tucked away in a pleasant valley high in the mountains. Amongst the locals the clinic had acquired a rarefied reputation. Natural for them to be curious, but there wasn’t much to see. Before he’d turned it into a psychiatric clinic, Les Hirondelles had been a typical mountain hamlet. One of hundreds, if not thousands, scattered throughout the Bernese Oberland.

Today seemed different though. Without a soul to animate the scene, even to Gessen’s eyes, the clinic looked like a theme park, a facsimile of a charming, old-world Alpine village, overlaid with a sheen of fakery. He had instructed the staff to keep the patients occupied while the police were on site. Confined to their rooms or in a special session of group therapy. Ursula, still intrigued by Vidor’s reaction to the abstract painting during their word association exercise, had assigned Vidor to another art therapy session with Isabelle. Skilled at plumbing the hidden depths of the psyche through art, Isabelle might succeed where he had failed. After the terrible business with the police was over, he was curious to see what Vidor might have produced.

The officers, Müller and Schulz, introduced themselves, and they stood awkwardly for a moment in the frigid air until Gessen led them down the stone path to the conference room on the ground floor of the manor house. Though bland and sparsely furnished in keeping with its function, it had a spectacular view of the mountains across the valley and provided a more appropriate place to bring them than his office.

‘May I offer you a coffee?’ Gessen said, as one of the staff stepped up to take their coats.

As the two officers exchanged glances, Gessen could sense what they were thinking. That this wasn’t a social call, but it was a chilly day, so why not? ‘I’ll have a coffee,’ said Schulz, the junior officer of the pair. His partner looked stern for a moment and then she softened. ‘I’ll have one too, if it’s not any trouble.’