‘Just a quick vodka,’ she said.

He nodded, without smiling and set the glass down in front of her. Norah tipped it back; the alcohol stung her parched throat. She swallowed drily, as if to see whether her stomach would take it. Then she fished a note out of her jeans pocket, put it on the counter, thanked the barman and went out.

As Norah climbed the stairs to her flat, she thought of Valerie. She thought of Arthur Grimm and all that Angelika Reiter had told her about him.

Her anger contracted like a mollusc.

She saw herself pointing a gun at Grimm. She saw the terror on his face.

And where, only a few hours earlier, there had been fear and uncertainty, there was now certainty and hate.

When Norah entered the kitchen, there was a revolver lying on the table. For a split second, she thought it must be the same gun as before, returned to her as if by magic—as if attracted, magnet-like, by the mere force of her hatred. Actually, of course, it was only a twin of the gun she had thrown in the canal. Somebody must have brought it round while she was out.

That figured.

Norah stepped closer. Peered at the gun. Picked it up and examined it. There was only one cartridge in the cylinder. She’d have to aim well. But she knew she could.

First, though, she needed proof. Norah put the gun back on the table and went to sit at her laptop. It didn’t take her five minutes to find out what she wanted to know. She sat there, stunned. It was so easy, when you knew what you were looking for.

It was exactly as she’d thought.

The bastard.

Norah picked up her phone and saw that she had six missed calls from Coco and two from Max. She closed her eyes for a moment; there was so much to do, so much to sort out. She tried Tanja first. Then she rang Coco, who needed comforting. After that, she spoke to Max. Finally, she made one last call.

When she got off the phone, she had a good, long think. It took her some time to get everything straight in her mind and overcome her resistance. It was suddenly all so final; every action seemed like a ritual. Animal blood, candlelight, white robes.

Norah climbed the stairs to Theresa’s and rang the doorbell.

‘I’ve come to say goodbye,’ she said when Theresa opened up, her eyes red and glazed as if she’d been asleep.

When everything had been taken care of, she sat down at the living-room table with her phone and tried to calm herself. Talking to Theresa and processing what she had said had left Norah exhausted. But now all was ready.

She couldn’t quite believe that it had been so easy. Grimm would come to the Prater and she would get her chance. She had only to be prepared. There was no turning back now.