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
Erika shrugged. “Five minutes online. We’re all curious. You can’t blame us.”
Jude felt that she could blame them but she didn’t reply.
“So what did Liam say about me?” Erika asked.
“He didn’t say anything.”
“Come on. I don’t mind.”
Jude picked up the bowl.
“I didn’t know anything about you, or anyone in this house. Or that this house even existed. We meant nothing to each other.”
She was almost panting with frustration, but Erika just nodded at the gorgeous wooden bowl that Jude was clutching to her chest like a shield, at the bag stuffed with his financial documents.
“Strange way of meaning nothing.”
Twenty-Nine
It was a slow bike ride back to Tottenham. Jude had to hang the plastic bags containing the papers and the beautiful wooden bowl on her handlebars; the bags swung when she went round corners and caught in the spokes. The bowl kept banging against her shin as she pedaled.
She stopped at the post office round the corner from the flat and bought a packet of extra-large envelopes, then, standing at the counter, filled three of them with the documents. She paid for recorded, next-day delivery.
She didn’t really want to go back to the damp, unwelcoming flat, so she sat in a café, taking her time over a cappuccino and a pastry. She eased the bowl out of the bag, feeling its satisfying heft, running her fingers over its cool silky surface, following its grain.
She bought a few supplies from the little supermarket. She needed to think about where she was going to live. She needed to think about a lot of things. Later, she told herself, conscious that getting embroiled with the mess of Liam’s life might be a way of avoiding the mess of her own.
She let herself into the flat and had to make two trips down the stairs—first with the bags, then carrying her bike. The cat nipped at her ankles and she shook some dried food into its bowl. She hadn’t finished unpacking when the doorbell rang. It was Leila Fox. Jude led her down into the dingy basement, where the detective looked around.
“You’ve come down in the world.”
“Yes,” said Jude. “It’s the sort of thing that happens when details of a police investigation get leaked.”
Jude expected anger or some kind of apology, but Leila Fox just looked at her with an unyielding expression.
“Has something happened?”
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“What?”
“That Liam Birch made you the executor of his will.”
“I only found out myself a couple of days ago. It came as a surprise.”
“Is that it?”
“What else do you want me to say?”
“Help me out here. You were his teenage girlfriend. You were waiting for him the night he was killed.”
“I told you what happened. I can’t say this all over again.”