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Chapters (78)
  1. Title Page
  2. Dedication
  3. Prologue
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-One
  25. Twenty-Two
  26. Twenty-Three
  27. Twenty-Four
  28. Twenty-Five
  29. Twenty-Six
  30. Twenty-Seven
  31. Twenty-Eight
  32. Twenty-Nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-One
  35. Thirty-Two
  36. Thirty-Three
  37. Thirty-Four
  38. Thirty-Five
  39. Thirty-Six
  40. Thirty-Seven
  41. Thirty-Eight
  42. Thirty-Nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty-One
  45. Forty-Two
  46. Forty-Three
  47. Forty-Four
  48. Forty-Five
  49. Forty-Six
  50. Forty-Seven
  51. Forty-Eight
  52. Forty-Nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty-One
  55. Fifty-Two
  56. Fifty-Three
  57. Fifty-Four
  58. Fifty-Five
  59. Fifty-Six
  60. Fifty-Seven
  61. Fifty-Eight
  62. Fifty-Nine
  63. Sixty
  64. Sixty-One
  65. Sixty-Two
  66. Sixty-Three
  67. Sixty-Four
  68. Sixty-Five
  69. Sixty-Six
  70. Sixty-Seven
  71. Sixty-Eight
  72. Sixty-Nine
  73. Seventy
  74. Acknowledgments
  75. About the Author
  76. Remarkable Praise for Nicci French
  77. Also by Nicci French
  78. About the Publisher

She had told Nat about other relationships, but she had never told him about Liam. She’d just said, shrugging it off casually, that she’d had a couple of flings before university. No names. Just the general act of growing up, discovering oneself, having fun.

Fun.

She remembered the agony of being head over heels with Liam. It hadn’t been fun. It had been all-consuming and then it had ended. She had never talked about it to anyone, but buried it deep inside.

Now Liam was dead.

The car sped on.

Someone had killed him. He had a little boy called Alfie. He had a few things that needed sorting out.

Fields gave way to edgelands. There were more cars on the road now, heading into London. The clocks had gone back the week before and there was a faint smudged light on the horizon. The rain was starting to fall again; a new day was beginning.

What should she say to Nat?

“You can drop me here.”

“We’re not there yet,” Leila Fox said. Jude saw her eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Here’s good.”

The car drew up and she opened the door.

“Obviously we’ll need to see you again,” said the detective.

In the light, Jude saw how tired she looked, shadows under her gray eyes, and her hair a spectacular mess.

“I’ve told you everything,” said Jude.

Leila Fox gave her a faint smile, sympathetic or perhaps tolerantly amused.

“We’ll be in touch.”

Jude climbed out of the car, hauling her backpack after her. The wet wind slapped at her. She watched as the car drew away.

Ten

It was one of November’s grim, lowering mornings, not fully light, the sky dull gray, leaves flurrying and twitching like litter, vans sending up sprays of water from the puddles: an admin day, a baking-and-board-game day, a duvet-day in front of the TV.

Jude fished out her mobile. It was ten past seven. It was too early to go home. She wandered down a side street in search of a café but it was Sunday and most places weren’t yet open. She was chilly and damp and tired, and behind that, like a heavy shadow, she was scared. She set off in the direction of the Olympic Park whose helter-skelter slide was a smudgy shape in the rain, but long before she reached it found a café that was open. There was no one else there, and she sat at a Formica-topped table with a cappuccino and sipped it, staring out at the rain, thinking, trying not to think, seeing Nat’s face and seeing Liam’s. They hadn’t told her how he had been killed: was he shot or stabbed or punched or pushed? Had he suffered? And was he really dead? Had she really been crouched in a little cottage near the Norfolk coast last night waiting for him? Was this really happening to her?