I buried my head in my hands. ‘What do I do? Tell me what to do. This is a nightmare. I mean, sometimes Abby and I, yeah there was tension, but for God’s sake, I’d never have killed her! I’d never hurt Madison! And I don’t know how to shoot a gun! I’m British!’ I kept stating these facts: I’m British, I’m nineteen, I’m a girl, as if they somehow absolved me of guilt. Stupid. ‘What can I do? Aren’t you supposed to help me?’

He considered it for a moment. ‘Talk to the cops. Cooperate. Sometimes the DA’ll cut a plea deal, and you’ll get less time, they’ll take the death sentence off the table.’

Was he actually advising me to plead guilty? This was insane. I had stepped through a mirror into a crazy world. ‘You mean . . . tell them I did it?’

‘With the evidence against you, it’s your best outcome, Casey. That’s my honest legal advice.’ He leaned in then, and patted my hand in a gross, avuncular way. ‘It’s what I would say to my own daughter, I promise you.’

‘But I didn’t do it.’

This was what I kept saying, what I kept coming back to, the only thing I could say. And yet no one believed me.

Rachel

Rachel

He tried to hide from me. As I fought my way to the front of the bus, yelling at the driver to wait please, I saw panic cross Jeremy’s face, and he ducked back into the chippy. But it was only a small place – he had nowhere to go. I ran across the road, a car honking and swerving, and confronted him. ‘Jeremy! Get out here.’

He slunk out on to the pavement, eyes down, chips in hand, the greasy smell hitting my nose. ‘Oh.’

‘What are you doing here? I thought you left!’ I’d dropped him at the bus stop for the train station, assuming he had a ticket back to London.

A beetroot flush had spread over Jeremy’s face. ‘I – babe, I was worried about you. You said yourself, someone’s trying to frame you. A woman got killed – what if you’re next?’

I couldn’t make sense of it. ‘But why didn’t you tell me? Where’ve you been staying?’

‘Airbnb. Someone’s house. Case – I wanted to do some digging.’

‘About what?’

He hesitated. ‘This guy Alex. How well do you really know him?’

So that was it. I stared at him. ‘We’re divorced, Jeremy. You’ve got no say over who I date.’

‘His wife’s been murdered – who do you think’s the most likely person to have killed her? There’s a reason they always look at the husband, Casey!’