There were no footsteps overhead. Theresa must have gone home to her real flat. No other sounds either; nothing was stirring. Norah went over to the window and looked down onto the square. There was a couple snogging on the exact same spot where Arthur Grimm’s dark figure had once stood peering up at her.

Really, Norah thought, I ought to look down at the pair of them and smile. I ought to feel a huge burden fall from my shoulders because it’s all over.

But it wasn’t all over.

Something wasn’t right.

Norah sat down again and closed her eyes to think.

Something wasn’t right.

Something to do with Grimm.

She got up and was climbing onto the chair to take the book out of the cupboard when she stopped, mid-movement. She knew what was wrong.

She glanced at the clock and thought of calling a cab, but decided it wasn’t wise. Was she going to repeat all her stupid, impulsive mistakes? Was she going to go round to Grimm’s flat in the middle of the night to confront him—after all that had happened? Of course not. She’d wait until morning and she certainly wouldn’t go alone. On the other hand…Was she even right? Or was she just imagining things?

Norah closed her eyes, trying to remember. Grimm had stood before her and seemed to hesitate. Relieved—and yet, at the same time, tense. But then, he was always like that. Like someone about to attack. He had looked at her and said, I’m sorry about Valerie.

Adrenaline shot into her bloodstream, leaving her dizzy.

I’m sorry about Valerie. Those were his words. He hadn’t said, Sorry about your friend, or anything like that—the kind of thing people said when they were talking about someone they didn’t know. No, he’d said, Valerie—and there hadn’t even been any mention of Valerie just then. And the look on his face…He’d had tears in his eyes.

All at once, Norah was certain: Grimm had known Valerie.

She wrestled with herself. No, she thought. She mustn’t confront him alone again. Not after all she’d been through. That would be—

She jumped. Someone was ringing at the door.

She knew who it was even before she heard his voice over the intercom.

‘We have to talk.’

Norah hesitated.

‘What do you want?’

‘I have to talk to you,’ he repeated.

Cursing, Norah buzzed him in and heard him enter the building. She went into the kitchen, loaded the gun and laid it on the chair beside her, covered with a teacloth. Then she hurried back to the door and peered through the spyhole.

I shouldn’t let him in.

Softly, tentatively, he knocked at the door.

But I have to know.

Norah opened up to him.

That face. Balder had chosen well.

‘May I come in?’ Grimm asked.

‘Of course,’ Norah said, standing aside to let him past. She wasn’t going to walk in front of him.

Grimm squeezed past her and Norah realised that his calm was feigned. He was as tense as before, though he was doing all he could to hide it.