“It’s a scrap of paper from Greg’s work with Milena Livingstone’s handwriting on it.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But it feels like the thing I’ve been looking for.”

We drove for a couple of minutes in silence and then I thought, He’ll suggest going somewhere else. We continued in silence for several minutes.

“I could drop you over there.”

“It’s probably nothing, but why not come back to the office? We could look through Mrs. Sutton’s file and see if your piece of paper refers to anything.”

“All right.”

“It’s not too far out of your way,” he said.

“No.”

“At least you’d know,” he said.

“That’s all I want.”

I felt, almost for the first time, in the midst of all the fog and all the darkness, that I was seeing with clarity. The office was no good to him. If he suggested something else, I’d know. We stopped at some traffic lights.

“There’s a shortcut ahead,” he said. “I’ll direct you.”

“All right.”

“Turn left along there.”

I started the car, and as it moved forward, it jerked and stalled.

“Sorry,” I said. “I haven’t done that since I was seventeen.”

“I could drive for you,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

I drove as if hypnotized, as if someone else was doing the driving and I was just getting a ride and looking around in curiosity. I saw people walking on the pavement and it seemed to me that they were different from me, as if I was a visitor from another world, shortly to depart. I glanced at Joe, who was also glancing around. He rubbed his face. He looked tired. In fact, he looked worn out. Why hadn’t I seen that before? I had been so busy looking in the wrong direction. I wasn’t afraid. I felt a sense of peace. I wanted to know and after that nothing mattered.

“You just turn left ahead. The second on the left.”

It’s funny. Wherever you are in London, however busy it is, you’re just a minute or two from somewhere desolate and abandoned. One day it’ll all be turned into bijou apartments, but not yet. A left and a right and we were among some abandoned office buildings. I saw a sign, almost eradicated by graffiti, for a carpet factory. There was another warehouse building at the end. And there were no cars in sight, and no pedestrians.

“Bloody hell,” Joe said. “It’s a cul-de-sac. I got it wrong. You’ll need to turn around. You’d better pull in here.”

“Some shortcut,” I said, as I stopped the car.

This was it. This was where it had all been heading. All roads meet here. All stories end here. Now I felt Joe’s hand on the nape of my neck, soft, caressing. “This reminds me of Porton Way,” I said.