He politely remained silent while she exited the car park and negotiated her way out of the airport, following the signs back to the motorway. When the silence began to feel uncomfortable, she searched her mind for something else to say. What did you say in these circumstances? What the hellare you doing here? Why don’t you just go back homewhere you belong?

‘So where did you learn to speak English so well, Sergeant Kotsev?’

‘Ah, I attended a good school in our capital, Sofia, and later at university. Regrettably, there are still very few police officers in my country who speak English well. You could visit many provincial police stations in Bulgaria and find no officers who speak English at all.’

Fry laughed. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. How many police officers do you think we have in Edendale who speak Bulgarian?’

Kotsev smiled. ‘It’s different. It will be necessary for many more of us to speak your tongue when we enter the European Union.’

‘Still, it must be very irritating to have us all coming to your country and expecting you to speak to us in English.’

‘Ah, but ours is an unimportant little language.’

It was intriguing to hear Kotsev say that without sarcasm or bitterness, as if he actually meant it. She would normally have expected at least a small chip on the shoulder.

‘Well, it’s true that Bulgarian wasn’t offered as a course option when I was a student,’ she said.

Her visitor seemed to take in everything they passed on the journey from the airport. Not that there was much to see on the M60 orbital. He’d pushed the passenger seat as far back as it would go to accommodate his long legs, and Fry was conscious of the fact that he could watch her from that angle without her knowing it. She stood the uncertainty for as long as she could, then she turned to meet his eyes. Kotsev had been right about how brown they were. They made her think of dark chocolate. Thornton’s apricot parfait.

‘So you are a graduate, Sergeant Fry?’ said Kotsev. ‘What is your degree, a Bachelor of Arts or a Bachelor of Science? Police officers should have a good education, I believe. It’s very important, if we are to have the respect of the people. Myself, I attended the University Saint Kliment Ohridski in Sofia.’

‘I was at the University of Central England in Birmingham. We called it UCE. As a comedian said once, it isn’t named after its initials, but the grades you need to get in.’

He regarded her quizzically, perhaps not fully understanding what she’d said, but recognizing the self-deprecating tone. Fry immediately felt embarrassed. She didn’t know what had made her say that about her old university. She had no reason to denigrate it. At the time, UCE had been exactly what she needed – a route to escape into a different world, where opportunities were available for the grasping. She was sure it had been a lifeline for many who’d gone there before her, and since. Some said that institutions like UCE served a more useful purpose in society than any number of Oxbridge colleges, with their dreaming spires and drunken hoorays throwing themselves off bridges.

‘It’s kind of you to escort me,’ said Kotsev. ‘You must be very busy, I’m sure. A shooting enquiry for you to pursue. Connections to organized crime. Worrying complications for a small police department.’

‘Yes, it is a bit hectic.’

He fell silent until they were out of Glossop and travelling southwards along the ridge through Hayfield and past Chapel-en-le-Frith.

‘So this is the county of Derbyshire,’ he said. ‘Very pretty.’

Fry didn’t respond. She generally tried to avert her gaze from the view whenever there was a steep drop away from the road.

‘What are these hills called?’ asked Kotsev.

‘Er … I’m not sure.’

‘And this valley? The river?’

‘I forget. But if you really want to know, I’ll introduce you to one of my colleagues when we get to Edendale. He knows everything about the area.’

His eyes were on her again, she could feel it. It was making her tense. Watch the countryside goingby, why don’t you?

‘So what sort of place is Pleven?’ she said, trying to sound as though she was interested in the answer.

‘Pleven is located in the agricultural region of Miziya, in the north of Bulgaria. It’s surrounded by limestone hills. You might feel at home if you visited there.’

‘Might I? Why?’

‘Those are limestone quarries I can see ahead of us, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘Oh. Probably.’

‘So the hills are very much like these. But the city of Pleven has a population of a hundred and forty-three thousand persons. Not like this.’

‘That’s all right, I’m used to big cities,’ said Fry. ‘I don’t really belong in this area.’

‘I see. Myself, I’m a city person too – though I was born in a village in a rural district. My family moved to Sofia, where I received my education. Later, as a police officer, I was assigned by the ministry to Pleven.’

‘And you developed an expertise in organized crime?’

‘Yes, indeed. Recently I have been working in co-operation with the Organized Crime Groups Unit at Europol. We formed a Joint Investigation Team – Europol officers and Bulgarian law enforcement. It’s very interesting work. We have had some great successes, of which we are very proud.’

‘You mean pro-active operations? Disrupting the activities of organized crime?’

‘More than disrupting. Two years ago, we broke a major organized crime network which was spreading counterfeit euro notes into Western Europe. More than four hundred officers carried out raids in several cities. Four illegal print facilities were closed. Fake documents, credit cards and tourist visas were seized, in addition to many counterfeit euros. Believe me, General Borisov of the Bulgarian Police and Europol Director Storbeck were very happy to present the results of that co-operation.’

Fry didn’t know what to say. She was too busy suppressing an overwhelming surge of envy. This guy was from some place in Eastern Europe that she’d never even heard of, yet he was leading the sort of life she dreamed of. He was enjoying a useful and exciting career, while she was stuck in this backwater that she was almost ashamed to let him see.

She put her foot down on the straight stretch of road over the plateau towards Edendale. There weren’t any villages to speak of up here, only scattered farms with tumbledown outbuildings and abandoned tractors. There were more sheep than people, by a factor of about five hundred to one.

‘Not far now,’ she said.

Kotsev nodded amicably. ‘You know, when Bulgaria joins the EU, I would be interested in transferring to Europol. There are often vacancies for a First Officer. Then I could live in The Hague. Do you know The Hague? It’s a good city. Very pleasant. Very civilized.’

Fry turned to look at him, to see if he was laughing at her. But she met his eyes, and she could tell that he wasn’t.

Fry delivered Kotsev to the new Holiday Inn off Edendale’s relief road and made sure he managed to get checked in all right. Not that he seemed to need any help. The girl behind the reception desk practically fell over herself to offer him wake-up calls and restaurant reservations.

‘I hope you’ll be comfortable here,’ said Fry when he’d collected his room key. ‘Our divisional commander has asked if you’ll take part in a briefing in the morning. Will that be all right?’

‘Dobre. That’s OK.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, Sergeant.’

‘Thank you for everything, Sergeant Fry.’

‘That’s all right. Goodnight.’

‘Ciao.’

He picked up his bag to go to his room, but instead of leaving through the revolving doors Fry found herself hesitating. Kotsev smiled at her politely, his dark eyes crinkling at the edges.

‘Was there something else?’

‘Well, I was just going to say … The thing is, I know what it’s like arriving in a strange place where you don’t know anyone. Eating meals alone is the worst thing, isn’t it? It’s too embarrassing going into a restaurant on your own.’