‘Then I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr Gruber,’ the clerk said condescendingly.

Fury seethed in Norah. Since what had happened in Berlin, her rage was never far off the boil, ready to bubble up at a moment’s notice. Why did people have to be so fucking unpleasant?

The woman stood at the counter for a few seconds longer, then turned to leave, defeated.

‘Have a nice day, sir,’ the bank clerk called after her with a grin, as she went out, hanging her head.

‘Pervert,’ he added, catching his colleague’s eye.

‘I mean, isn’t she?’ he asked, when she didn’t reply. ‘Honestly, that kind of thing makes me want to vomit.’

His colleague smiled noncommittally; the man she was serving snorted in amused agreement, but nobody said anything. Norah watched the woman go. Through the glass doors, she saw her cross the road and walk away, so fragile, despite her large build.

‘Next, please.’ Norah heard the clerk’s rasping voice and wheeled round.

‘Hello,’ she said in a loud voice. She threw a last glance over her shoulder, but the woman had vanished.

‘Hello,’ the clerk replied. He saw the look on Norah’s face and misinterpreted it.

‘Ridiculous, isn’t it, the kind of people on the loose these days?’ he asked, grinning stupidly at Norah, half obsequious, half conspiratorial.

Norah smiled and, leant forwards slightly. The man grinned back and leant towards her. Norah saw thick plaque on his teeth; she could almost smell it.

‘A contract killing costs about twenty thousand euros,’ she said in a low voice. ‘It’s an urban myth that you can have someone murdered for two or three grand; I’ve looked into it. Twenty thousand is more like it.’

The man behind the counter blinked.

‘Pardon?’ he said.

‘I’ll be honest with you,’ Norah said. ‘I don’t have that kind of money.’ She pushed her hair off her forehead. ‘But a shot in the kneecap starts at about three and a half, and I think I could manage that.’

The clerk stared at her.

‘I’d just have to go without that holiday in the Seychelles in November,’ she said.

There was a pause, while the man processed her words.

‘Are you crazy?’ he stammered out eventually.

Norah waited for a moment before replying.

‘Now you listen to me, you fuckwit,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t care why you’re the way you are. I don’t care if you had a deprived childhood, or if you have complexes about your microscopic dick—though I assume you do. None of that interests me. But if ever I see you treat that lady or anyone else like that again, I’ll hire myself an Andrej or a Giancarlo or a Ditmir, or whatever those reliable Albanians are called, and after that, you can count yourself lucky if you can hobble into the bank on crutches.’

Norah gave the man a dazzling smile, which threw him into even greater confusion.

‘Got that?’ she asked.

‘You’re joking,’ the man said with a laugh, but he must have noticed how hollow it sounded. He pulled a face.