‘Where are you going?’

‘Starcode Red.’

‘I know where that is. I’ll come and join you, okay?’

‘Promise?’

‘Cross my heart. Give me half an hour.’

‘All right. See you.’

Norah stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Theresa bounce down the stairs. Then she closed the door and locked it behind her.

Back to square one. She sat down, went through the phone call in her head again and took a deep breath.

This time he picked up immediately.

‘Grimm.’

‘Good evening, Dr Grimm. This is Norah Richter speaking. I—’

That was as far as she got. Grimm had hung up. Norah tried again. She let it ring for a long time, but there was no answer. She tried a third time, but got no further. She reactivated caller ID and redialled. It rang once, twice, three times—then he picked up.

‘Grimm.’

‘Dr Grimm, please don’t hang up. I only want to—’

The engaged tone, then nothing. Norah shook her head in annoyance.

She tried yet again. Let it ring for a long time. Hung up. Dialled again.

‘Where did you find my number?’

Norah drew breath, but didn’t get a chance to reply.

‘Leave me in peace,’ he said.

‘Dr Grimm, I don’t understand why you’re being so aggressive. Can’t we talk to each other like adults?’

There was a moment’s silence at the other end of the line.

‘Don’t you mess with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll finish you off. I mean it.’

A click, the engaged tone, then silence. Norah stood there with her mouth open and slowly lowered her phone. The fear that until now had been curled up like an animal in its nest, hidden in the shadows of the flat, suddenly pulled itself up to its full height, tall and scraggy and dark.

Although she had almost no idea what was going on, one thing was clear: it had been a terrible mistake to get in touch with Grimm.

Norah’s nagging headache was worse, the light suddenly too bright for her eyes. She switched off the lamp and sat down on the sofa for a moment, Grimm’s voice in her ear, his words going round and round in her head. It had been no empty threat; the man meant what he said. Norah made up her mind to go to the police first thing the next day. She didn’t like the idea at all; she was used to sorting out her affairs herself. But she didn’t have much choice. Immediately she felt calmer. Around her, too, all was quiet; the house was asleep and Theresa was getting drunk in some bar. Norah could have done with a drink herself, but she was too upset to go out.

She lit the last cigarette of the day and night took hold of her, creeping into all her crevices. She looked at the dark shapes of the furniture looming before her in the blues and blacks of the darkness. Norah put out her cigarette and was about to get undressed and go to bed when she heard something at the door. A scratching. A scraping. She froze when she recognised the sound: it was a key being fumbled into a lock. Wasn’t it? Then all was silent again, only the rush of blood in her ears and the thump of her heart. Had she imagined it? She’d changed the lock and locked the door. No one could get in. But someone was trying. Weren’t they? Norah tiptoed down the passage to the front door and peered through the spyhole. It was dark on the stairs. There was only one way of being sure. Unlock the door. Open it. Have a look. Norah was debating the matter with herself when she heard sounds on the stairs again. This time, they were easier to place. Somebody had opened the door to the building and let it fall shut. Probably the mute neighbour from downstairs, because soon afterwards Norah heard another door being opened. Had he turned on the light on the stairs? Again Norah went to the door and peered through the spyhole, grimacing when the floorboards creaked underfoot.