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would darken. Bryant tried to make conversation. Did she know Frieda Klein? Of course. Had she known her long? A few years. Did she see her often? When she came into the clinic. Was that often? A shrug.
    He gave up and looked around her office. There was a rug on the wall, small sculptures and metal ornaments on every surface. A man appeared in the doorway and looked at Paz, who nodded towards Bryant. Bryant stood up.
    ‘Dr McGill?’
    ‘Come through.’
    Bryant followed McGill along a corridor and into aroom that was simple and stark, with just an abstract print on the wall and two wooden chairs facing each other.
    ‘I thought there’d be a couch,’ said Bryant.
    McGill didn’t smile, just gestured him to sit in one of the chairs and sat himself in the other. McGill didn’t look like Bryant’s idea of a senior doctor either. He was wearing walking boots, grey canvas trousers, a faded blue shirt. His thick, greying hair was swept back off his forehead. When people met police officers they were usually nervous or agitated. They could sometimes be confrontational. McGill said nothing and looked just a little bored.
    ‘We’re investigating the murder of Alexander Holland,’ Bryant began.
    ‘I knew him as Sandy,’ said McGill. ‘It sounds wrong hearing him called Alexander. I can’t believe that this has happened. It’s a terrible thing, especially for Frieda.’
    ‘You knew him?’ Bryant continued.
    ‘Yes, of course. I met him several years ago.’
    ‘Through Frieda Klein?’
    ‘That’s right. They were in a relationship, though that ended some time ago now.’
    ‘We’re looking into people who knew him well. Like Dr Klein.’
    ‘I’m confused. Can’t you talk to her directly?’
    ‘My boss is talking to her this afternoon. But your name came up.’
    ‘In what way?’
    ‘Frieda Klein is an analyst. But you were
her
analyst. How does that work?’
    McGill looked amused in a way that Bryant didn’t like.
    ‘Work? It meant that she had sessions with me a few times a week. But this was all many years ago.’
    ‘I don’t know anything about this,’ said Bryant. ‘Is it usual to be analysed by someone who’s your friend?’
    McGill made an impatient gesture. ‘If you’re training to be a therapist, you first have to be in therapy yourself.’
    ‘Why?’
    McGill’s grim expression lightened slightly. ‘That’s a good question,’ he said. ‘Probably the main reason is that by the time you’ve had your own therapy, you’ve spent so much time and so much money, you’ll be a good, obedient therapist and you won’t ask awkward questions about the old masters or the efficacy of what we do. It’s also useful to deal with some of your own issues so they don’t get in the way when you start seeing patients.’ He frowned again. ‘We became friends later. I was her analyst, then I recruited her and then we became friends.’
    ‘And through her you met Alexander Holland.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘They were a couple.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And then they broke up.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Do you know why?’
    McGill crossed his arms. Bryant felt he was being pushed away.
    ‘You must have friends.’
    ‘I’ve got a few.’
    ‘When their relationships break up, do you really know why?’
    ‘Usually. Maybe one of them had an affair or they argued too much or one of them got bored.’
    ‘Well, I don’t know why they broke up.’
    ‘Do you know who initiated it?’
    McGill unfolded his arms. ‘Why do you need to know all this? You seem to be asking me about Frieda rather than Sandy.’
    ‘Holland was murdered. We want to know what was happening in his life.’
    ‘Frieda ended it.’
    ‘Do you know why?’
    ‘She’s her own woman. Maybe she felt trapped. I have no idea.’
    ‘How did he take it?’
    ‘What do you think? He wasn’t happy.’
    ‘How did he show that?’
    McGill shrugged. ‘By not being happy. By complaining. By trying to get her to change her mind.’
    ‘Was he threatening? Or