She put her spectacles back on and looked down at Nicholson’s book. There it was. The Isksaksin. A beautiful pen-and-ink drawing of the exact amulet Sam wore. He said so little about it, but then Nicholson was more concerned with domestic artefacts than the occult. This entry was by the way. She looked up the bibliography. A pamphlet was mentioned that looked promising. The big reference library in Vancouver could probably help her get it. She noted down the details, wrote a big note to Margaret to get the pamphlet faxed through, and closed the book.

The phone warbled again. It was Margaret. Katie listened with a frown. ‘Yeah. Sure. Send him along.’

She hoped her voice had sounded calm. Because she was trying to stay very calm now as she gently replaced the receiver. Jesus. Craig McGee. Another policeman come with more bad news …

She took off her spectacles and sat at the desk like a headmistress, hands clasped tightly in front of her. She saw his dark shape through the opaque glass and shouted come in before he got a chance to knock.

Craig entered with a smile, his hand that was going to tap the glass held up for her in jest, as evidence of her good timing. Dared she hope this was social? Oh sure. Like she hoped the girl on the cash register at Safeway’s would ring up her groceries and say, Hey. Looks like we owe YOU money! Policemen did not make social calls. At least not to people they’d interviewed about murder two nights before. Not to people whose husbands they put a tail on day and night. Her throat went dry.

‘Hi! Sit down.’

He did. On the old black leather swivel-chair in front of her desk. Its stuffing was coming out and in the sunken crater it had left there was a little hard knob of wood just under the leather where Craig’s balls would be. He shifted in it uncomfortably, but she didn’t apologize or tell him the secret, that if you sat on one buttock at a time, you’d be fine. No, she let him suffer. Just in case he was going to make her suffer too.

‘So?’

He shifted onto one buttock. Policemen. They always worked it out.

‘Am I catching you at a bad time?’

‘Not at all. What can I do for you?’

‘Two things really. Well one that you can do for me, and the other just to keep you informed.’

She listened. Craig thought how pretty she was. There was still a mark on the bridge of her nose from her spectacles and he watched as the creamy flesh of that bump filled itself in again. But her eyes were ringed black, bagginess beneath them betraying that perhaps Mrs Hunt wasn’t sleeping so good. He noted that.

‘This is going to sound crazy, but I’m here to ask you about some historical stuff.’