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‘Did you know any of the missing academics, Margaret?’ Koenig asked.

Draper was outside making her call. Carlyle had gone to the village shop to stock up on eggs. She wanted to make omelettes. She said it was brain food. Draper had said Koenig would need six eggs in his, not three. It had been the first time they’d all laughed at the same time.

‘I knew Stephen,’ Margaret said. ‘He occasionally guest-lectured at the London School of Economics. And as my expertise in cultural anthropology overlapped with his expertise in history, we sometimes had dinner together. He was a lovely man. Teeth like a witch doctor’s necklace. Breath so bad you looked forward to him breaking wind.’

Koenig chuckled. The way the British insulted each other as a mark of affection was very un-American. Taking the piss, they called it. As a rule of thumb, the politer they were, the more they disliked you.

‘Do you think he’s dead? You referred to him in the past tense.’

The rims of her eyes filled. She blinked away the tears. ‘I do,’ she said. ‘And I don’t think he died well.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘They’re disguising murders as suicides and accidental deaths,’ she said. ‘But not one of the missing academics has been found. You seem like a thinker, Mr Koenig. Why might that be?’

He didn’t have to think for long. ‘Because you can’t disguise a murder if their fingernails have been pulled out. Even the precinct drunk is going to ask questions.’

Margaret winced. ‘There by the grace of God,’ she muttered.

Koenig patted her on the knee. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you, Margaret,’ he said. ‘You have my word.’

She smiled, then said, ‘Stephen was cranky and he was misanthropic. He wouldn’t have told them anything on point of principle. They’d have had to tear it out of him.’ She paused a beat. ‘I’m going to miss the old fool.’

‘But maybe not for long?’

Margaret raised her eyebrows.

‘We were told you’ve been exploring your palliative care options. How long do you have?’

‘Put it this way, I’ve stopped buying green bananas,’ she said. Then she smiled and added, ‘Empathy isn’t your strong point, is it, Mr Koenig?’

Koenig said nothing. The DARPA guys monitoring his Urbach–Wiethe had explained that, alongside his own inability to experience fear, his ability to empathise might become compromised as well. He didn’t think he was there yet, though. He thought it was his lifestyle. Seven years without meaningful human contact had blunted his people skills. Turned him into a social hand grenade. He said, ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Margaret said. ‘I don’t. Not any more. By the time it was caught, it was too late to operate. The damn thing had spread faster than Prince Andrew paying off someone he’s never met.’

‘There was no more treatment?’

‘Not if I wanted to die wearing Marks and Spencer knickers.’

‘That the Brit equivalent of dying with your boots on?’

‘No one should meet their maker wearing nappies,’ she said. ‘Not children, not adults. At some point the choice is about dignity – do you want it or not? Anyway, the gadolinium gave me headaches.’

‘Gadolinium?’

‘The contrast agent they used in their MRIs. Almost as bad for me as the damn tumour. It doesn’t matter. I’m old. I would have died soon anyway.’

‘You’re not that old, Margaret.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘But if I was milk, you’d sniff me first.’

Koenig was spared more social blunders by the door opening. Draper walked in.

‘The plane will be ten hours,’ she said. ‘There’s a private airstrip near the Cairngorms National Park that’s big enough for the G6. And it has refuelling facilities.’

The G6 was a Gulfstream G650. It was sleek and fast with a good range. A nonstop transatlantic flight wouldn’t be a problem.

‘What were you guys talking about?’ Draper asked.

‘I don’t think so, dear,’ Margaret said. ‘Mr Koenig may struggle with empathy, but you feign it.’

‘You don’t know anything about me.’

‘I know you were prepared to shoot my friend. Everything you said to justify it was tinsel. Shiny, but as much use as tits on a flatfish.’ She struggled to her feet. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr Koenig, I’m going to see what’s keeping Elizabeth.’

‘I like her,’ Koenig said after she’d left.

Draper scowled.