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Hotel down on the Strand. God knows why. He had a single room on the third floor and he fell from the window about half past midnight. As far as I can gather, it’s not clear whether it was an accident - or suicide.’
    â€˜ Suicide ?’ Harry’s head was spinning. ‘Surely that’s not possible?’
    â€˜That - that’s what I would have said. But apparently it is a strong possibility.’
    â€˜Why? Did he leave a note?’
    â€˜I don’t think so. It’s just unbelievable, Harry.’ He heard her taking a deep breath at the other end of the line. ‘Sorry. I’ll pull myself together soon, but this has come - as rather a shock, to say the least.’
    â€˜If there’s anything I can do.’
    â€˜I - I don’t like to ask this,’ she said.
    â€˜Go ahead.’
    â€˜I realise you’re a busy man. I trespassed on your time yesterday and I don’t want to make a nuisance of myself. But I wonder - could we have a word about this, once I’ve had a chance to collect my thoughts? I’d like to talk to someone. If that doesn’t sound foolish in a grown woman.’
    â€˜Of course it doesn’t. Are you free later this afternoon? I have a meeting at Empire Dock after work.’
    â€˜I could be at your office for five thirty, is that all right?’
    After ringing off, he felt a twinge of conscience, aware that his motives were not purely altruistic. The news of Luke Dessaur’s death was not merely startling. It saddened him. They had never been close, but he had always respected the older man. The waste of a good human life always made him feel dismay. Yet he had the honesty to admit to himself that he was also intrigued. It was impossible to understand what had happened to Luke, to think of a reason why he should have left home for a hotel and then finished up dead. But he needed to make sense of the mystery. It was a feeling with which he was familiar, one that perhaps he should resist - but could not. Even if he did not give in straight away, it would continue to tease him like a seductive woman, nibbling away at him until he had no choice but to surrender to his instincts.
    When Frances arrived, Harry was shocked by the change in her. Her shoulders were hunched and her voice croaky. He’d never seen her eyes so red and she kept blowing her nose. Although she gave the excuse that she was going down with a cold, he did not believe her. Luke’s death had left her desolate.
    Darkness had fallen and it was cold outside, but she suggested that they walk for a little while along the waterfront. Harry was quick to say yes. He loved the river and in times of trouble often sought to calm himself by watching the waves as they lapped against the shore. They paused in their stroll near the ferry terminal and stood by the rail, looking out towards the straggling lights of the Wirral peninsula. For a while neither of them spoke.
    â€˜Thank you for sparing me your time,’ she said at last.
    â€˜It’s the least I could do.’ After a pause he said gently, ‘Would you like to take me through what happened, as far as you know?’
    â€˜Yes, I must have sounded pretty incoherent when we talked earlier. Sorry. There isn’t actually a great deal to tell. I tried ringing Luke’s home number one more time today and a policewoman answered. She was tight-lipped at first. Needless to say, I was bewildered. But I was able to put a few pieces together partly through talking to her and partly through having a word with Don Ragovoy, the manager at the Hawthorne Hotel. He’s been involved with the Museum as a sponsor and I know him slightly. I called there before coming round to your office.’
    â€˜And?’
    â€˜Don said there was no record that Luke had ever stayed there before and he had no idea why he should suddenly have decided to do so yesterday.’ She frowned. ‘It makes no sense. Why should he