I am slow to respond in the mornings. I like to wake up and bestir myself in small steps. It’s a gradual process, slow and if performed at the right pace pleasurable. I suspect ‘perform’ is an appropriate description, since the possibility of dynamic action is always available as an option, but one I rarely select. Jo has been accustomed to my withdrawn morning state for many years, and leaves me to it. We hardly ever meet for more than a brief hello in the mornings. Light food, dark coffee, social media and the online newspapers are all part of the steady adjustment to the new day. Barmi the cat likes me like that – he often curls up on my lap at this time. Today, he had torn himself away from me as soon as he heard Spoder’s motorcycle,

Spoder was the antithesis of a gentle awakening, with his noisy motorbike, his clattering around, his loud voice and the immediacy of his expectations about my response. I could cope with Spoder at midday, but at this early hour he was a challenge.

‘I need to finish what I’m doing,’ I said, returning to my chair in front of the laptop. ‘Sit down. Wait. Drink coffee. Tell me about the case in a few minutes.’

‘I need to tell you now. We have to go somewhere.’

‘Is it a murder?’ I said. ‘Not a suicide that is mistaken for a murder?’

‘No – this is the real thing. But it is not without a few strange features. When I read through the file yesterday my first thought was that you and I should travel immediately to Salay Sekonda, the second. There are several shuttle flights this morning, so we can leave now. The crime scene can still be visited. Once you know the details you will feel as anxious as I am to see where it took place.’

I thought: No more travel. At least not with someone like Spoder. The luxury of sitting around at home had not started to wear off yet.

‘What would be the point of visiting a crime scene so many years after the event?’ I said.

‘It’s still there to be seen. More or less untouched.’

‘Spoder – I’ve other work I must do.’

‘This is work too.’

‘The crime scene can wait.’

‘Sir, I have to say you are disappointing me. You would be investigating an extraordinary crime.’

‘What are the unadmitted motives?’ I said, thinking of Jo and what she said about my acting like an amateur sleuth. I was also trying to change the subject.

‘This was almost certainly revenge! A classic case of one person settling an old score against another.’

‘That is the admitted motive,’ I said. ‘But there would have been more to it than that. There always is.’

‘I think so too. This is why we must visit the scene.’