‘I’m pretty sure Sabine was blackmailing your wife,’ I say slowly. ‘The painting in that video isn’t supposed to exist anymore.’

He looks straight at me. I watch the thoughts dance behind his eyes. And when he speaks the words come out husky. ‘Wait. Do you think Agnès killed her?’ He holds up my phone. ‘Because of this?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, my voice small. ‘But maybe.’

‘Fuck,’ he says, staring at a wall. ‘I don’t know, Harper, I mean she’s batshit crazy, yes, but murder?’

‘I know.’

‘Except…’ He pulls his hands through his hair.

‘What?’

He lets out a big breath. ‘This one time Sabine was talking all about her big exhibition. The one she was going to have at Le Voltage. And I wanted to prepare her for the fact that it might not happen. I knew how little Agnès rated her work. I was trying to be kind and soften the blow. So I told her, look the art world is full of disappointment and Agnès might pull it but it didn’t mean she wasn’t great.’ His eyes are on mine. ‘Do you know what she said?’

‘What?’

‘Just let her try.’

My stomach clenches and the room rings with silence.

An exhibition. Sabine was blackmailing Agnès for an exhibition.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Because now the rest of our conversation from that day in the gallery is floating back. I’m thinking of how Agnès Bisset’s eyes changed when I spoke about that exhibition. ‘She was so excited. Wouldn’t stop talking about it,’ I’d said.

I can almost hear Agnès’s thoughts. She was wondering what else Sabine had told me. How close I was to the one person who knew exactly what she’d been up to; who had evidence to prove it. And whether if I dug deep enough, I might figure out why Sabine was killed.

This is why she’s been having me followed.

And now my throat feels like it’s closing up.

‘Wait, she doesn’t know you’ve seen this, does she?’ Noah asks. He’s looking at me and his voice is dark. ‘You said there was more to it. That’s not why you think she’s following you?’

I shake my head. ‘No,’ I say. ‘She couldn’t know. I’m pretty sure she’s just being careful.’ And as I say it I pray I’m right.

‘Okay, good,’ he says, thinking for a moment. ‘Hang on, what does Philip have to do with it all? What was that document?’ Noah asks and I turn to look at him.

‘I don’t know exactly,’ I say. ‘But Sabine had them in the same folder. They have to be connected. Philip was the seller and I’m pretty sure it has something to do with how they moved the money around for the painting.’