Partly it was the diazepam, of course, doing its numbing work, keeping the panic at bay. As she went down the steps to the pathologist’s office, she clutched the rails to keep her balance. From the window there was the view out over Cathays Park. A lane between the formal gardens, the pavements covered with black leaves from the beeches and horse chestnuts that overhung the unlit paths. A vague memory was floating to the surface of her mind. DS Thomas standing there among trees, watching her. The truth was she couldn’t be sure if it was real, and even if it was, that was what men did sometimes, she knew that, quite ordinary men. They waited for women, and watched them. That he might or might not have been there, it probably meant nothing. She was over-reacting, sweating it, she needed to get a grip. The front office of the pathologist was filled with the usual police-issue desks and chairs, the walls blank except for some postcards stuck to a board. She sat opposite the biggest desk, which he was gesturing her towards.
