‘How are you feeling, Astrid?’ he asked.

‘Better,’ I said. ‘I was a bit shaken. Well, you know…’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We know. Do you feel dizzy, sick, anything like that?’

‘I’m all right.’

‘Do you know where you are?’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ I said. ‘Of course I do.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got to ask some stupid-sounding questions. I’ve got to assess whether you’re in a fit state to be interviewed. So, you’re perfectly clear about who we are?’

‘I’ve got a rough idea,’ I said.

‘No, really. Do you know who we are?’

‘Yes, I do.’

He looked across at Kamsky.

‘What do you think?’ said Kamsky, as if I wasn’t there.

‘It should be all right,’ said Bradshaw. ‘But I should be present.’

‘All right,’ said Kamsky. He looked at an officer standing by the door. ‘You can get Frank now.’

The officer left the room and Kamsky and Bradshaw waited in silence until a man came in. He wore a grey suit and was a few years older than Kamsky, balding across the crown with silver-grey hair cut very short. He looked at Kamsky and then at me without any expression.

‘Astrid,’ said Kamsky, ‘this is Detective Chief Inspector Frank McBride.’

‘Hello,’ I said.

McBride didn’t answer. He just looked down at me.

‘Matters are very urgent,’ said Kamsky. ‘You understand that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘But I need to remind you that you are entitled to have a lawyer present, if you want one.’

‘What for?’

‘And I need to warn you that, obviously enough, anything you say may be used as evidence and in court proceedings.’

‘Obviously,’ I said. ‘Why else would I say it?’

‘Exactly,’ said Kamsky, with a smile. He stole a glance at McBride and then looked back at me. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to be giving more statements. We’ll take you back to the station and there’ll be tape-recorders and lawyers and lots of red tape.’

‘I’m getting used to that,’ I said.

More exchanged looks. As he started to speak, Kamsky seemed embarrassed. ‘What we really wanted to say, Astrid, is that if you’ve anything to tell us, now would be a good time.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ll try to put this as plainly as I can,’ said Kamsky. ‘There are experts going over every inch of this scene. We’re going to find the truth of what happened here. Leah Peterson’s body is still lying ten yards away from where we’re talking. Wouldn’t it be good to put an end to all of this?’

I really had thought I was beyond feeling anything more but now I realized something of what was being said. It was as if a newly formed bruise was being punched repeatedly.

‘I don’t understand the question,’ I said numbly. ‘I really think you should say what you mean.’

‘Let’s not mess about,’ said Kamsky. ‘There’s going to be a very large and detailed investigation. It’s only just beginning. But if you have anything material to offer, it might be a good idea if you could do it now. If you have any involvement in what has happened, if you know anything, if you suspect anything, I can promise you, Astrid, that it would be better in every imaginable way if you told us now.’

‘Are you insane?’ I said. ‘I was the one who called you. Do you think I have anything at all to do with this nightmare?’

Kamsky looked across at McBride and gave a helpless shrug, as if asking for help. McBride took hold of one of the dining chairs, pulled it across and sat down in front of me.

‘Well, yes, we do,’ he said. He had a light Scottish accent. ‘You saw the body?’

‘I was the one who called the police.’

‘But you saw it properly?’

‘Look,’ I said, holding up my hands. McBride pulled a face.

‘For God’s sake,’ he said, ‘why hasn’t someone dealt with that?’

‘They took swabs.’

‘That’s not what I meant. Anyway, did the state of Leah Peterson’s body remind you of anything?’

‘It was just like Ingrid de Soto ’s body. Obviously. What do you want me to say?’

McBride took a small notebook out of his pocket and looked at it.

‘So why were you here?’

‘To collect a package.’

‘People are going to stop asking you to collect their packages, Miss Bell. They’ll start to think you bring bad luck.’

I didn’t reply.

‘Were you surprised to be called to the flat of someone you know?’

‘I didn’t know she lived here.’

‘This is the home address of your ex-boyfriend’s fiancée?’

‘Yes.’

‘DCI Kamsky called your office. Again. They’re getting used to hearing from him. He asked for a written record of the transaction. Unfortunately they don’t have one.’

‘Sometimes we do jobs for cash,’ I said. ‘Off the books. It’s better for everyone.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said McBride. ‘And why you?’

‘They asked for me specifically.’

‘Is that unusual?’

‘Yes. But I think Campbell said something about the woman being scared of men coming to the house. You’ll have to talk to him about it.’

‘You can be sure we will,’ Kamsky said grimly.

Now there was a long pause.

‘Miss Bell,’ said McBride, finally, ‘is there something you want to tell us? Something that might save us all a great deal of trouble.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said.

McBride looked at Kamsky, then back at me. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let me put it like this. How would you describe your relationship with Leah Peterson?’.

Chapter Nineteen

I stared at McBride, who looked back at me without expression. Outside I could hear a bird singing and I thought it was probably the blackbird I had seen perched on the tree just outside the house when I arrived. That seemed a long time ago now, a world glimpsed through the wrong end of a telescope. I thought how all the ordinary things of life can often become moments of happiness when you look back at them. You don’t understand that at the time.

‘My relationship with Leah Peterson,’ I repeated, in a voice that didn’t sound like my own. Leah Peterson: how formal that sounded.

‘Not here, Frank,’ said Kamsky. ‘Not like this.’

McBride shrugged. ‘OK then.’

Kamsky put a hand under my elbow and pulled me to my feet where I stood, swaying slightly. ‘Come on,’ he said.

‘What? Where are we going?’

‘To the police station.’

‘I want to go home,’ I said, although it wasn’t true. I didn’t want to go home if that meant going back into the disintegrating wreckage of Maitland Road. And suddenly, as clearly as if he had been standing in front of me, I saw Miles’s face, his smooth, veined skull and his brown eyes. I gasped and put a hand to my chest.

‘What?’ asked Kamsky, sharply.

‘Do they know?’

‘Who?’

‘Miles. All of them.’

‘You don’t need to think about that at the moment,’ said Bradshaw, in the kind of reassuring voice that made me want to punch him.

‘But I -’

‘Astrid,’ Kamsky interrupted, and something in his tone made me feel cold, ‘do you understand your position?’

‘My position? I understand that Leah’s dead.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Margaret Farrell, Ingrid de Soto, Leah Peterson. All dead.’

‘What are you…?’

‘And all last seen by you.’

‘The car’s waiting outside,’ said McBride. ‘Let’s get this started properly. Hal, follow after us, if you would.’

They led me through the hall and out of the house into the warm, blue day. There was an ambulance, three police cars and already a gathering crowd. I had the sense that I was on a stage: everything that was happening was unreal – the clothes that had been put on to me were a costume, the audience of avid passers-by the extras in a crowd scene; the body lying in the house was just pretending to be a corpse. I looked down at the pavement, trying to avoid the bright, curious eyes of the woman nearest the car, and allowed myself to be levered into it. Kamsky sat beside me and McBride in the front passenger seat. I stared at the back of the driver’s neck: pink and spotty beneath his close-cropped hair.