I summoned Rhonda’s voice from deep inside. Rhonda, who’d got me through my time on Death Row. She’d have been shaking her head at me, the silly little English girl stupid enough to get accused of yet another murder. How ashamed she would be of me, wasting the chance of freedom that she’d been denied. It did the trick. I pulled myself together and stood up. There had to be a window I could climb out of. Sure enough, a few minutes later I crawled out of one of the big sash windows in the living room, and landed in a flower bed outside. I pulled the window down behind me, wiping it off as best I could with my sleeve, remembering how my fingerprints had been used against me before. Thinking like a criminal again. But I remembered what Rhonda had taught me: if they treat you like a criminal, the only way to survive is to behave like one. Be sneaky, be strong, fight dirty. Get out of there, Casey. So I did. And although I hadn’t found out much, I had the names of Anna’s final two clients, surely some of the last people to see her alive. It was something, at least.

Casey

Casey

OCTOBER 2000

After Abby fired Marietta, it was just assumed that I would do all the work in the house. But Abby had become even more unmoored, and when I realised she didn’t even notice if I left dirty dishes on the table all day, I began to slide too. It was a lot, looking after two small children, and David was hardly about or only there at strange hours, leaving mid-afternoon for the office and coming back after midnight. From time to time I asked after his latest project, the witch series that he supposedly had the rights to, and he’d make vague comments about the ‘development pipeline’. One day I overheard him arguing on the terrace with José, something about unpaid wages. After this, José left in a slam of doors and a squeal of brakes, and I never saw him back there again. The grass grew parched and straggly, the pool filled up with leaves and no one cleaned it.

I should have seen all these things as signs, worrying red flags that meant I needed to do something, and quick. But I was tired, and overworked, and I was nineteen, little more than a kid myself. I needed rest, and time away from that house.

Carson at least was sleeping better now, going down at eight and waking up at seven, his nappy sodden and chafed. Should I wake him up to change it? I wondered. He seemed so peaceful. I had asked about it on the nanny forums, but we were all clueless young girls, and no one knew what to do. Let him sleep, seemed to be the consensus.