Alex shifted his weight, suddenly impatient, and listened for the door release. As he pushed, he saw the long, badly lit corridor leading up the steep stairs that vanished into night. He moved quickly toward them. On the landing above the third floor, he paused for a hurried breath and realized he was tired. He’d left Grace rather late and hadn’t slept one complete hour afterward, hoping Lucy would call—fruitlessly, as it turned out—and an emergency had brought him in at six, meaning he’d just finished a twelve-hour day. Now he looked up toward Siân’s front door, and from this angle it seemed to be ajar. Odd, he thought; and he continued upward, before his eyes confirmed in poor light that the door was indeed unlocked. It was possible she’d gone up to the roof garden with a drink and left it open for him. He climbed the last two flights to the top of the building and pushed the hall light, which failed to come on. Trust Will to pick a place at the top of the world, with no elevator.

In the gloom of the hall landing something looked out of place. He approached the door and could see the line of a long split in the frame, which showed the whiteness of newly cracked wood against the cream gloss paint of the doorjamb. The security chain swung from the inside of the frame by its torn screws. What the hell had he stumbled upon? His senses were strained as he listened avidly. Not a sound. Gingerly, he pushed the door open to reveal the hallway of the flat and the living room beyond. Orderly chaos greeted his eyes; shelves were denuded of books and artefacts that had been placed in piles along the hall. Through the door leading to the living room he could see a continuation of the same disorder. Drawers had been turned out, books opened, some then placed upside down to one side. The lid of the piano was open. The flat had been professionally and systematically searched. Then he saw something move, three-quarters of the way down the hall, away from the light.

She huddled against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest in a fetal position. She had her arms wrapped around her and she held something tightly to her heart. The phone receiver bounced gently up and down on its coiled cable next to her from the handset on the wall above. He picked a path between the debris and kneeled beside her. She turned her face to him, and he noticed a trickle of blood running from her nose. Even in poor light he could see that a large bruise was forming around the cut on the side of her high cheekbone. Her blue eyes stared at him.