‘What did you want to talk about?’ he says, folding his arms across his chest, looking down at her. He’s much taller than she is. They’re still standing in the front hall.

‘Larry’s at the police station,’ she says. ‘They seem to think that he might have killed Amanda.’ She’s tried to say it bluntly, but her voice has a quiver in it.

‘Because he was having an affair with her,’ Robert says matter-of-factly.

She stares back at him, nods slowly. ‘That’s why you slept with me, isn’t it? You knew Larry was sleeping with Amanda all along, so you slept with me.’

‘Yes,’ he says. He smiles.

He seems to be enjoying himself. How could she have been so seduced by him? There’s no sign of that warmth and boyishness that charmed her any more. But it doesn’t matter. She’s over that now.

He doesn’t seem to care that she knows. If he killed his wife, he must be very sure now of not getting caught. ‘Larry’s going to tell the police,’ she says, ‘that you knew about them. He told me about the burner phone, that you called him on it.’

‘I’m not worried,’ Robert says. ‘He has no proof. It’s his word – and yours – against mine.’

She looks up at him; he seems to tower over her now. She feels small; he could snap her neck with his hands if he wanted to. ‘Larry didn’t kill her,’ she says.

‘You can’t possibly know that,’ he says. ‘In fact, I think you’re worried that he did kill her.’

‘I think it was you,’ she whispers, goaded into saying it.

‘You can think what you like,’ Robert says, ‘and tell the police whatever you want, but they know you’d say anything to protect your husband.’

‘Do you have an alibi?’ she asks desperately.

‘Not really,’ he admits.

‘You killed her,’ Becky says wildly, as if repeating it will make it true.

Robert leans in close to her, so his face is just inches from hers. ‘Well, it was probably one of us,’ he says icily, ‘and you don’t know which one. I guess you have a problem, don’t you?’

Becky stares back at him for a moment in horror and then sweeps past him, yanks open the door, and flees back to her own house.

Chapter Twenty-eight

WHEN OLIVIA RETURNS home from her drive to Margaret’s, she’s exhausted. The house is quiet.

‘Where have you been?’ Paul asks. He’s sitting in the living room, a drink in his hand.

She looks back at him warily, ignoring his question. ‘Where’s Raleigh?’

‘He’s in his room.’

‘What did the police want, Paul?’ Olivia asks nervously.

She sits down beside him while he tells her what happened at the police station.

‘Why do they want to see the cabin?’ she asks in disbelief.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, they must have said something, given some reason.’ She feels her anxiety skyrocket.

When he answers, he sounds irritated. ‘Like I said, they asked me if I was familiar with the area where her body was found, and I had to tell them about our cabin. How would it look if I didn’t, and they found out afterwards?’ He looks at her steadily. ‘I have nothing to hide, Olivia.’ He certainly doesn’t sound paranoid. He sounds like he thinks this is an inconvenience, an intrusion, nothing more.

‘No, of course not,’ she says.

‘They said if I didn’t give consent, they would get a warrant.’ Paul crosses his arms in front of him as he tells her, ‘It was like a threat. I should have said no, on principle. Let them get their fucking warrant.’

‘We have nothing to hide, Paul,’ Olivia says uneasily. ‘We should just let them go ahead. They won’t find anything, and then they’ll leave us alone.’

He glares at her. ‘You know how I feel about this sort of thing. It’s an outrage, it really is.’

She slumps tiredly. She has no energy left. She doesn’t want him to be difficult about this. ‘But you told them yes, didn’t you?’ she asks. If he makes a fuss about this, she might really have cause for alarm – she might think he’s actually hiding something. And they’ll get the warrant anyway.

‘Yes,’ Paul says at last. ‘There’s nothing to find. It’s not like we’re hiding anything. But it’s ridiculous, and a waste of resources. It’s not a good thing that police can ask to search your home, knowing that they’ll just get a warrant anyway; it’s intimidation. It’s an erosion of privacy.’

‘I know how you like your privacy,’ Olivia says, a hint of acid in her voice.

He turns on her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It just means I don’t see why you have to be difficult about this! I want this to end, Paul.’

‘I’m not being difficult,’ Paul says tersely. ‘They’re meeting me out there tomorrow morning. I’m taking the day off work.’

She feels her body sag. She just wants to be done with this. And she’s not going to tell Paul about her visit to his aunt Margaret.

Raleigh can hear raised voices on the floor below; it sounds like his parents are arguing, but the voices quickly recede. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. It’s not like his parents to argue, but lately, the house has been tense. He blames some of it on himself. He knows his parents are fighting partly because of what he’s done. He doesn’t dare tell them about what happened this afternoon at the coffee shop – how that horrible woman tracked him down, tricked him, and accused him. It took him ages to stop shaking afterwards.

If he told his parents, his mother would probably have a breakdown. But what if that woman shows up at the house and confronts his mother again, and tells her about the meeting in the coffee shop? What if she decides to go to the police? He feels trapped, and he doesn’t know what to do. The only people he would feel comfortable going to for help or advice for anything are his parents, and he can’t go to them with this. Not now. Not with everything else they’re dealing with.

And they all continue to pretend that everything is just fine.

Becky bolts inside her house and locks the door behind her. Now that she’s away from him, she begins to shake. Only a psychopath would toy with her the way Robert just did. It was probably one of us and you don’t know which one. I guess you have a problem, don’t you? What kind of person would say something like that? When it’s his own wife who’s dead? He’s sick.

She realizes, with a hideous feeling, that Robert wants Larry to be charged with the murder of his wife. After all, Larry was the one sleeping with her. Perhaps he’s set the whole thing up somehow. He doesn’t miss Amanda at all. He put on a good show of grief in the beginning, but he’s not bothering to pretend for her any more. He’s let her see who he really is. He’s dropped the mask. She paces the living room anxiously, picking relentlessly at her cuticles.

She hears a key in the lock. Larry comes in and looks at her.

‘Why do you have the door locked?’ he asks, his face grey.

He looks shattered. She doesn’t answer. Instead, she says, ‘Well?’ She doesn’t even wait for him to take his jacket off.