‘What happened was more than fifteen years ago,’ she said. ‘It was one of the first cases I was involved with. I have forgotten some details. I wasn’t lying. We were talking about your books, your writing. I thought you’d be interested in a real case, a real story. And you said you didn’t understand mutability. When I went to Salay Hames for that case it was the first time I had ever experienced an extreme form of it. You and I were just talking in a car. It was a long journey.’

‘No – I recorded it when we stopped in a restaurant. That was your idea. You wanted me to hear it, wanted me to react. I checked the names with you afterwards. It was more than just a casual conversation.’

‘I should have said less. But you involved yourself.’

‘Not directly.’

‘Your associate – the retired detective, Spoder. He found the files. Then you went with him to Salay Sekonda.’

‘Because the two killings were linked. The victims were brothers. Did you know that?’

‘That’s none of your business, Fremde.’

‘You made it my business.’

We were both glaring at each other. She was certainly looking angrily at me, and without of course being able to see myself I felt I was facing her down.

I had prepared for none of this: five minutes before, I was peacefully contemplating punctured lungs and bullet exit wounds – a quiet pleasure, if inexplicable to many. I still did not know why she had come to my house, but the sight of her, the memory of that two-day drive across the grim landscape of Dearth, invoked by seeing the car again, brought rising to the surface thoughts of all the intrigue she had created afterwards. Until I saw her I had not appreciated how far under my defences she had penetrated.

I wished Jo were with me. She would at least have calmed me.

I turned away from Frejah in an effort to stop the argument from escalating into a full-on row. We were standing in the direct heat of the sun, while the fumes from the car’s engine spread around us. I wanted to move to the side, circling her car, into the shade of the nearest trees, but it would mean stepping more directly away from her, around the obstacle of the halted car. I did not want to look or feel as if I was retreating from her, but she had parked at a sharp angle, making it impossible to step back into the shade without appearing to be doing exactly that. Everything had been disrupted by her arrival at the house.

‘Frejah, what have you come here for?’ I said.

‘I’m here to warn you. Someone is looking for you, and if he finds you he’s intending to kill you.’

‘Are you serious? Someone hunting me?’

‘That’s what I said.’