‘The cycle of birth and death?’ Mohktar finished softly.

I smiled. ‘Mum is studying this painter…he was an architect too, called…’

‘Hundertwasser?’

‘Yes!’

‘Not so clever of me, Nikki. You mentioned him in Singapore. At university there were many of us who became fascinated by him.’

‘Do you remember a painting called The Garden of The Happy Dead?’

‘I do. And in other paintings too, he has trees and plants growing out of his houses…’

‘Do you think I’m weird?’

James Mohktar laughed out loud. ‘No, I do not. And I do not think your mother will either if she is studying him. In our culture, also, we take many things to the graves of our loved ones. A favourite pair of slippers, sweetmeats, chimes to keep the evil spirits away. Toys. Many of the things the person we loved enjoyed when they were alive. I think it is a…God given idea, Nikki.’

‘Thank you.’

We were almost at the house. James Mohktar stopped and turned to me. ‘Did you know there is another of Hundertwasser’s paintings called Painting I Made Secretly in the Garden of the Beautiful Girl?

I smiled. ‘No.’

‘I think it is all exactly right. Your sister will lie for ever in the Garden of the Beautiful girl…’ He leant towards me. ‘Happiness will come to you, Nikki. I know this, because it lies in your heart.’

Touched, I could not speak.

He smiled. ‘I think we say our private goodbye now, for the chance may not come again.’

I did not want to say goodbye. He held out his hand and I took it. His face was the most extraordinary face, beautiful and familiar, and I could read it because it mirrored my own. I shivered.

‘In a different time? In a different place?’ I asked him.

James Mohktar tried to smile, but this time the smile did not reach his eyes.

‘It may be that we have already been there, Miss Montrose.’

‘Goodbye, Detective Sergeant James Mohktar.’

‘Goodbye, my dear Miss Montrose.’

FORTY-ONE

Fleur said apologetically, ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I think Nikki finds it easier to talk to DS Mohktar without me in the room.’

Blythe cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Campbell, I really don’t like having to put you through it over and over, but you do see the importance of doing so? You do see how fickle memory is?’

‘In my case, Inspector, it is not fickle enough,’ Fleur said quietly.

Blythe felt at a bit of a loss; he was a blunt northerner and he did not have Mohktar’s gift of empathy, nor his ability to look at a situation sideways on, from everyone’s point of view. Yet he was canny enough to realise that a gift for getting near people could play against you and get in the way of objectivity. He was pretty sure that his Malay sergeant was edging along the borderline; getting too involved.

Fleur seemed to be reading him. ‘I think it helps, Inspector, that your sergeant is a gentle man and also an exceedingly beautiful one, and that he is nearer Nikki’s age than…either of us.’ She watched his rather pleasant face. He looked a family man. ‘The need for children to protect their parents is amazing, isn’t it? You must have seen it often. Even a bad parent is better than no parent at all. I’m not a stupid woman. If Saffie had gone out alone without permission, Nikki would have tried to wake me, instinctively.