By eight o’clock that evening, Dalgliesh had showered, changed and was beginning to decide on his supper when he heard the car. It came up the lane almost silently. The first he knew of it was the lightening of the windows behind the drawn curtains. Opening the front door, he saw a Jaguar being driven onto the opposite verge and the lights switched off. A few seconds later Emma was crossing the road towards him. She was wearing a thick jersey and a sheepskin jerkin, her head bare. As she came in without speaking, instinctively he put his arms round her, but her body was unyielding. She seemed almost unaware of his presence and the cheek which momentarily brushed his was icy cold. He was full of dread. Something appalling had happened, an accident, even a tragedy. She wouldn’t otherwise have arrived like this without a warning. When he was on a case Emma never even telephoned, not by his wishes but her own. Never before had she impinged on an investigation. To do so in person could only mean disaster.

He took off her jerkin and led her to a seat by the fire, waiting for her to speak. As she sat silently he went into the kitchen and switched on the electricity under the flask of coffee. It was already hot and it took only a few seconds to pour it into a mug, add the milk and bring it to her. Taking off her gloves, she wrapped her fingers round its warmth.

She said, “I’m sorry I didn’t phone. I had to come. I had to see you.”

“Darling, what is it?”

“Annie. She’s been attacked and raped. Yesterday evening. She was on her way home from teaching English to two immigrants. It’s one of the things she does. She’s in hospital, and they think she’ll recover. By that I suppose they mean she won’t die. I don’t see how she can recover, not completely. She’s lost a lot of blood and one of the knife wounds pierced a lung. It only just missed her heart. Someone at the hospital said she was lucky. Lucky! What an odd word to use.”

He had nearly asked, How is Clara?, but before the words were framed he knew that the question was as ridiculous as it was insensitive. And now she looked at him full in the face for the first time. Her eyes were full of pain. She was in a torment of anger and grief.

“I couldn’t help Clara. I was useless to her. I took her in my arms, but mine weren’t the arms she wanted. There was only one thing she wanted from me—to get you to take over the case. That’s why I’m here. She trusts you. She can talk to you. And she knows you’re the best.”