She pulled him close and kissed him. He instinctively tensed every muscle against her touch, but quickly relinquished control over his body and let her have him. With every withdrawal he made, he gave her something new to suspect. When she pulled away, she wiped the lipstick from his lips with her thumb.

‘Four hours, tops.’

She picked up a bottle of champagne from the sideboard, opened the front door, and headed down the driveway.

He couldn’t explain it or rationalise it in his mind, but something deep inside him demanded he keep her in his sight.

‘Amber,’ he called.

She turned and looked at him.

‘Will I like the surprise?’

She laughed behind closed lips and walked down the driveway.

He stood still in the doorway long after she left, and thought of the most horrifying part of Amber’s psychiatry report, like a warning burning inside his gut.

The patient has refused to confirm or deny any part in the death of her parents. After two years of evaluation, I conclude that it is not possible to confirm or deny any wrongdoing on Miss Knight’s part without her cooperation. I do, however, believe she would benefit from continued evaluation to help her process her grief, or lack thereof, and, if necessary, to process her guilt, which again, she has shown no signs of. In closing, I believe it is to the benefit of the patient and the public that Miss Knight continues to undergo psychiatric evaluation until the truth has been obtained.

NINETEEN

Friday 24 November, 19:25

Richard was back sitting in his study staring at the flames beneath the mantel with a glass of whisky in hand. Samantha was out of the house, and Amber had been next door for an hour and a half, but to him, it felt far longer. The seconds ticked from the clock like minutes, and the minutes like hours, as he continually topped up his tumbler and watched the flames crackle and hiss.

Had Amber thought of her parents waking from their drugged slumbers to blinding flames that melted the skin off their faces? To flames that singed their vocal chords so it was impossible for them to scream for help? Had she thought of the pain they would have felt as their skin bubbled and charred? She had returned to her room and waited. And waited. And waited. How did she sleep at night? How did she move from one day to the next knowing that she had killed the people who brought her into this world in the worst way imaginable?

Blows sounded from the hallway. Richard jolted in his chair and spilt whisky on the carpet. He ran out into the hall thinking of James. Perhaps the truth had come out. Maybe he had come to warn him. It wouldn’t be his wife; she had a key to the door, and preferred the element of surprise.