He is no less dead . . .

My breath catches in my throat. I freeze. What was it, the thought that flashed in my mind before disappearing? It was there and felt huge, but it’s gone now. For a fraction of a second, I knew something . . . and then I didn’t. Something about Gavin and the words “He is no less dead”? Did I have the answer and lose it, or is my mind playing tricks on me?

There.

Gone.

Melissa fills the kettle. “Well?” she says. “What’s this request you think I’m going to refuse?”

Her voice cuts through me like iced wire. For a split second, I see everything clearly. I think, It’s you. You’re the danger to my family, you and Lee. I wouldn’t be in the mess I’m in now if it weren’t for you two. A moment later, though the words linger as vividly in my mind as letters inscribed by burning sparklers on a black night, I have no idea what they meant to me when I was so sure they were the truth.

I make an effort to compose myself. “It’s about the Sunday we went to the auction,” I say. “There’s a chance a detective from Spilling Police might get in touch with you and ask you if my car was missing a mirror that day. A side mirror.”

Listening to my rehearsed introduction, I have a better idea than the one I arrived with. I was planning to ask Melissa to lie for me and tell the police that my mirror was missing when it wasn’t. Stupid. I ought to know from depressing experience that she cares more about her principles than about me. Why be kind when you can be right?—that’s her motto. Which means I must be more devious.

“If you’re asked, can you please, please tell the police my car had both its mirrors when I drove you to and from the auction?” I say. Now I’m begging: a little treat for Melissa’s ego. I hope she enjoys it, since it’s unlikely to happen again. “I know it was irresponsible of me to drive to London, then Grantham, then back to London with a missing side mirror. It’s not something I make a habit of doing, and, honestly, I’ll never do it again if you’ll help me get the cops off my back just this once.” I put on my best desperate-sinner-praying-for-mercy face. It’s probably indistinguishable from my normal everyday expression, come to think of it.

“No. No.” Melissa’s shaking her head as she pours milk into a mug for me. She looks scared, as if she thinks I might be able to force her to agree. “I’m not lying to the police for you, Nicki. No way. It might only be a minor driving offense, but—”