Olivia had agreed to move on the understanding they would still have a garden and a minimum of three bedrooms. The Avenue had delivered that at a fraction of the price of similar properties. Both of them were banking on Garrick’s skills as an architect to inflate its value and allow them to move on.

But now that they were standing in this house with its tired wallpaper lit by the flash of blue police lights, panic rose in her like the swell of the estuary they had spied in the distance on the car journey to their new life.

“Do you really think someone will buy it? Did you see the police cars? The photographers?” She resisted an urge to sweep the bottle onto the tiles, to watch the glass splinter, the liquid froth and flatten into a puddle. The story of her life.

“We bought it, didn’t we?”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“It’s going to be fine.”

Olivia had lost count of the number of times he had promised her that. In fairness, she had moved here with her eyes open. Most of the neighboring properties had an air of neglect around them, as if they had once been loved but allowed to drift into a state of disrepair. And the brutal history of the place had been impossible to ignore, even if one took only a passing interest in the news. After the third murder, the TV and radio bulletins were filled with talk of serial killers for days and days. The newspapers blazed with lurid headlines. When the fourth murder happened, a few days before the Lockwoods were due to exchange contracts, she had tried to persuade Garrick to pull out, but found herself agreeing with his insistence that some morbid individual would enjoy the cachet of owning a house on this road. The Avenue had become synonymous with Cromwell Street and Rillington Place.

But now that she was here, now that she had seen the police and the sheeted hump of a fifth body, she was convinced they had made a terrible mistake.

“But what if we’re stuck here forever?”

“And whose fault would that be?” Garrick’s tone was cool.

She drew in a breath and counted to five. “Don’t start that again.”

“I didn’t. Remember?”

Olivia clenched her teeth until the outline of her jaw was visible through her skin. Her anger was like the strike of a match, poised to flare into life. She snuffed it out with the cold, hard facts of her guilt. Garrick’s financial incontinence may have forced them to sell their beautiful home in Cheshire, but she was the reason they had moved down south.

Her body loosened. “I know. It’s just—”

“Look, Liv. We both had our parts to play. This is our fresh start. Let’s not spoil it with recriminations, eh?”

She opened her mouth to answer him, but there was nothing to say.

“Let’s open the fizz, shall we?” His tone was placatory. “We’re here now—might as well celebrate.”