He looked embarrassed; he flushed and turned to stare at the view again. “Yeah. I guess.”

“I’m sorry about everything.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Have a blueberry.”

He popped several into his mouth. One split on his lip, leaving a dark stain. He looked about ten, angry, ashamed and full of confusion. Milena had certainly left her mark on the world she’d left behind.

DETECTIVE CHIEF INSPECTOR Ramsay came to see me one more time. “You were lucky to survive that crash,” he said.

“So I’ve heard.”

“You were wearing a seat belt,” he said, “but Mr. Foreman wasn’t. I suppose there’s a moral there.”

“I’m glad there’s one somewhere. So, is the inquiry over?”

“More or less.”

I forced myself to think. My mind felt so slow. “He must have had help,” I said. “Who collected the docket from the firm of solicitors? The woman who said she was me. It was Tania, wasn’t it?”

“We’ve interviewed Miss Lucas.”

“Did she confess?”

“Confess?” said Ramsay. “She admitted carrying out certain tasks on his behalf.”

“Criminal tasks.”

“She claims she had no suspicion of anything criminal.”

“She was pretending to be me.”

“She said that must have been a misunderstanding.”

“Bollocks,” I said. “They were sleeping together, you know.”

Ramsay coughed. “I’ve no evidence of that,” he said, “not that it would be relevant. Except possibly to show she was in thrall to him.”

“In thrall?” I said. “You mean she’s a weak woman? So she’s not to be charged with being an accomplice to murder, interfering with the course of justice?”

“We’ve got a file but we’re not sure there’s a reasonable chance of a conviction.”

“What about the company?”

“It’s currently in administration, pending investigation of certain irregularities.”

“You mean Joe was stealing from his clients. That he was up to his neck in it.”

“That has been suggested,” said Ramsay.

“And presumably Tania knew nothing about that either.”

Ramsay shrugged instead of replying. That was his reply.

“I suppose at least you accept that Joe killed Frances.”

“Yes, we do. We’re assuming that Mrs. Shaw knew, or at least suspected, what he had done and was going to expose him.”

“That makes sense,” I said, remembering Frances’s agitation, the sense of guilt, how close she had come to confessing to me. If she had, she wouldn’t have been dead now. “She was clearly troubled.”

For a minute Ramsay stared at me gloomily, then turned to the window. A disheveled pigeon was sitting on the other side of the glass, its beady eyes glaring in.

“What about the deaths of Milena and Greg?” I asked. “Do you also accept Joe killed them?”

“We’ve reopened the file.”

“You don’t sound very grateful to me.”

“Your role in the investigation has been mixed,” said Ramsay, “but at an appropriate time . . .”