Maria pulled off her dress, crumpled it and threw it to the floor. She went up to the wardrobe and retrieved a black dress from the furthermost hanger.

The party was in full swing. Maria got out of the taxi and headed for the door, holding up the hem of her dress. Her ears were ringing and her head spinning. She wanted to get stuck in and start drinking as soon as possible. The brightly lit, high-ceilinged restaurant was furnished with golden fabric curtains and cheap plaster columns. The music and talking filled the room. Tables topped with white tablecloths, and food and drinks, were arranged in a semi-circle, leaving room in the middle for dancing and games. Maria counted the number of people—twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Some were sitting and chatting. There was a large crowd huddled around the boss. The rest danced inside the circle, moving animatedly to a song by the Pet Shop Boys. Junior staff and investigators, lab technicians and experts mingled and moved rhythmically.

She walked through, greeting some acquaintances with a nod, and shook the boss’ hand and those of the people sitting around him.

The young toastmaster, a part-time acting student, led the dances and jigged about, microphone in hand. Maria sat down at the end of the table and poured herself a glass of cognac. She downed it in one gulp. And another. She grabbed a cheese canape and gobbled it down. As the warmth spread through her body, she relaxed and scanned the hall.

A game began on the dance floor. The toastmaster lined everyone up and assigned them their roles.

Maria found who she was looking for and raised her third glass of cognac to him. She took a swig and went out onto the patio. There were a few people there laughing and smoking. They greeted Maria and gave her a cigarette. When the door of the restaurant opened, high-pitched, intense rhythms, like a double-time heartbeat—the strains of Scooter’s Mary Got No Lamb—tumbled out. The rotund, greying investigator emerged with two beers and an inquisitive smile. Merry with drink, he waddled towards her for a kiss. Maria gently pulled away. He’d just come from playing the wolf in the game. Vika, the lab trainee, was the hare and had been chased around an oak tree played by the head of the homicide division.

“Are you hunting me now, Oleg Nikolayevich?”

“What can I do, Maria Alexandrovna, you have this effect on people. Everyone is after you.” Smiling amiably, the lieutenant crimes investigator handed her a beer. “Now, tell me everything. I saw you downing that cognac back in there.”

Maria put the glass on the ground.

“I’d rather hear you talk, Oleg Nikolayevich. How is the investigation progressing?”

“Which one?”

“Your suicide.”

“Your suicide, you mean?”

“Let’s call it our suicide.”

He shook his head.

“Everything was going so smoothly until you turned up with your knife, Maria Alexandrovna. You know what use that has been to us? Like a comb to a bald man.”