But Norah had a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. Yes, it was true, the policemen’s explanation sounded plausible, and Norah ought really to be glad that nobody suspected her of being involved in the incident. And yet. A few days ago, the woman had appeared out of the blue and told her she brought death.

And now death had caught up with her.

Rarely had Norah so badly needed a drink. The little bistro on the corner of her street seemed just the place to warm up and escape for a moment longer the silence and loneliness waiting for her in her flat. It occurred to her what a mess she must look in her muddy jeans and tattered shoes, but no one seemed to take any notice. Norah sat down at the bar and ordered a vodka. After downing it, she ordered another—and another—and then, in a last, desperate attempt to kill time, she asked for a beer.

When she finally climbed the stairs to her flat an hour or so later, she had trouble getting the key in the lock. Inside, the floorboards seemed more uneven than usual, the kitchen lamp swung from the ceiling like a pendulum, and getting out of her dirty things and into clean, dry clothes was something of a struggle. But although it hadn’t been Norah’s first dead body—she’d once done a stint reporting on crimes for a local daily in Hanover—she wasn’t done drinking yet. There was still white wine in the fridge. She filled a glass and went and stood at the window.

A man was standing in the light of the streetlight, staring up at her. Confused, she moved away from the window, pulled herself up onto the kitchen benchtop (another relic from the previous tenant) and drank her wine, watching the swaying ceiling light.

She suddenly found herself thinking of the photo of Arthur Grimm she had found on the internet. The short dark hair, the square chin, the steely blue eyes.

Norah slid down from the benchtop and went back to the window.

The man was still there, standing motionless. A slim man, neither tall nor short, with close-cropped dark hair. That was as much as she could make out in the darkness, but something told her he had deep-set blue eyes. Then—as if he’d been waiting for Norah to reappear at the window—he began to move.

He turned and stepped out of the light of the streetlight and had soon vanished into the dark night. Norah couldn’t have said what made her so sure, but she knew she had just seen Arthur Grimm for the first time.

26

Chocolate and weed, soft light and guitar music, the early dark of winter. Katinka lay curled up on Norah’s lap, her eyes half-closed, while Theresa alternately stuffed chocolate into her mouth and sucked on a joint. It did Norah good to talk to Theresa. She never made her feel she was bonkers, the way Sandra sometimes did. And she clearly liked being with her—unlike Max and Paul. Norah had told Theresa about Max’s lie—and about the calls he’d made since. So far she’d continued to ignore him.