‘After that . . . Nothing ever happened again, I promise you,’ said Butch. ‘Sara told Jasmine the truth, but she didn’t want to believe it. Jasmine’s convinced I raped Sara. I suppose it’s easier for her to . . . I showed her the letter, but she . . .’

Murphy began yelling, at first just noise, pure anger and anguish and pain. Then he heard his own words: ‘Don’t you say her name!’ His gun was pointed at Butch’s head.

‘You know me, brother. You know me!’

‘Drop the gun, Murphy.’ Con stood at the door, his pistol trained on Murphy. ‘Easy.’

Murphy turned to Con, his gun still raised, still shouting. ‘Don’t say her name!’

Con took a step forward. ‘I won’t ask you again, Murphy. Put the gun down.’

‘Just do it!’

Con held his eyes.

Murphy’s gun began to wobble. ‘Just shoot me!’

Slowly, Con lowered his gun. ‘No, mate.’ His hands raised in surrender, he came within reach of Murphy.

Murphy held onto the Glock as tightly as he could but his whole arm was trembling now, he could barely see through the tears. ‘Don’t you come near me, mate. Don’t you dare come fucking near me!’

Con gently took the gun from Murphy’s hands. ‘It’s okay, mate.’

‘It’s not okay! It’s not okay!’

Murphy slumped forward and Con wrapped him in a big bear hug. ‘It’s not your fault,’ said Con, sadness in his voice. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘Then why did she leave?’

Murphy didn’t know which one he meant: Sara or Jasmine.

They stood there for a while, Murphy gradually calming, pulling himself out of Con’s arms, ashamed.

‘Could you un-cuff me, do you think, detective?’ said Butch in a small voice. ‘I think my ribs are broken . . .’

‘What happened here?’ said Con. He still had a careful, concerned eye on Murphy.

‘Eliza attacked me,’ said Butch.

‘Where is she now?’ Con said. ‘Those look like police cuffs.’ He rummaged in his belt for the keys and tossed them to Murphy. ‘Eliza can’t get away.’

Murphy looked at the keys, then at Butch.

‘Don’t you leave me here,’ whimpered Butch. ‘Don’t you dare.’

Murphy unlocked the cuffs, then put the keys in his pocket. He picked up the Glock from the floor and stuck it in his belt.

He walked out and didn’t look back.

CHAPTER 47

ELIZA

Eliza pulled up in front of Monica’s house, the tall poplar trees outside casting barely a shadow in the noonday sun. She’d thrown off her torn clothes as she left the cottage and grabbed a floral dress from the laundry – the one with the deep pouch pocket. There she had the second pair of handcuffs she’d stolen from Gabriella’s room that morning.

A yellow post-it note was stuck under the sun visor:

I give Eliza Ellis permission to do whatever it takes.