Outside, the blackbirds had chased the magpie away. But it would be back looking for eggs, now that it knew there was something there.

‘There’s been a development,’ Thomas said. ‘You should check the news.’216

‘What?’ Hannah took out her phone and opened the news app, read the breaking alert:

ACADEMIC FOUND DEAD IN HOTEL

Peter Longhorn, a physics lecturer at Edinburgh University, has been found dead near his home in the Inverleith area of the city. Police say they are not looking for anyone else in connection with the death. Longhorn had been questioned by police as part of the ongoing investigation into the murder of student Melanie Cheng. It’s believed that Longhorn was discovered in a hotel room sometime this afternoon.

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DOROTHY

Her lower back throbbed as she shuffled round the kit to an old Yo La Tengo record. The band was indie but their songs were about feel, almost soporific, and when Georgia Hubley was singing as well as drumming, there was something resonant about them. The headphones were making Dorothy’s ears warm as she opened onto the ride cymbal for the chorus, shifting her weight and feeling her back groan. She hadn’t been on the yoga mat since Jim’s funeral, the longest she’d gone without in years, and her body was letting her know. It was stupid to have stayed away, the practice was all about connection, feeling your body and mind in balance, but she couldn’t bring herself. Maybe grief was turning to depression. Maybe there was no difference between the two. Maybe she would die of heartbreak, like you heard about with elderly couples. But her heartbreak was tempered by the possibility her husband was a murderer and liar. She was hitting the drums too hard now, drowning out the melody, and she pulled back, closed her eyes, tried to sit behind the beat until the end of the song.

When the tune finished and she opened her eyes, Abi was in the doorway waiting for her lesson. Dorothy smiled and gave up the drum stool.