NO ONE ASKED

2Orange fluorescent evidence markers are spaced intermittently on the stairs, distinguishing footprints. A camera flashes on the third floor, sending a pulse of light through the metal railings of the staircase.The flat was immaculate, with pristine white walls and cream carpet. Entrancing into the bedroom, I went over to the sash window from which the victim had fallen. A constable stood on guard beside it.He stood to one side as I approached. Pulling it up, I found it only opened about fifty centimetres, about the same as the distance from his elbow to his fingertips. A can of Diet Coke, a packet of cigarettes, and a cigarette lighter were lined up neatly in a row on the narrow window ledge.I looked down, where a team of four were trying to manoeuvre the body from the railings."Your officers closed the window before it was photographed, rather than leaving it open to document the narrow gap through which the victim meant to have jumped?" I a

4It's almost six by the time we reach Amber Chase's house. Blanche came with me as support and as my driver.  I don't drive, never have done and never will do.Three cars parked in the driveway.  Visitors.  That makes it more difficult. Finally, the front door opened by a woman in her early twenties, red-eyed from crying.  A young man, bearded and shaggy-haired, joins her, putting his arms around her waist.             "I'm looking for Mrs Amber Chase," I say.            "That's my mum," says the young woman. "I'm Louisa, and this is Jamie."            "We phone ahead earlier," Blanche says, "I am the Home Office pathologist, and this is Quintus Noone."            The young couple stares at me, n

6Miranda waited, hovering in the dining room, and stepped forward as I appeared. She wore a blue wool suit with rows of bronze-coloured beads and would have fitted un-remarkably into the London business scene. Her hair was clean and well-shaped, and she had the poise of one accustomed to organising."You can sit here," she said, indicating a stretch of tables beside a long row of windows. "Mrs Chase will be joining you shortly.""Thank you.""Now," she said, "tomorrow….""Tomorrow," I said pleasantly, "I thought Mrs Chase and I would walk around Red Square before we meet with deputy prosecutor general Ozdoyev.""But we can add you on one of the guided tours," she said persuasively. "There is a special two-hour tour of the Kremlin, with a visit to the armoury.""We'd rather not," I said, "this is difficult enough for Mrs Chase as it is."She looked annoyed, but after another fruitless try, she told me that our lunch was

8Unsurprisingly, Ozdoyev did not offer a lift, and after collecting our coats, shuddered out into the saturated air. As darkness fell, it seemed to be colder than ever, and Amber linked her arm in mine and moved closer to me so that we could share our little body warmth.There were even fewer cars than usual to mow one down and not another pedestrian in sight, let alone a policeman."Did I do the right thing?" Amber asked in due course."Of course, you did," I answer. "The Russian's want that hard drive as much as you want to know the whereabouts of your ex-husband's money."The Majestic Hotel lay in the distance down the hill, with its canopy stretching out over the street. I turned up my coat collar, wondering why most of the centre of the top was an intentional hole rectangular hole, like a skylight without glass, open to every drop of rain or snow which care to fall. As a shelter for people arriving and departing, the canopy was a non-starter.

10A limousine collected us about seven o'clock that evening, and we sped down the Komsomolsky Prospect, and I looked two or more three-times out of the window. A black car followed us faithfully, but we were on the main road where that would happen anyway.We arrived outside a restaurant ten minutes late because more snow falling clogged the public transport and taxis almost to a standstill. There was a short queue outside shivering, but the chauffeur led us past the row and opened the firmly shut door.The place was packed, and somewhere there was some music. Led to the one empty table, a bottle of vodka materialised within five seconds."Of the two decent restaurants in Moscow," a voice said behind us, "I like this the better."We turned to find Ozdoyev, standing there accompanied by a tall, slim, and beautiful young woman, wearing a deep-blue velvet jumpsuit and high-heels which made her taller than me, and I am over six-foot."This is m