His gaze flicked between the small black revolver and the pale strained face of Ellen Shaw. Her eyes were wide, strange, flashing with brightness. He breathed in deeply, trying to slow the hammering of his heart. His words, even as they came out of his mouth, sounded ridiculous. ‘What are you doing?’ Ellen inclined her head, an odd twisted smile appearing on her lips. Her hand shook a little as she continued to point the gun at him. ‘You’re always asking questions. Why is that? Why can’t you just let things be?’ ‘Sorry,’ he said gently. ‘Too many years as a cop. It’s a hard habit to break.’ ‘Questions,’ she muttered, frowning. ‘I’m sick of them. Sometimes there aren’t any answers.’ Harry forced a smile, knowing that he had to find a way of connecting with her. It was as though between climbing the stairs and entering the flat she had become a completely different person. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘You could be right.’ ‘He was always asking questions.’ ‘That can’t have been easy.’ Harry had no idea who she was referring to.
