Although I haven’t moved away, I can no longer feel her heat radiating as her anger is replaced with terror. I smile at her. “So, what are we going to do about this whole fine mess, hmm?” I rub her hand in the way I have seen the care assistant minister to her mum. It makes my skin crawl and I pray that I will never end up in a place like that. “I could stay quiet…” She whips her head round to look at me, disbelief swimming in her eyes. “I could…” Rub, rub, rub. “But why would I?”

“What do you want?” Her voice is small and childlike.

“Now that is an interesting question.” She is searching my face for a clue to where I am going. “You’re scared of me, aren’t you, Meggie? I think that even before you knew that I knew you were a murderess you were scared of me… What did you think I’d do to you? Oh, don’t answer.” I put my finger to her lips. “How much is it worth? My silence?” I cock my head to one side as I look at her.

“You want… money?” She makes it sound dirty. Base.

“What else would I want, Meggie?”

“But… I thought…” Now here’s the rub of it all. She actually thought this was about her! All those years she has thought it was about her. It’s almost pathetic.

I sigh and pull away from her a little. “You thought it was about you, didn’t you?” I stroke her cheek. “You thought that I wouldn’t ever let you go because…” I smile sweetly and it spins her confusion against the harshness of my words. She looks away from me.

“I don’t have any money, Chris. Our accounts are joint, you have access to everything already.”

“Oh, Meggie. I know you don’t have anything. But Leah does.”

“You want Leah’s money?”

“Not all of it. But a chunk. I think I deserve it, don’t you?”

“But… I don’t have access.”

“Nice try, Meggie.” Her eyes widen at the change in my voice. “I’ve been watching you.” They widen further. I smile, but my hand has moved to her upper arm and I am gripping her harder and harder as the seconds tick past. “You are going to get it for me. You understand that don’t you? Because if you don’t, you will spend the rest of your life in prison for murder.” My other hand is gripping her other arm now, pinning her down beside me on the sofa.

“You’re hurting me,” she whispers.

“Good,” I whisper back and kiss her hard on the lips.

Chapter Fourteen

I don’t sleep much and it’s a blessing. People always bang on about how the human body needs seven to eight hours and that sleep is the most important thing in the world. Maybe for those people: the weak-minded, unable to cope with their reality, incapable of processing things with their conscious mind so they must rely on their subconscious to sort it all out for them. Just think where we would be as a species if people slept a bit less and thought a bit more. I read a fascinating book once on the habits of the brilliant, showing their routines by the hour. They all had one thing in common: not bothering with the things that most people rely on, the props they create for themselves. Sleep, fancy food, alcohol, love. None of it matters, none of it is important.