‘Satnam took a ton of pills and drank a bottle of vodka then walked out of her apartment in Kingsdown and ended up two miles away on the suspension bridge trying to climb the suicide barrier. What part of that story sounds like an accident?’

‘Perhaps she took a taxi, we don’t know.’

A taxi? This is crazy. Why is Dr Keane even talking this way?

‘But that doesn’t make any sense.’

Keane stands, her face flushed. ‘I’m sorry but I am very pressed for time.’

‘Why are you insisting on something that’s patently untrue? My daughter was there.’

‘My point exactly, Mrs Smith. Why would anyone intent on ending their life ask someone to call their friend to come and pick them up?’

‘It wasn’t like that!’

‘Were you there? No, I didn’t think so. We’re very used to students in stressful positions and we’ll offer your daughter all the support we can but you need to allow us to do our jobs.’ She stands, brushes herself down with a hand, and gesturing to the door says, ‘Now, please, if you don’t mind, I have a great deal to be getting on with.’

Chapter 19

Nevis

Nevis wakes to the sound of oil barrels being moved in the backyard at Cod’s Plaice. She rubs her eyes and checks the time. The strange thought rises up that everything that has happened since the incident on the bridge has been part of some sinister waking dream. Pushing herself from the bed she goes out into the hallway and, taking a deep breath, lets herself into Satnam’s room. The space still buzzes with an odd energy that Nevis can’t quite put her finger on. The only way she can think of it is to imagine that someone has dropped a stone and the dying tremor of the last ripple is still reverberating through the walls. Or perhaps the walls themselves are trying to speak. She feels sweaty and panicked. She wonders if she’s losing it. Am I going mad?

Backing from the bedroom and closing the door behind her she moves quietly and swiftly through the flat, checking each room in turn, looking round corners and behind the doors, like a kid checking the bedroom for monsters. There is something but she cannot work out what. Her head feels sluggish and unrested and in her belly a fluttering has started up. She wonders now if she’s eaten since last night. Perhaps coffee will help. But the moment she enters the kitchen area, she feels it again. Not a smell exactly, nor a change in the light, something more like presence, a thickening of the air, as if someone has only an instant before left the room. She holds her breath and waits for the feeling to pass then reaches for the kettle.