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land before memory, in the world of early childhood, with abuse and mistreatment, which builds up a charge over the years, until it explodes—often at the wrong target. I needed to find out how her childhood had shaped her, and if Alicia couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me, I had to find someone who would. Someone who knew Alicia before the murder, who could help me understand her history, who she was, and how she ended up this way.
    In the file, Alicia’s next of kin was listed as her aunt—Lydia Rose—who brought her up, following the death of Alicia’s mother in a car accident. Alicia had also been in the car crash, but survived. That trauma must have affected the little girl profoundly. I hoped Lydia would be able to tell me about it.
    The only other contact was Alicia’s lawyer: Max Berenson. Max was Gabriel Berenson’s brother. He was perfectly placed to observe their marriage intimately. Whether Max Berenson would confide in me was another matter. An unsolicited approach to Alicia’s family by her psychotherapist was unorthodox to say the least. I had a dim feeling Diomedes would not approve. Better not ask his permission, I decided, in case he refused.
    As I look back, this was my first professional transgression in dealing with Alicia—setting an unfortunate precedent for what followed. I should have stopped there. But even then it was too late to stop. In many ways my fate was already decided—like in a Greek tragedy.
    I reached for the phone. I called Max Berenson at his office, using the contact number listed in Alicia’s file. It rang several times before it was answered.
    “The offices of Elliot, Barrow, and Berenson,” said a receptionist with a bad cold.
    “Mr. Berenson, please.”
    “May I ask who is calling?”
    “My name is Theo Faber. I’m a psychotherapist at the Grove. I was wondering if it might be possible to have a word with Mr. Berenson about his sister-in-law.”
    There was a slight pause before she responded. “Oh. I see. Well, Mr. Berenson is out of the office for the rest of the week. He’s in Edinburgh visiting a client. If you leave your number, I’ll have him call you on his return.”
    I gave her my number and hung up.
    I dialed the next number in the file—Alicia’s aunt, Lydia Rose.
    It was answered on the first ring. An elderly woman’s voice sounded breathless and rather annoyed. “Yes? What is it?”
    “Is that Mrs. Rose?”
    “Who are you?”
    “I’m calling regarding your niece, Alicia Berenson. I’m a psychotherapist working at the—”
    “Fuck off.” She hung up.
    I frowned to myself.
    Not a good start.

CHAPTER NINE
    I DESPERATELY NEEDED A CIGARETTE . As I left the Grove, I looked for them in my coat pockets, but they weren’t there.
    “Looking for something?”
    I turned around. Yuri was standing right behind me. I hadn’t heard him and I was a little startled to find him so close.
    “I found them in the nurses’ station.” He grinned, handing me my pack of cigarettes. “Must have fallen out of your pocket.”
    “Thanks.” I took them and lit one. I offered him the packet.
    Yuri shook his head. “I don’t smoke. Not cigarettes, anyway.” He laughed. “You look like you need a drink. Come on, I’ll buy you a pint.”
    I hesitated. My instinct was to refuse—I had never been one for socializing with work colleagues. And I doubted Yuri and I had much in common. But he probably knew Alicia better than anyone else at the Grove—and his insights might prove useful.
    “Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
    We went to a pub near the station, the Slaughtered Lamb. Dark and dingy, it had seen better days; so had the old men dozing over their half-finished pints. Yuri got us a couple of beers, and we sat at a table at the back.
    Yuri took a long swig of beer and wiped his mouth. “Well? Tell me about Alicia.”
    “Alicia?”
    “How did you find her?”
    “I’m not sure I did find her.”
    Yuri gave me a quizzical look, then smiled. “She doesn’t