As he backed out of the room, a square of stiff paper stuck behind the bookcase caught his eye, and he crouched down to tease it out. A snapshot, yellowed with age, of a small boy in leather sandals and short pants standing on an outcrop of reddish stone, squinting in the sun. Vidor as a child? Then why tuck it away in such an odd place?

With a start of recognition, it reminded him of a similar photo of a boy he’d found while snooping in his father’s study, having come across a jumble of black-and-white prints shoved in a drawer. As an excitable five-year-old boy, he’d been thrilled to uncover that cache of photos. So mysterious and alien, the desolate landscape, compared to the dappled sunlight and flowering trees of his own neighbourhood. In some of the photos, grey-faced women and children huddled in the sooty light, posed against a series of low buildings in the background.

Innocent of their nature, he’d been captivated by these tableaux, as he gazed into the eyes of the children, sensing that the pictures were old, and that the children would be all grown up then. He’d pocketed one of the photos, that of a boy his age, in short pants and with grubby knees. Dark hair and vacant eyes. He had the snapshot still, if for nothing other than a reminder to keep the memory of that nameless boy alive.

Magda marched into the room, arms crossed over her bosom, severe as the guard at a sacred temple. ‘Professor Kiraly does not allow anyone in here.’

He hid the photo behind his back. ‘Is it always this untidy?’

She shook her head. ‘I have never seen it like this before. Mostly, it is very neat. But the day he leave to accept his prize, he turned this room upside down looking for something. His plane ticket, I think, or maybe his speech? Later, on his way out the door, all in a fluster, he says something about a notebook with a dark green cover. If I find it, I am to take it home with me for safekeeping.’ She looked around at the mess. ‘I never did find the green notebook, and it gives me much pain to see his things like this. But God help me if I touch anything.’ She made the sign of the cross. ‘He would have my head on a plate.’

Gessen backed away, hoping she wouldn’t notice him tucking the photo into his back pocket, or the bleeding cut on his thumb. ‘Please don’t think I was snooping,’ he said, stepping into the hall. ‘I’m merely trying to get a sense of Professor Kiraly’s life before his collapse. We don’t know what’s wrong with him yet. Or why he hurt that man in Copenhagen, but certain details about a person’s life can provide important clues.’

‘What kind of clues?’ Her pencilled brows rose.