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and pauses. A tangy, citrusy scent fills the air, which surprises me. He looks grubby and unkempt, not the type to wallow in aftershave – especially not a sexy sharp fragrance like this.
    I’m stereotyping, aren’t I? All those equality lectures I’ve attended seem to have gone right over my head. He looks like a weirdo and every nerve I possess is telling me to run, because something about him feels very wrong. There’s no logic to this whatsoever, but I just know he’s dangerous. Is he going to mug me for the eight quid in my purse and my museum pass? Or something worse?
    Come on train! I thought Boris had improved the service?
    For a terrifying moment it looks as though the man’s going to seat himself next to me. He even stops and looks down at the bench. My heart’s beating so loudly it seems to echo in the emptiness and I’m paralysed with fear, no more able to move than the bolted-down bench.
    “Oh! Sorry!” A surprised expression crosses the man’s face and he raises his eyebrows. For a second confusion pleats his brow, then as abruptly as he arrived, he passes by, picking up speed as though keen to leave me behind. He can’t go away quickly enough for me. I know it sounds crazy, but if I had to describe him the word that springs to mind is evil.
    But I’m getting carried away. I’ve watched too many episodes of CSI while up late working, that’s all. I’m being ridiculous. Still, ridiculous or not, I stare after him as he continues along the platform and I will him to keep going. He pauses momentarily, glancing over his shoulder at me and staring hard before turning sharp left and vanishing into the exit.
    Thank God he’s gone. And brrr! I must have been worried because I feel chilled to the bone. Actually it’s really cold down here, so cold I can see my breath making puffy clouds, which is odd; it’s normally warmer down in the Underground than it is on the surface. Even more peculiar, my left shoulder feels especially icy. Maybe I have a cramp from being hunched up, or perhaps it’s a result of feeling so on edge.
    Breathe, Cleo, breathe. It’s OK now. He’s gone and the platform is starting to fill with other passengers. What a silly overreaction. First of all Christmas rage in a coffee shop, and now this. Maybe I do need a holiday; I must be way more stressed than I’d realised. For a moment there I’d really thought…
    Actually, I don’t know what I’d thought. It was more a feeling of creeping unease. Just a daft illogical feeling. Susie would call it a sixth sense, whereas I would say I read too many newspapers and have seen too many episodes of Crimewatch . There’s always a logical explanation if you look for it.
    A rush of stale air announces the imminent arrival of my train and, sure enough, moments later it rumbles out of the tunnel, all yellow lights and crowds of commuters. The doors hiss open and I’m relieved to abandon my lonely bench for the fug of the carriage. Finding a seat and settling into it, I shake my head at my unusual reaction. So a man walked past and looked at me. Big deal.
    I return to my reading. I may as well use the journey to get some more work done. With any luck, concentrating on ancient history will make me feel much more like my usual self.
    My plan works. By the time my train arrives at Ealing Common the stranger on the platform couldn’t be further from my mind; the only evidence I ever saw him are the eight red crescent moons my nails scored into my palms.
     

Chapter 3
    It’s a Monday afternoon and I’m sitting at my desk studying a CT scan of Aamon. Lunchtime’s been and gone but the cheese roll I picked up from the café remains uneaten in its wrapper. The greasy stain on the brown paper puts me off and, anyway, I’m way too busy to eat. I can’t remember ever feeling so absorbed by a subject. Aamon’s mummified body has never been removed from the cartonnage and it’s awesome to be one of the first people to see what’s within,