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I went down there yesterday. I had to go. And the police let me through the cordon as long as I promised just to look, not touch, not take anything away. It's all evidence now. Evidence of something.
There was a note, scrawled on the back of a glossy image that looked as though it had been torn from an art book. They wouldn't let me turn over the picture to see what was on the other side. But, through the smeared windscreen, I could read:
"I'm sorry to do it like this. I really am sorry but I need the peace. It's too much for me. It's been too much for a long time but somehow I couldn't see it.
"My life has been so dark. But now I think maybe it's only when you're in the dark that you can see the light. Or see where the light is coming from. When you're in the dark, the light's so bright and clear, even if it's far away.
"No one lives forever. So I'm on my way to heaven now. Or somewhere close to it. Close enough. Daniel, the Art Gallery Man will understand. He's seen it too. Tell him I hope to see him there one day.
I love you all,
Vic"
At the bottom she'd drawn a funny little squiggle. Like a child's drawing of a house. Except without the usual tree next to it. Instead, there was another drawing: just a triangle pointing upwards, with a squiggly line running all the way across, about a third of the way down. It looked like the tip of a pencil. Or like …
Funny, one of the policemen said to me, they'd found her bag but not her passport. It wasn't in her house either, as far as they could see. Did I know where she kept it? Just routine, really.
And that's when I knew for certain.