McKnight leaned across the coffee table and pressed a business card into my hand, creamy pale and old-school. ‘If you think of anything else, let me know.’

‘Wait,’ I said, wheels suddenly turning. A sliver of hope, a tiny space in my chest, because I didn’t want to believe it had been Davis, that I had selfishly brought my mess to them, delivered it to their doorstep, wrapped in brown paper and bruised skin. I didn’t want to believe that I was the reason John had died. Maybe the question about enemies was just routine. Maybe they were still figuring out whether it was foul play or not.

‘What?’ McKnight asked. ‘Think of something?’

‘Are you definitely sure …’ My voice faltered, trailing off.

‘Are we sure of what, Miss King?’

‘That someone hurt him intentionally?’ I asked, more tears spilling out.

He stared at me; then he nodded. ‘That is exactly what we believe. This is a homicide investigation.’

I shook my head, not wanting it to be true.

‘Oh,’ McKnight added, his notebook reappearing, as if it had only just occurred to him. ‘What did you do last night?’

‘Last night?’

‘After you made the report to Officer Parker.’

I swallowed, my throat tightening. ‘Vera dropped me off, and I stayed in. I went to bed early.’

‘What time?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. Maybe nine o’clock.’

‘Didn’t see anyone else?’

‘No, of course not – it was so stressful. I came home and watched TV and then I needed to sleep. I couldn’t do much of anything after what happened.’

‘Right,’ McKnight said. ‘Well, we’re going to need you to come down to the station and make a proper statement, get your prints, in case they turn up on any evidence, run-of-the-mill stuff. How’s tomorrow – eleven a.m.? That okay with you, Miss King?’

‘Yes,’ I said, nodding robotically. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Great,’ McKnight said, fake smile invading his face like a virus. ‘We’ll see you then.’

I followed them to the door. ‘Hang on,’ I said as Dusty watched them eagerly.

‘Yes, Miss King?’ McKnight said.

‘How do you know?’ I asked.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Know what?’

‘That it was a homicide?’

Parker let out a breath. In the daylight streaming through the open door, her complexion looked almost green.

‘Mr Nolan was stabbed,’ McKnight said. ‘Six times.’

TWENTY-TWO

Wretching, I heaved into the toilet, but nothing much came out, only spit and bile.

Porcelain cold against my skin, I remembered how John had been here, watching me do the same, only two days ago. It sickened me that that was one of the last times I’d seen him, ill with alcohol and guilt and shame.

I couldn’t believe I’d never see him again.