She toyed with the thought of adding another question or two, but decided against it and pressed Send. All at once she felt the same surge of cold anger she had felt sitting numbly in her flat after the phone call. This time, though, it was directed not only at Grimm but also at the person sending her these messages. Why all the fucking secrecy? Why the funny games? If this person really knew all about Grimm and wanted to call him to account, why had they involved Norah—and couldn’t they at least be open with her?

Okay, she wrote. I’ve spoken to the woman. If she’s to be believed (and I think she is), AG is a bastard and I hope the woman goes to the police. But what the fuck has this got to do with me?

When she looked up from her phone, her eyes met those of a greying blond man sitting at the bar, a smart coat draped over the stool beside him. He wore a suit and shirt without a tie and had a trendy mixed drink in front of him that made him look a little out of place in the old-fashioned bistro. Norah quickly averted her eyes. She had to think. No distractions now. She got the bill and left.

Back at home, she sat down at her desk, booted up her laptop and logged in to her email provider. One new message. From Werner. Had he already carried out the special assignment she’d set him? Norah clicked on the email, which had no subject heading—Werner seldom bothered.

It was short.

I’m afraid I haven’t managed to carry out your ‘special assignment’ yet. But I have something else for you. Didn’t want to ring so late. Give me a call in the morning. Werner

In the morning? How was she to get through the night after an announcement like that? She was dying of curiosity. Norah was about to close the email when she noticed the time. Werner, always a night owl, had sent the email only ten minutes ago. Norah leapt up, grabbed her phone and dialled his number. He picked up almost immediately.

‘Still the old night owl,’ he said, without even saying hello.

‘Just what I was thinking about you,’ Norah said smiling.

After they’d finished talking, she sat there for a long time. She stared out of the window and then at her hands, trying to process what she’d heard. But it was no good; her head was so full it felt ready to burst.

It was 5 February and she had a motive to kill Arthur Grimm.

42

There was blood everywhere. It was still sticking to her when she sat up with a start, clutching her chest—and when she dropped her hands and caught her breath, the rust-coloured goo spread all over the cream covers of the sofa.

What was the time? Norah looked about her for her watch and spotted it next to her phone on a cardboard box that served as an improvised coffee table. Half past two.