death of Socrates to ninety undergr

n streaked the tall windows and turned the courtyard outside into a watercolour of grey stone and yellow leaves. In the third

e hall was crying with laughter. On any other Monday she would have been pacing, talking with her hands, perching on the edge of the desk, losing her pencil out

rey jumper three sizes too big, with violet shadows under h

the guards. The cell door was open. He could have walked out of Athens and li

nning away would have meant his whole life was a l

Anyon

aising his hand: "Maybe he w

e laughed.

ectin

don't usually die for an idea, do they? They die for

a moment longer than was n

xt," she said at last

es and the face of a man carrying bad new

irst?" I

rge Vane. Tomorrow m

hat? A tuning fork and a n

onds, and a suspect who won't speak." He fell into step beside her, crunching

e worse

ht. Mrs. Pellman, third floor, directly under Crane. Seventy-one, can't sleep, hears everything. She heard someone go u

about th

y walked like they had nowhere to be." Morrow's mouth

ne colonnade. Rain hissed on t

. "Eight minutes later, somebody walks up. Cran

cks, gets no answer, tries the door. It's unlocked. Finds Crane at eleven-fort

did they

The latch was open. Forensics

ay of the week, Morrow. He didn'

g, which was how h

the way her father had taught her to lay out an argument: every

aves. Crane ali

soles on the st

n, a kettle boils.

6. A

0. A

nutes,"

ha

minutes. The killer had four minutes to get out before somebody came in. Do you know

he di

, and dried it, and put it in the rack the right way up. He spent his four minutes on that." She looked out at the rain. "So

ge of her mind. A kitchen doorway. Warm wate

he way you set down a glass you h

call after Vane left. Eleven twenty-four. Two minu

ng to Morrow. It mea

Iris said. "He was the

nsurance and built the shiny new Ashby Centre on the

the board," she

ys what? I'm about to talk?" Morrow was already turning, al

he address printed under

S

very best. If Crane rang Ashby at eleven twenty-four, Ashby could not have been on those stair

stared

ho the

s. Close enough to watch Elias Vane walk out of that building." The thought arrived co

rchive at three: two cardboard boxes gone soft at the corners, smelling of

an empty interview ro

l room, approx. 23:52, 14 October. Ca

ased

cellist, Young Ar

z, 58, nigh

34, lightin

ing at something out of frame, a pencil behind her ear. And Daniel Vane: a round, open, freckled face under a mop

ther. And then, around the eye

otograph face down

the statement of

23:30. All performers and staff had departed with the exception of Mr. Ortiz, on duty, and Ms. Liu,

it thre

s page for Daniel Vane and foun

al room B, ground floor. Ce

half past eleven every

alk-through, or he had come back in after the doors were locked. And Crane had locked the main doors himself. Which

r Crane's sworn s

ht he decided to stop, someone had walked u

tor ticked. Outside, the

rofessor. I saw more than

the file and w

, then a click. She knew the hum of the light. She knew the way he looked up when she came in. And she

did

n't slept

er hav

who has to think

le between them, open at Crane's statement.

rformers and staff had departed, they stopped. His jaw tightened

he lied,"

es

't you ev

still capable of hurting someone. "I was twenty-four. I was the brother of a dead boy. I was angry and grieving and sure. Mr. Crane was a

hat. She found she didn

ght," she said. "Not w

he would refuse. Then he looke

" A breath. "It was raining. Like now. We were halfway home when he realised he'd left his cello in the rehearsal room. He'd taken i

didn'

change. Only his hands did. They had gone very still on the table, too still, like hands that had learned what happens when they move. "It was eleven-forty when we got back. The main doors were locked. Bu

sto

ight

engine running. I was annoyed with him. I remember that. I remember being

re pressed flat on the table,

leven forty-seven, someone came out of the building, walking fast. Not running. Walking fast." His eyes weren't on her. They were

wall

table, palm up, and for the first time she saw the whole of the scar. It didn't just cross the back of his hand. It wrapped round the side and spread across the heel

g in the rain with a jacket over its head. Five minutes. She thought of a tuning fork in a coat pocket, still warm.

your fault,

re very tired and very kind, and i

id softly. "But you don't believe that either. Y

t. She was not used

because she made it steady. "The person who

or As

r that it was true. But he said it fast, the way you hand somebody

ho came out at el

le

t Attorney is going to charge you with murder. If you give me

kno

en

ery gentle. "Some people can survive the truth, Professor. Some pe

your decis

isn't. But it's the o

car. The wipers beat back and forth, bac

e built out of the insurance money, and for seven years nobody asked him a single question, because the only witness swore

hby's

nside of her left wrist and didn't notice she was doing it. "He couldn't have k

it when someone inside is afraid of the dark. The gates stood open. So did the front door. In the doorw

spector Morrow. We need t

oice was thin and flat

for

ed past Morrow at Iris then, and her eyes narrowed in a faint, be

ame down b

" sai

n the study. He said, It's started again. And then he said, You told me this was finished." She shook her head slowly. "

s radio, his voice gone sharp: airpor

dn't he

the open door, and she was thinking of a man in a grey sweater in a locked room. And o

clock t

een