Chapters (78)
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Remarkable Praise for Nicci French
- Also by Nicci French
- About the Publisher
“Thank you,” said the taller man. “It weighs a ton and I’ve already dropped it on Nico’s foot.”
Nico. Something stirred in Jude’s mind.
“Are you Nico?” she asked the shorter man, who had blond hair in a topknot and was wearing drawstring cotton trousers and a singlet, as if it was August not December.
“I am.”
“The Nico who filmed Danny dancing that night—the night Liam died?”
He gave a small, curious bow.
“The same,” he said.
“Out of curiosity,” she said, “what did you think when she told you to film her at that party?”
“Danny? She didn’t tell me to film her.”
“No?”
“That was Vin. Vin arranged it. And when he gave the word, he and Danny danced: it was like a show they were putting on. He was very insistent that I put it up on YouTube.” He gave a small smile. “She was a great dancer, Danny, I’ll say that for her.”
“Right,” said Jude. “Right.”
Liam was dead, Danny was dead, Dermot was in a cell somewhere, and Vin was overseeing the packing up of the house, taking what he wanted, moving on.
Jude found the shabby soft elephant stuffed down the back of a sofa, found the plastic bowl, left the house without saying goodbye to anyone.
As she limped down the road with her bag of Alfie’s things, a large van drove past her, music coming from its open window. She caught a glimpse of the man at the wheel: Vin looked like he was singing.
Sixty-Eight
By the time Jude had finished giving her statement to the police, it was dark outside. Soon, she thought, it would be the shortest day of the year. Then it would be Christmas and she hadn’t even thought about that. Then the new year and the day of her canceled wedding. She had barely thought about Nat recently either: did that mean she had never properly loved him, or was it just that time and the flood of events washed everything away in the end?
“Are we done?” she asked Leila Fox.
“Yes. All done.”
“So we won’t be seeing each other again? I won’t be a witness at the trial.”
“Dermot’s pleading guilty. There’ll be psychiatric reports but not much else.”
Jude felt a moment of alarm.
“Do you think he’ll be found insane?”
“No. He won’t. Anyway, whatever happens, this bit of your life is over, Jude.”
“Yes.”
“How are you?”
It felt a bit late, here at their last meeting, but Leila was talking to her like a friend.
“I won’t be going on runs for a while, and my hand’s a bit sore.”
“I meant, how are you?”