Crime free? That was a new one on me. The paradox interested me, and it was one of the reasons I had accepted the invitation, but only after much indecision. I lived and worked in a place which was most certainly not free of crime. We experienced the usual range of thefts, assaults, drug and alcohol abuse – less often there were cases of fraud, arson and murder. Not everywhere and not all the time, but at a level where it remained necessary to maintain a full police force. Anyway, I had a vested interest in crime: I earned my living indirectly from it. I wrote thrillers, and there were readers everywhere who loved to read a mystery, a noir detective story, a police procedural.

The assumption being proposed in the title made me wonder if the place I was going to was in some way different from everywhere else. Was there really, in this modern world, anywhere without criminals? Had the fear of crime been factored out of people’s lives? Did everyone live a peaceable, law-abiding life? Maybe not – the conference would almost certainly be speculative, idealistic, proposing social reforms which would lead eventually to a state in which crime became unknown. That seemed more likely.

However, I had been to academic conferences before: they are built around big ideas, but many of the individual papers produce much dry theorizing about side issues. I had already pleaded a busy schedule: I was not planning to stay for the whole three days.

But still, somewhat against my better judgement, and in spite of similar past experiences, I had accepted the invitation. This one included extras that I found attractive, if not compelling. A flight instead of a long sea voyage, a train journey that promised a first-class private sleeper compartment, meals prepared by a chef of international repute, free drinks and personal attendance by stewards. The president of the society which had invited me, Professor Soradauy Wendow, of the University of Dearth Historical and Literary Society, would meet me in person on arrival. There was going to be a suite at the best hotel in town. Although I was warned that I would be visiting during the winter months, I was assured that every creature comfort would be anticipated and catered for. I would, for instance, be driven everywhere in a university car. And not least there was an honorarium. Not a huge one, but sufficient.

So why did I sit unhappily in my first-class compartment, still close to the beginning of the venture, regretting the fact that I had said yes?