“We can’t decide what it means,” I say. Simon shoots me a look and I add, “That is, we’re split. Simon thinks it could be evidence that Edward killed her. I can’t see how it makes any difference either way.”

“I’ll tell you what it does make a difference to,” the retired policeman says thoughtfully. “The case against Deon Nelson. If there was a pearl necklace lying around, even a broken one, he wouldn’t have left it there. He’d have stolen it, in which case it wouldn’t have been possible for Mr. Monkford to restring it as a gift to you. So there’s my pet theory out of the window.”

“Last time we met,” Simon says, “after the inquest, you told me Monkford had an alibi.”

“Yes. Well, an alibi of sorts. To be honest, you seemed like you were going to have a hard time letting it go. And with a six-month police investigation finally tied up, the last thing we wanted was a heartbroken ex-boyfriend trying to get the coroner’s verdict overturned. So I might have sounded more certain than I actually was. Mr. Monkford said he was onsite in Cornwall at the time of Emma’s death. He was seen at his hotel in the morning and again in the early evening. There was nothing to indicate that he’d come back to London in between, so we were inclined to believe him.”

Simon stares at him. “But you’re saying he could have done it.”

“A million people could have done it,” Clarke says gently. “That’s not how we work. We look for signs someone did do it.”

“Monkford’s insane,” Simon says urgently. “Christ, just look at the houses he builds. He’s a crazy perfectionist and if he thinks something isn’t quite right, he doesn’t just leave it. He destroys it and starts again. He told Emma that once in so many words—‘This relationship will continue only for as long as it’s absolutely perfect.’ What kind of nutcase says that?”

Clarke replies, patiently explaining to Simon that amateur psychology and police work are two very different things. But I’m hardly listening.

Edward said the same thing to me, I realize. This is perfect…Some of the most perfect relationships I’ve had lasted no more than a week…You appreciate the other person more, knowing it’s not going to last…

My baby puts out a foot and kicks me, just above the navel. I shudder. Are we in danger?

“Jane?”

They’re looking at me curiously. I realize I’ve been asked a question. “Sorry?”

James Clarke holds up the necklace. “Could you put this on for us?”

The tiny clasp at the back is awkward to fasten blind and Simon jumps up to help. I hold my hair away from my nape so he can get at it. His fingers are clumsy as he touches me and I sense—to my surprise—that it might be because he’s attracted to me.

When the necklace is on, Clarke examines it thoughtfully. “May I?” he says politely. I nod, and he tries to slip a finger between the pearls and my skin. There isn’t room.

“Hmm,” he says, sitting back. “Well, I don’t want to pour gasoline on the fire, so to speak. But there is one thing that may be relevant.”

“What?” Simon says eagerly.

“When Emma was found, the first officer on the scene thought he saw a faint mark around her neck. He made a note of it but by the time the pathologist arrived it had faded. There were just a couple of small scratches, here.” He points to where he tried to get his finger under the necklace. “It was nothing, really—certainly not enough to kill her. And given the extent of her other injuries, we decided she was probably just flailing about as she fell.”

“But actually it was where someone had ripped the necklace off,” Simon says immediately.

“Well, that’s your supposition,” Clarke says.

“There is another possibility,” I hear myself say.

“Yes?” Clarke says.

“Edward…” I find myself blushing. “I have reason to think he and Emma liked rough sex.”

Simon stares at me. Clarke merely nods. “Indeed.”

“So if Edward was with her that day—which I still don’t necessarily accept, by the way—it may just have been an accident that the necklace got broken.”

“Perhaps. I suppose we’ll never know now,” Clarke says.

Something else occurs to me. “Last time we met, you said there was no way of telling who’d entered the house immediately before Emma’s death.”

“That’s right. Why?”

“It just seems strange to me, that’s all. The house is set up to capture and record data—that’s the whole point of it.”

“You could raid their offices,” Simon says. “Take away their computers and see what’s on them.”

Clarke holds up a warning hand. “Hang on. I can’t do anything. I’m retired. And what you’re describing is an operation that would cost tens of thousands of pounds. It’s highly unlikely you’d get a warrant after so long. Not without very strong corroborating evidence.”

Simon smacks his fist down onto the table. “This is hopeless!”

“My advice to you is to try to put it behind you,” Clarke says gently. He looks at me. “And my advice to you is to hurry up and find somewhere else to live. Somewhere with good locks and an alarm system. Just in case.”

THEN: EMMA