It was still less than two months since I had seen her last. I remembered the arrival at the airport in the freezing air of Tristcontenta Hub, chilled by a gusting wind and insistent rain, hastily retrieving my overnight bags and computer case from the trunk of the car. Horribly aware of the large, snub-nosed automatic weapon mounted in the trunk. Then a quick but conventional farewell: a slight and formal kiss on the cheek, a shake of hands.

She could have been any old acquaintance, dropping me off at an airport. In a supercharged roadster bristling with police instruments. With an automatic weapon close at hand.

In the end she made up my mind for me. While I was standing there wondering what to do I realized that Frejah had become aware of my presence. There was a movement of her hand on the steering column, then the gull-wing door on her side of the car smoothly raised itself. I went down the steps and stood beside her.

I said: ‘Hello again, Commissioner.’ A casual greeting, an attempt to try and counteract the negative feelings that her arrival had suddenly induced in me.

Looking up at me she waved a hand towards me. I saw that she was swivelling her body around, the manoeuvre I had had to master to get in and out of the car. Her legs were already outside the car, but she was having difficulty raising the rest of her body. She was pressing down awkwardly with her elbows, attempting to slide forward. She was holding her head at an odd angle. It made her look stiff, much older. When I had been with her on Dearth, just that short time ago, she had entered and left the car with smooth, almost agile movements.

I held out a hand to help her lift herself away from the low seat, but she waved it away impatiently, not looking at me. She levered herself into an upright sitting position, then managed to stand. She was unsteady, holding on to the car door for a few seconds. Once she was on her feet she stepped back a couple of paces. She looked hunched, reduced. There was no hint of familiarity between us.

‘Fremde, you’ve been looking into matters that don’t concern you,’ she said. She was avoiding my eyes, looking somewhere behind me, not at me. Her voice was not strong – she spoke indistinctly, partly muffled by the constant loud rumbling of the car’s engine.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ve been checking up on my story.’

‘I wouldn’t have done that if what you said was true. That’s what made me interested in the murder – the fact that you lied.’