As April neared the threshold to the kitchen, she could see Faith’s crimson handprints smeared on the door. She tried to speak, but her breath caught in her throat. The air was heavy with the aroma of roasted herbs and spices, but there was something else too and it left a metallic taste in her mouth.

‘Oh, my God, is Faith dead?’ Tara said, her question wet with tears.

‘No, she has a superficial cut, that’s all,’ April said. She didn’t know if she could take a step further. The smell was overpowering. ‘She stabbed Nick. She says he’s dead.’

‘Are you inside the house? Can you see him?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then don’t move,’ Tara demanded. ‘I’m driving through Hunt’s Cross. I’ll be with you in five minutes. Wait for me!’

‘What if he’s alive and needs help?’ April asked, hoping for Faith’s sake that she hadn’t killed him. Whatever Nick’s crimes, Faith didn’t deserve his death on her conscience. ‘I can’t just leave him.’

‘You bloody well can,’ Tara said, raising her voice loud enough to break the stillness of the house. ‘Get out of there, April.’

There was a noise from inside the kitchen. A gurgling sound that might be a pot bubbling on the stove. She raised the golf club, ready to strike. ‘I have to check, but stay on the line,’ she said before slipping her phone into her pocket without cutting the call. She forced herself to move, stepping across Faith’s footprints as she entered the kitchen. She dropped the golf club with a clatter.

April had seen a dead body before, but Jason’s skin had been alabaster white and gave no clue to the bleed in his brain. What she faced in Faith’s kitchen couldn’t be more different, not least because Nick was still alive, though barely.

She was vaguely aware that the kitchen was in disarray, but no more so than when Nick had cooked lasagne for them. This time, however, the chef wasn’t wearing a sharp suit or a convincing smile. He was slumped on the floor in a pool of blood. There was a blood-smeared iPad and a knife close by, but Nick’s hand was clamped to his neck. Like Faith, the flow of blood was no more than a trickle, but April suspected that in Nick’s case, it was because he had very little left to lose. His heart would be slowing and although he was semi-conscious, he seemed aware of April’s presence. She grabbed a tea towel and almost slipped on the blood to reach him. Stemming the flow was futile, but she tried anyway.

‘An ambulance is on its way,’ she said.