The memory had hit like a bolt from the blue. A golden autumn day. Norah had got a B in her French vocab test, but Valerie had fared less well. Norah was going to the cinema to see the new Leonardo DiCaprio film.

‘Want to come?’ she asked.

Valerie rolled her eyes.

‘I can’t. I’ve got French and maths coaching,’ she groaned. ‘Mum’s found me a new tutor.’ Was that the first time Norah had heard Grimm’s name? She wasn’t sure. But all the evidence suggested that Grimm had known Valerie—that he’d been her tutor. The thoughts went round and round in Norah’s head: Valerie and Grimm knew each other and Grimm is a violent bastard. She heard his voice, over and over. Don’t you mess with me. I’ll finish you off. I mean it.

She saw Valerie before her as if it were yesterday. Still a child. Then she saw Grimm. His harsh eyes. His coldness, his measured movements, the soldierly precision.

What had he done to her?

Norah closed her eyes. She saw the images from her dream again—her bloody hands, the lifeless figure—and realised that she had known all along; Werner’s call had merely confirmed the vague suspicion that had been floating above her, just out of reach. The name of Arthur Grimm had unnerved her right from the start; she had always associated it with Valerie. Now, if this awful hunch proved right, everything would suddenly make sense.

Arthur Grimm had killed Valerie and got away with it.

Somebody knew that.

And whoever that somebody was, they wanted Arthur Grimm to be punished.

She didn’t know why they didn’t do it themselves. Whether they couldn’t or didn’t dare or simply didn’t think that it was up to them.

She knew only that this somebody wanted her to do it. She had no idea why that somebody was going about persuading her in such a strange way, but their goal was clear.

She was the one.

She was to bring death to Arthur Grimm.

And since last night she knew something else. Something that scared her more than any of the other goings-on of the last few weeks.

Again the dream images enveloped her and she not only saw, but felt everything: Arthur Grimm, wounded and frightened before her on the ground, his face twisted with pain, his voice. Please don’t. And then the second shot. That sense of finality. And the mixture of shock and satisfaction that followed. Norah’s mouth was suddenly very dry.

Somebody wanted her to kill Arthur Grimm.

And deep down inside, she wanted it too.

43

Norah sat in the office, staring at Grimm. Arthur Grimm stared back. And although he was only a mass of pixels, there was something frightening about the way he looked at her.

Being at work was like finding herself dropped down in a foreign country with unfamiliar customs. Now and then she overheard snatches of conversation. Her boss, saying that if the interview with the new Burg director fell through, he wouldn’t have a cover story for the next issue. David, suggesting a topic. It all meant nothing to her and she was glad nobody asked her for an opinion, because she could think of only one thing: Valerie and Grimm.