“I don’t know,” I said. “You just don’t have a police look about you. You look, er-”

And I ground to a halt because what I was feeling my way toward saying was that he was too good-looking to be a policeman, which was both a deeply foolish comment and miles away from being remotely appropriate to the situation and, in any case, Grace Schilling had just come in with more tea.

“Normal,” I said, belatedly ending the sentence.

“That’s all?” he said. “I thought you might say something nicer than that.”

I made a face.

“I think it’s nice not to look like a policeman.”

“Depends what you think policemen look like.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Grace asked with a touch of irony.

Then the phone rang. It was Janet. She was checking about our arrangement to meet. I covered the mouthpiece.

“It’s one of my best friends,” I said in a stage whisper. “I arranged to meet her for a drink early this evening. By the way, she definitely didn’t write the note.”

“Not today,” said Stadler.

“Are you serious?”

“Indulge us.”

I pulled another face and made an excuse to Janet. She was very understanding, of course. She wanted to chat, but I wound the conversation down. Grace and Stadler seemed a bit too interested in what I was saying.

“Is this some kind of joke?” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m beginning to feel persecuted,” I said. “But not by the sad bastard who wrote that letter. I feel like something lying on a card with a pin through me. I’m still wiggling around and somebody’s looking at me through a microscope.”

“Is that what you feel?” asked Grace earnestly.

“Oh, don’t start,” I said hotly. “For God’s sake, don’t tell me that that’s significant.”

Anyway, it was only half what I felt. We sat there for the afternoon and I made tea and then coffee and found biscuits in a tin. And I dug out the scraps of paper that I call an appointment book, and I went through my address book and I held forth about my life. Every so often one of them would ask a question. It started to rain for the first time in days and days, and all of a sudden I didn’t feel like a rare specimen being examined prior to dissection, but instead like someone spending time with two rather strange new friends. Sitting on the floor with rain running down the windows, it just felt reassuring as much as anything.

“Can you really juggle?” Stadler asked at one point.

“Can I juggle?” I said pugnaciously. “You watch this.” I looked around the room. There was some fruit in the bowl.

When I grabbed two wrinkled apples and a tangerine, a puff of tiny flies flew up into the air. Something was going off in there.

“I’ll deal with that,” I said. “Now look.”

I started juggling with them, then, rather carefully, walked up and down the room. I stumbled on a cushion and they fell to the floor.

“That gives you a general idea,” I said.

“Can you do more than that?” he asked.

I made a scoffing sound.

“Juggling with four balls is very boring,” I said. “You just hold two in each hand and throw them up and down with no interchanges.”

“What about five?”

I made my scoffing sound again.

“Five is for mad people. To juggle five balls you need to sit in a room alone for three months and do nothing else. I’m saving up five balls for when I get sent to prison or become a nun or get stranded on a desert island. They’re only toddlers, and in any case it’s only a phase I’m going through while I work out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”

“That’s no excuse,” said Stadler. “We want to see five balls, don’t we?”

“Minimum,” said Grace.

“Shut up,” I said. “Or I’ll show you my magic tricks.”

SIX

I can’t explain what happened next. Or at least I can’t explain it so it makes proper sense.

Grace Schilling left. She put her hands on my shoulders when she said good-bye and stared at me for a moment, as if she were going to kiss me, or cry. Or say something deeply serious. Then Stadler told me that they had arranged for a policewoman, Officer Burnett, to keep an eye on me.

“She’s not going to stay here, is she?”

“No, I wanted to explain this to you. Lynne Burnett will be the officer primarily assigned to your protection. At night she or, more often, other officers will be placed outside your house, mainly in a car. Not a police car. During the day she may spend some time inside, but that’s a matter for you and her.”

“At night?” I said.

“It’ll just be for a while.”

“What about you?” I said. “Will you be around?”

He looked at me for just a couple of seconds too long, so that I almost started thinking about saying something else, and then the doorbell rang. I started, blinked, smiled blearily at him.

“It’ll be Lynne,” he said.

“Aren’t you going to answer it, then?”

“It’s your flat.”

“It’ll be for you.”

He turned on his heel and opened the door. She was younger than me, although not much, and rather lovely. She had a large purple birthmark on her cheek. She didn’t dress like a police officer. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and carrying a light blue jacket in her hand.

“I’m Nadia Blake,” I said, holding out my hand. “Sorry about the mess, but I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors.”

She smiled and blushed.

“I’ll keep out of your way as much as possible, unless you want me for something,” she said. “And I’m rather good at tidying up. Only if you want things tidied,” she added hurriedly.

“Everything’s got a bit out of hand,” I said. I glanced across at Stadler and smiled, but he didn’t smile back, just looked at me thoughtfully. I went into my bedroom and sat on the bed, waiting for him to go. I felt tired and odd. What was going on? What was I supposed to do all evening with Lynne hanging around? I couldn’t even feel relaxed going to bed early with cheese on toast.

It could have been worse. We ate fried eggs and baked beans for supper, and Lynne told me all about her seven brothers and sisters, and her mother, who was a hairdresser. She did some tidying up, almost as if she needed something to do with her hands. Then she left. Not to go away, of course. She went and sat outside in the car. After tonight, she said, there would be other officers instead; after all, she had to sleep sometimes. I had a long bath, until the tips of my fingers were shriveled, and when I got out I looked out between the crack in the curtains. I could see her silhouette in the car. Was she reading or listening to the radio? I couldn’t tell. Probably nothing distracting was allowed. I wondered if I should go out with soup or coffee. I went to bed.

The next day Lynne followed me to the shops; she sat around while I wrote letters. There was a hint of embarrassment when Zach rang up and arranged to come round to go through the appointment book. I put the phone down, looked round at her, and said: “Um…”

She instantly responded: “I’ll wait outside.”

“It’s just that-”

“That’s fine.”

Early in the evening the doorbell rang and she went to answer it. It was Stadler. He was carrying a very serious briefcase, I saw, and wearing a somber suit.

“Hello there, Detective,” I said sweetly.

“I’ve taken over from Lynne for a spell.” His expression was impassive. No smile. “Everything all right?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“I thought I’d ask some questions.”

He sat on the sofa, and I sat opposite him in the armchair.

“What are your questions, then, Detective?” He had lovely hands. Long, with smooth nails.

He opened his briefcase and fumbled with some papers.

“I wanted to ask you about previous boyfriends,” he said.

“You’ve done that already.”

“I realize that, but-”

“You know what? I think I’d prefer talking about my past relationships with Grace Schilling.”