He closed his eyes again. Was music playing? Macdonald hadn’t found a CD in the room, or anything to play one on. Nobody had heard music coming from the room, no screams. All that was left was this deafening roar from the walls and floor that almost made Winter stagger backward. When he opened his eyes, the sun was gone. The walls were dull and unseeing, and if it hadn’t been for the shrieks, he would have thought that they no longer remembered what they had witnessed.

He went out into the hallway. Macdonald was waiting by the stairs.

“It’s going to happen again,” Winter said.

They stood outside the Dudley Hotel. Clapham Common pulsated with activity on the other side of the street, animating Battersea, Clapham, Balham and Brixton. Winter saw schoolchildren scattered around a pond and playground, their uniforms merging into large blue and red rectangles as the teachers lined them up.

People just home from work were walking their dogs. The wind was still gentle in his face, and the scents of spring, more powerful here than north of the river, quickened his senses. The sun painted flames on the clouds between the trees in the park.

“Much of Clapham is upper middle class,” Macdonald said. He had followed Winter’s gaze. “There’s money here, and you’re likely to find most of it around the Common. I worked the area for several years as a detective inspector, and I’m reaping the rewards now. Or paying for my sins.”

Two teenage girls passed by. Their backpacks, half as big as they were, wobbled a foot above their heads as they turned left and vanished behind the buildings.

“And we still don’t know what Per was doing in London,” Winter said.

“Unless his parents have come up with something new.”

“Not a thing.”

“Maybe he wanted to spend a few days checking out the music scene.”

“Music?”

“From what I understand, reggae is in again. Which makes Brixton the place to go. That might be what he had in mind.”

“We found some reggae in his room at his parents’ house but no evidence that he was a big fan.”

“It still could have been one of his reasons for coming here.”

“In that case somebody should have remembered seeing him when you made your inquiries after the murder.”

“People around here don’t admit to having seen anyone.”

“They’re scared?”

“Yes.”

“Even in such extraordinary circumstances?”

“Nobody’s behavior changes just because something like this happens. People are genuinely afraid of each other. Brixton and parts of Clapham are rife with drugs. A lot of the crime is tied to crack.”

“So no one admits to having seen a white kid who went around looking for music?”

“No, but it’s always possible that they actually don’t remember him. Whites, mostly teenagers, pour into Brixton every day on the train from Victoria Station. It’s the music that brings them.”

“And having once spent so much time here hasn’t done you any good?”

“Not yet anyway.”

Winter ran his fingers across his forehead. The sweat had dried, matting down his hair. All the new impressions had compounded his exhaustion from the flight, and the fear he had felt in Per’s hotel room lingered in him like a chill.

He was hungry, which felt inappropriate somehow. He hadn’t eaten anything besides some chicken salad and a jelly roll on the plane, and the ale had given him a headache. Or maybe it was just weariness.

“Have you had anything to eat, by the way?” Macdonald asked.

“Only on the plane. A little snack wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

“I know just the place.”

Macdonald drove east on Clapham Common South Side and onto Clapham High Street. After a minute or two, he turned left, continued another block and a half and squeezed his Vauxhall into a parking space by a restaurant with awnings and three outdoor tables.

“It’s called El Rincon Latino. The owner is one of my old contacts-friends, I should say.”

They walked up half a flight of stairs and through the open glass door. The restaurant curved past the bar on the left.

The whole place was lit by glass walls facing Clapham Manor Street. Fresh flowers were everywhere, but the aroma was of herbs and chili. The only other customers were a handful of people at the bar.

They sat for a long time over grilled salmon, broiled shrimp with garlic, queso fresco, olives stuffed with anchovies and chili peppers, steamed cornbread, cuttlefish in black sauce, wild mushrooms and grilled eggplant with potato wedges. The food was served in small clay pots.

“We investigators have an easier time of it these days,” Macdonald said, putting his glass down.

“How so?”

“About a year and a half ago, they set up permanent teams, and I’m in charge of one of them. The way it used to be, if there was a murder in Clapham, they’d put together a team from around the city, but then some of London was suddenly undermanned. Investigators were sent back and forth to different stations to try to cover all the bases. It was a big mess.”

Winter heard voices clamoring at the bar.

“Now they’ve divided Greater London up into four quadrants, and I work the one called Four Area Southeast. It has a hundred and three inspectors assigned to eight different teams, each with three detective inspectors and nine assistants, not to mention civilian backup for index cards, computer runs and that kind of thing. I head up one of the teams, and we work together on every case that comes our way.”

“Then the trick is to have the right people.”

“I’ve made it my business to have the best. Inspectors from the south side, a couple from the Yard.”

“Murders only?”

“Yep. When you’re covering an area with upwards of three million people, that’s more than enough to keep you busy.”

“Makes sense.”

“There were seventeen murders in the southeast area last year and we solved every one of them. Probably because we were able to take our time. It was rougher going the year before-forty-two or forty-three murders, I have no idea why so many.”

“Did you solve all of them too?”

“All but one. We’re batting a thousand for the past twenty-one months, not counting the present case. The victim was notorious for breaking into houses in his neighborhood. Everyone who knew him, or had come home to find their bedrooms ransacked, was glad to see him dead.”

“No witnesses?”

“Nope.”

“And now you’ve got another case on your hands.”

“This one isn’t going to get away from us. We’ve dropped everything else. My detective superintendent also oversees another team, and he’s put them on the case too.”

“Twenty-six people altogether.”

“Twenty-seven if you count the detective superintendent, but I’m basically running the investigation.”

“Great, that should shake things up a little.”

“More than you might think. Just wait until the reporters show up tomorrow.”

“You’re an optimist.”

“What do you mean?”

“You said that you wouldn’t let this case get away from you.”

“We’re realists, but we also have faith in what we’re doing, right?”

“It’s a good combination.”

“I’d say it’s a necessary combination. And if you’re finished with that little snack of yours, I’ll drive you back to the station.”