Lauren glances at the others in the room. Their eyes are all trained on Ian. She shrinks further away from him. ‘But I wasn’t with you in the afternoon, either.’

‘So now you think I might have killed them?’ He shakes his head furiously. ‘No. No. Why on earth would I kill three people?’ He looks around at the others as if for validation. ‘You’d have to be crazy!’

‘Maybe you are crazy.’ Beverly has spoken and Lauren turns to look at her in surprise. ‘I saw the way you looked at Bradley when you brought his body in here.’

‘What? I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Ian protests. ‘You’re mad,’ he says, glaring at Beverly.

‘I’m not the one who’s mad!’ she cries, her voice shrill, as Ian shrinks back into his chair, a look of fear on his face.

Lauren watches it all, her eyes wide.

Ian sizes up the situation and doesn’t like it at all. He doesn’t like the way everyone is staring at him. ‘I’m not a killer,’ Ian says, more quietly. ‘Lauren and I weren’t together for part of the afternoon. It doesn’t mean I murdered three people in cold blood. You have no reason to suspect me.’

Lauren looks at him, her face pale, and says, ‘But how could you lie to your parents like that for all those years? How could you do that? Maybe you’re not who I thought you were.’ She lurches up suddenly and moves to the other sofa a few steps away. She sits down beside Gwen and looks back at him with something like fear in her eyes.

‘Lauren,’ he begs her. But she turns her head away. She won’t even look at him.

Gwen watches all of this feeling like she’s going to be sick. She wants to vomit up all her fear and grief and guilt and get it all out of her. She doesn’t know what to believe. She doesn’t want to believe that Ian may be the killer. But she has to admit it’s possible.

They must survive until the police arrive; let them figure it out. But God only knows when they’ll get here. She’s even more frightened now. She no longer feels there is safety in numbers. She thinks of Riley out there in the cold, probably dead. She wonders if anyone else will die.

Matthew broods in the dark, staring malevolently at Ian. Suddenly he leans forward and says, ‘Why should we believe you?’

‘Believe what you like,’ Ian growls back. ‘The police will get here eventually, and they’ll believe me. There’s no evidence at all that I killed anyone. Because I didn’t kill anyone.’ He turns to Lauren. ‘And you’ll know I didn’t do it, too.’

Matthew sees Lauren looking at Ian, as if wanting to believe him.

‘You lied about your brother,’ Matthew says.

Ian doesn’t answer.

Matthew lets his voice grow quieter, and more menacing. ‘Maybe it still didn’t happen the way you said. Maybe you killed your brother. Maybe you drowned him on purpose. Because maybe you’re a killer. Maybe you’re just made that way!’ Matthew glares at him accusingly. Everyone remains frozen, watching.

‘No.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Matthew says. ‘I think you killed Dana. And I have no idea why.’ He stifles a sob. ‘I’d like to strangle you myself.’

David stirs, as if ready to jump in.

Matthew finds himself standing now. David rises, too, and steps in front of him and puts a hand on his chest. Matthew is taller, and broader, but David’s hand is firm against him.

‘I didn’t kill her!’ Ian protests. ‘I didn’t kill anyone!’

‘Sit down, Matthew,’ David says firmly.

Matthew hesitates. And then, grudgingly, he sits.

David slumps back down into his seat, his heart beating fast. For a moment, it looked like Matthew was going to attack Ian. Emotions are running dangerously high. People who are frightened can be unpredictable, and dangerous. David knows he must not let his guard down for even a minute.

Beverly shivers beneath her blanket and watches the others carefully. She’s convinced that she saw something odd cross Ian’s face when he looked at Bradley’s body on the lobby floor. And now Lauren herself has said that she wasn’t with Ian the afternoon that Candice was killed. And that story about his brother – that gave her the chills, too. What kind of person can lie to their parents about something like that for years? He’s cold, that’s what he is. Matthew obviously believes Ian is the killer, too.

Beverly asks herself what Ian – or anyone – has to gain from these murders. If there’s a connection here, none of them can see it. Whoever is doing this is mad. And that’s what scares her the most. Because if someone is killing for the fun of it, because they want to kill, because they can’t help it, rather than for a real reason, then all bets are off. You can’t know what they’re going to do, where they’ll stop. You can’t know how much risk they’ll take. Perhaps Ian is planning on killing them all. Perhaps at some point, before first light, he will start laughing and slaughter the rest of them.

Maybe, Beverly thinks, it’s finally dawned on that foolish Lauren what might happen. She looks scared out of her wits.

Gwen wants to close her eyes and sleep. She wishes she were home safely in her own bed. She wishes the police would come. She’s exhausted by fear and grief and guilt. She can’t stop thinking of Riley, out there alone in the freezing cold – and she’s the one who’s responsible for bringing her to this terrible place. Furtively, she watches the others through tear-swollen, half-closed eyes. Her heart breaks for James, who has just lost his son. He looks like he will never recover. Well, that makes two of them. She tries to feel sympathy for Matthew, but she doesn’t trust him. Ian looks frightened; he doesn’t look like a murderer at all. But perhaps that is all for show.

She must not fall asleep. She gives her head a little shake, trying to stay awake.

Gwen catches David’s eye across from her, but she cannot tell what he is thinking. Does he think Ian is the killer? If Lauren was in the sitting room, then they can’t be sure where Ian was when Candice was killed. But then, they can’t really be sure where any of them were at the time of the killings. That’s the problem, it’s all so confusing and unclear, and she’s so tired she can’t think it through …

She drifts off for a moment and then wakes with a start. She shifts her position, fighting to stay awake. This is her second night of almost no sleep. She wishes again that she had something to protect herself with. But the truth is, even if she had a knife, she doesn’t think she could use it. If the killer came for her, or for someone else, could she plunge a knife into his neck? She looks at Ian, staring moodily into the fire. Could she plunge a knife into Ian’s neck? She studies his neck, the Adam’s apple that protrudes ever so slightly. She watches him swallow in the firelight, unaware of her scrutiny, of what she’s thinking.

She doesn’t think she would have the guts. She shivers beneath the thick wool blanket that covers Lauren and her. She reaches for Lauren’s hand beneath the blanket and holds it. Lauren squeezes her hand back.

Sunday, 4:05 AM

‘We should kill him,’ Henry says into the dark without warning, ‘before he kills us.’

David feels the small hairs on the back of his neck stirring. It’s as if everyone has stopped breathing. He takes a deep breath and says, his voice outraged beneath the evenness, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Henry – we don’t know that Ian killed anybody.’

Henry says recklessly, ‘It’s him or us!’

He’s in no mood to listen to reason, David realizes. They are all reaching breaking point; perhaps Henry has just reached it first.

David glances quickly at Ian; he looks petrified.

David gets angry then, at the recklessness of it. ‘We can’t just murder him.’

‘Why not?’ Henry says. ‘It would be self-defence!’