There is nothing left to do.

Everything is ready. A starry, painfully cold night in Vienna, the strains of a waltz, and black wings.

56

The birds lay twisted on the asphalt, their wings strangely spread. As she picked her way over their small bodies, Norah clung for a moment to the illusion that they weren’t real, but then she saw a tiny dead eye catch the light from the lamppost and heard Dorotea’s voice, as if she were standing beside her.

Flowers wither. Clocks stop. Birds fall dead from the sky.

Slowly, Norah went on her way. She was now on the central avenue that led through the fair to the big wheel, and she tried to keep to the middle and away from the edges; on either side of her, the fairground was dark and shadowy—anything could have been lurking there. After a little while she heard the waltz music again, clearly audible this time, and far ahead she could see the little statue of Basilio Calafati, the Prater showman. It stood on a plinth, arms outstretched, face frozen in a grimace. That was the place. That was where she would find him. That was where it would end.

She didn’t hear it or see it; she sensed it. There was something on her left. Norah wheeled round just in time to see a dark figure slip out of the shadows. It didn’t even occur to her that it might be a harmless passer-by; she was all too familiar with his strange way of moving. He was suddenly in front of her, barely two arms’ lengths away, standing there as if to block her path. Black trousers, black boots, an elegant black coat—his face almost unnaturally white, his pale eyes grave and alert.

‘You’ve come,’ Norah said.

In spite of everything, part of her was surprised that he had turned up.

Grimm looked at her for three or four beats, letting her wait for an answer.

‘What do you want?’

Norah suppressed the impulse to imitate him. She wasn’t here to play games.

‘I want to know what happened back then.’

‘And you want me to tell you?’

‘Who else?’

For a moment Grimm said nothing.

‘Why do I have the feeling you’re not going to believe me, no matter what I say?’

‘Try me,’ Norah said.

‘You’ll leave me in peace afterwards?’ Grimm asked.

‘It’s a promise.’

Grimm laughed and, in spite of the cold, Norah felt herself beginning to sweat. He was only two or three steps from her, the gun was in her bag, the safety catch was on, the bag was open; all she had to do was slip her hand in.

‘You said you had proof,’ he said.

She nodded.

‘It isn’t possible,’ he said. ‘You’re lying.’

He must have noticed that he had raised his voice because he checked himself and added more softly, ‘You have nothing.’

His right hand moved to his side, as if to reassure himself of something in his coat pocket.