On the other end of the phone, squeaking, and the sound of metal on metal. A drawer shut, another opened.

Finally: ‘Sorry, but I don’t see anything.’

‘You’re sure?’ I asked. ‘Did you check in the fridge? In a pan of leftovers or something?’

I heard a shuffle, another door opening. ‘Yes,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’m sure.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Thanks. Maybe I could come over?’

‘Now?’ she asked, her voice suddenly higher pitched.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Now.’

A sharp intake of breath. ‘I’m going out now. Er, I have to run some errands, but … you’ll come over tonight?’

‘I was planning on it.’

‘Okay,’ Vera said. ‘I should be back around, I don’t know, eight? We can have dinner.’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘And –’

The line went dead. She’d already hung up.

Taking deep breaths, I returned to my bedroom, used one of the five knives in my possession to check my hiding spot – everything was there. Then I tore apart the kitchen, searching beneath the refrigerator, in the space between the cabinets and the oven, at the bottom of the recycle bin – anywhere the missing knife could have possibly fallen.

Crumbs stuck on my jeans, dust coated my hands, drops of stale wine were spilled across the floor, and my kitchen was in worse shape than even the cops had left it.

The knife was nowhere to be found.

My heart beat wildly as it sunk in, how incredibly stupid I’d been. John, he wasn’t my punishment. That was only step one. How could grief be punishment enough when I’d already lost my parents? No, the punishment was much more insidious than that, much more true to Davis.

I pictured the missing lingerie, the photos, the note, the now missing knife.

John wasn’t the end goal here: I was.

If Davis had seen us that night, if a plan had started to form, if he had grabbed one of my knives … of course he wouldn’t have been stupid enough to use his own pocketknife; of course he’d much prefer one of mine …

Only why go around town, asking about me?

To make you squirm. To make you fucking squirm. To let you know, without a doubt, that he’s here. In case the missing items and the faucet and Dusty getting out weren’t enough. To make you sure.

It would be easy, I realized, to use a glove, kill John, leave behind a knife with my prints and DNA all over it. It sounded crazy, it sounded insane, only I knew as well as anyone that crazy was very much possible, that there was plenty you could do if you only put your mind to it …

And if it did work out how Davis wanted it to, there was another benefit for him as well.