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offended her; she’d been open enough with him all night.   He just didn’t like to talk about it - didn’t like the answers that kept coming back to remind him of his failings.
    “I suppose it is getting late,” he said, glancing at his watch without really noticing the time.   He collected his briefcase and followed Jean into the kitchen.   “I’ll say goodnight then.   Let’s meet at Kew tomorrow.   Nine a.m. sharp.”
    “I’ll give you my mobile number.   In case there’s a problem.   You never know.”
    “Good idea,” Tayte said.   He reached into his briefcase and pulled out the first thing his hand fell on.   It was one of Marcus Brown’s early publications and seeing his friend’s portrait on the back cover made him catch his breath.   After a lengthy pause he handed the book to Jean and forced a smile.   “Here, you can write it in this.   I’ll see you tomorrow.”
      
    The lift opposite Jean’s apartment looked inviting as Tayte said goodbye and closed the door, but he fought the urge and took the stairs instead, reminding himself that he needed the exercise.   He padded down them, listening to the echo of his footfall, thinking about Jean and how much he knew it would have meant to her if he’d stayed.   He felt mean and it began to play on his conscience.   He knew it would have sooner or later, just not this soon.   He was about halfway down when he heard the door at the bottom of the stairwell open and close again.   Soon after that he passed a man in a dark coat who was on his way up, two steps at a time.
    “Evening,” Tayte said, not really looking at the man.
    He received no reply and hadn’t expected one, thinking that London was no different from any other big city when it came to passing strangers.   He made it all the way into the lobby, past an abandoned night desk and out into the quiet street before he stopped and turned back.   The truth was that he didn’t want to be alone either after what had happened, and seeing Marcus’s image again on the book as he’d handed it to Jean just made him feel worse.
    He took the lift this time, riding it back to the eleventh floor, smiling for the camera above his head.   He had his words fully formed into a neat sentence by the time he heard the ping and the lift door opened.   What he saw when it did made him forget them in an instant.   The man he’d passed on the stairs was standing with his back to him at the door opposite the lift - Jean’s door.   In that same slow second he thought it was a little late for callers, that Jean would have said if she was expecting anyone else, and that the coat the man was wearing looked worryingly familiar.   It made him think about the man in the mask from Maiden Lane earlier and any question he had as to who this man was disappeared when the figure turned around and started shooting at him.
    Tayte lurched sideways as the gunman turned and the bullets arrived, making little sound until they hit something.   One ripped through his sleeve, maybe his arm.   He wasn’t sure.   All he felt was a tug at his jacket as it tore through the material and shattered the mirror behind him.   He dropped his briefcase.   Then as the lift doors began to close he felt something sting and he knew he’d been hit.
    He didn’t have time to dwell on it.
    Another shot was fired, muted like the others, only this time it was accompanied by the sound of splintering wood, as if the gunman had just shot through the lock on Jean’s door and kicked it in.   He heard it slam open and bang against the wall and his finger was already on the lift door-release button.   He kept close to one side as he repeatedly tapped it and when it was fully open again he peeked out.   The man was gone and the door to Jean’s apartment was tellingly wide open.
    It seemed to take Tayte forever to think what to do.   He knew he couldn’t just run in there or the man would shoot them both.   Then he saw the