“I thought we were going to the pub,” she said.

“We are,” Jerome replied.

“The pub is that way,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction. “Which one are we going to?”

“The Flowers and Archers.”

“The Flowers and . . . oh. No. No.”

“Come on, Jazzy,” Jerome said. “We have to show your roommate here around.”

“But it’s a crime scene. You can’t go into a crime scene.”

Even as she said this, we caught the first glimpse of it all. The news trucks came first, their satellites extended. There were maybe two dozen of those. There was a whole section of sidewalk filled with reporters talking at cameras. Then there were the police cars, the police vans, and the mobile crime scene units. Then there were the people, so many people. Some sort of cordon had obviously been put up, so the people grouped around it. There had to be a hundred or more, just watching and taking pictures. We made it to the back of the crowd.

“Just let me get some pictures, and we’ll go to a real pub,” Jerome said, zipping off and squeezing through.

I stood on my toes a little to try to catch sight of the Flowers and Archers. It was just an ordinary-looking pub—black, large windows, cheerfully painted wooden arms over the door, a blackboard sign out front advertising a special. Only the dozens of police officers swarming around it like ants gave any indication of the terror that had occurred here. I suddenly felt uncomfortable. An unpleasant chill went up my back.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s stand back.”

I almost walked straight into a man who was standing right behind us. He was dressed in a suit with a slightly too-large jacket. He was completely and smoothly bald. His lack of hair highlighted his eyes, which were feverishly bright. When I apologized, the eyes grew wider, in what appeared to be shock.

“Not at all,” he replied. “Not at all.”

He stepped aside to let me pass, smiling widely.

“People are treating this like it’s a party,” Jazza said, looking at the people standing around with bottles of beer, taking photos on their phones and holding up video cameras. “Look how happy everyone seems.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Jerome said not to tell you. And I forgot when you started explaining all of the asking-out stuff.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I should have realized.”

Jerome jogged back, beaming.

“I got right up to the front of the tape,” he said. “Come on. Proper drink now.”