Mark Latto stopped and looked up at the white-painted wooden house on West Cliff Drive. There are many houses like this along the coast of California, many houses like this in Santa Cruz. But this one was different: there was a police car parked on the road outside. A police car outside a house doesn't always mean there's trouble inside, but Latto felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something wasn't right. He walked towards the front door. As he did so, it was opened by a mountain of a man, at least two metres tall, almost as wide as the door, and wearing the dark blue of the Santa Cruz Police.
'Yes?' Asked the police officer in a slow Amerikan voice.
'I'm here to see Deborah Spencer,' began Latto. 'She's expecting me.'
'And who are you?'
'My name's Mark Latto. I'm a doctor. I've come over from Britain to see her.'
'Well, you'd better come in, Dr Latto,' said the police officer, stepping back from the door to let Latto In. 'I'm afraid, I've got some bad news for you. Ms Spencer was found dead early this morning.'
'Oh no!' Latto put a hand up to his mouth. 'How terrible!'
'Yes,' continued the police officer, 'so I'm afraid you won't get to see her. However, a detective will be along here in a few minutes and he may want to have a take with you.'
'Detective?' Asked Latto. 'Are you saying...?'
'I'm not saying anything, Dr Latto,' said the police officer, looking Latto straight in the eye. 'I'm just asking you to take a seat in that room.' He nodded at an open door on the right.
'someone will be with you shortly.'
Latto found himself in a light airy sitting room, with a large window looking out over the sea. He put his sunglasses down on a small coffee table and looked out of the window. It was a lovely sunny March day. West Cliff Drive was busy with joggers and people walking their dogs. Further out he could see Santa Cruz Wharf beginning to open up for the day. A van was taking food and drink to one of the restaurants at the end of the wharf. A few men and women were fishing from the side. And although it was early in the year, there were one or two tourists walking along the wharf, looking into the shop Windows.
Latto was tall with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a light-coloured jacket and trousers and a light blue shirt. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror on the wall. Although he was in his early thirties, he looked older. It was probably tiredness, he thought. It was ten in the morning here in California, but his body was still on British time. He sat in a yellow armchair near the window and closed his eyes. Time passed.
'Dr Latto?' Said a voice.