‘Peanuts?’ he asked when he came back, holding a bowl towards me.

I shook my head. Arthur was infuriating when he didn’t want to discuss things and I remembered, only too well, his ability to fool himself into believing what he wanted rather than admitting the truth. His smile returned.

‘Rebecca and I are getting married, Amber. I’m sorry for your loss. We’re also very much in love. You can rest assured she had no feelings for your fiancé. She’s still in shock at what happened.’

‘Why was she there that night, Arthur? Did you ask her?’

‘Dawson had called her. A courtesy call, I think, to tell her it was over and although they’d always have a history together, there was no reason not to remain friends. I think he wanted to clear the air. Perhaps he was going to tell her about his engagement to you.’

Maybe I was overly sensitive but I sensed Arthur’s sarcasm and disbelief. There was an evil jeering tone to his voice.

When the pizzas arrived, I decided to play my grief card. Of course my host understood. Arthur always understood and complacently took back the cardboard box, unopened, which he had handed to me as I made my excuses to leave.

79

Amber

I lay awake all night. At one point a screeching noise, wild and feral, broke through the silence. It came from the back garden. It could have been a bird, trapped by a stealthy cat, pinned down by the feline’s claws. Or perhaps a skulking night-time fox, on a covert mission, low to the ground, had clamped jagged teeth onto its prey.

I stared at the ceiling and listened. The high-pitched squeal carried on till all at once quietness fell. An eerie hush confirmed the act was done. In the morning I’d scour the garden for dead carcasses; crows overhead might lead me to the entrails.

In the dark I mulled over the possibilities. Gut instinct told me that Rebecca hadn’t murdered my fiancé and Oliver would have had far too much to lose. The question was why they’d both been present at the scene when the police arrived. There were only two other alternatives as to what might have happened.

Perhaps a rogue intruder after money, possibly high on drugs, had crashed their way into Mitch’s flat. It could have been a drug-related crime linked to his past. Although I’d provided him with a bolthole in Italy when he was in the frame for drugs possession, maybe the past had caught up with him.

Then, of course, there was Arthur.

80

Rebecca

When there was a knock at my front door again a few days after Mrs Moreton’s visit, my first instinct was to ignore it but the rapping carried on.

Through the spyhole I saw DCI Kent holding up his identification badge. He guessed I was at home.