The rain began to fall, fat drops on the parched earth. Meredith retreated inside the cottage, leaving piles of weeds on the path and the robin’s reproachful stare. She felt inordinately relieved at the news that Paula was taking herself out of harm’s way, and that she was doing it without Meredith having to spell out her fears. Even before all this, she and Ralph had expressed concerns about Paula’s potential vulnerability, seeing mentally unstable clients in the detached summerhouse that was her consulting room.

It was raining heavily when Gemma arrived, soaked just from the short walk down the steps from the car park. Meredith heard the click of the gate and watched her come up the path, stepping over the uprooted weeds, her normally pleasant face set in a grimace of something that was either discomfort at the rain, or knowledge of the news she had to deliver.

‘Come in, come in,’ Meredith said, opening the door and forcing a smile. ‘I’ll get you a towel.’

‘Thanks. I didn’t think to bring an umbrella.’

After a bit of fussing around with tea and towels, Gemma finally delivered the news Meredith had been dreading.

‘Meredith, I’m so sorry, but the post-mortems showed that both Ralph and Andrea were murdered. Ralph was strangled, and Andrea was hit on the head before she fell into the water. It could be the work of two separate killers, but we really don’t think that’s likely.’

Meredith stared down at the jagged hole in the back of her hand.

Black boots, thumping across a van floor.

Black boots, kicking her in the face.

The flash of a blade, plunging down towards her.

Her own screams, amplified by the van’s metal sides…

They sat in silence for a few moments, then Gemma leaned forwards and said, her voice barely audible over the noise of the rain drumming at the window, ‘I think there’s something you haven’t told us about all this. Am I right?’

Meredith was going to tell her. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words just wouldn’t come. She couldn’t say it. If she said it; if she said, I think it’s me he’s after, then it made it real. And as for, I had sex with Ralph right before he died; shame mingled with the terror and stilled her tongue.

In the end, all she said was, ‘You don’t think I did it, do you?’

Gemma met her eyes. ‘Personally, no I don’t. But I think you have something to do with it, whether you’re aware of it or not.’

Another long pause.