My thoughts are so clear now, so rigid, they could snap if I moved too quickly. Because now I’m thinking of that first time we met, when he didn’t tell me who he was, and how he didn’t mention he was married. He doesn’t seem to mention anything that’s inconvenient to him.

He seems to think he can play me.

Well, fuck you, Noah. You picked the wrong girl to try to manipulate. Because I’m not like Sabine. I’m not scared of being a pariah.

I reach for my phone and google: Paris police, homicide. A few clicks later up come the words Brigade Criminelle and a series of pictures: an enormous, reflective, modern building beneath a perfect blue sky. A sand-coloured wall with big black words, Direction Régionale de la Police Judiciaire.

I imagine myself walking through those glass doors. But it’s all the way out near Levallois-Perret, barely inside the Boulevard Périphérique. And today is Thursday. Our editorial meeting. I can’t miss that.

I’ll go straight after work.

Chapitre Quinze

Chapitre quinze

There’s a blister on the back of my left foot and I’m thinking about whether I have any plasters in the bottom of my bag when the elevator doors slide open. Judy is standing behind her desk, staring at me, the red of the tulips in the vase to her right so vivid that she looks grey-white in contrast. If I were to squint she’d blend in perfectly with the walls. I wonder if she’s ill? No. Wait. It’s something else. Something is wrong. Her mouth is half-open and uncomfortable. Like she wants to say something but figures she’d better not.

This must have something to do with why she called me.

I was almost here, crossing the road by the station, when my phone began to vibrate and I saw the work number flash up. But what with struggling to control my umbrella against the wind, the blister on my foot, being drug-fucked on Ambien and the shellshock of this morning, I let it ring out. But now I’m worried.

Please, dear god, don’t let me get sacked today too.

‘Hi,’ I say, dropping my wet umbrella into the metal bin provided and taking off my coat. It’s good to be inside, away from the wind, the swirling autumn leaves and the rain coming in at impossible angles. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Um, Harper.’ She nods to behind me where there are four linen chairs. ‘The police are here to see you.’

My pulse speeds up.

Fuck.

I turn around, and take them in. There are two of them: Batman and Robin. A big, attractive one – tall, thick dark hair, refined jaw, dark eyes, pink shirt – and a smaller, more ordinary one – around five foot eight, mousy hair, brown eyes, white shirt. They stand up.