Author: Nicci French

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She knew she hadn’t worked. It had been one of those terrible days when she simply had to survive.

‘So you have no clear memory of what you did during that day?’

‘No.’

‘But you remember Andrew Kane coming round?’

‘Andy, yes.’

‘Tell me about that. Be careful, take your time.’

Tabitha wondered why she kept saying that: take your time. Anyway, it didn’t matter. She had so much time.

‘He knocked on the door. I was in the main room and I opened the door. Or maybe he opened it himself. It was already dark and very cold. I remember the icy wind rushing in. He was all wet. He was dripping on to the floor.’

‘Were you expecting him?’

‘No. But he often just comes round.’ She saw the questioning look on Mora Piozzi’s face. ‘He’s helping me with the house. It was a wreck when I moved in, back in November, and we’re doing it up together. I pay him by the hour and he fits me in between other jobs. We were going to lay some floorboards the next day and he just wanted to check on everything.’

She stopped and took a deep breath. This was where her memory became clear, like a shaft of light in the gloom.

‘He went outside to the shed where the planks were stacked and I heard him call out. I don’t know what he said, maybe it wasn’t even words. I went out to him, and he was sprawled on the ground inside the shed, on top of something.’ She swallowed hard. Her throat was tight. ‘I bent to help him and I felt something wet and sticky, it was everywhere, and I pulled him to his feet and he kept saying, “Oh God, oh God,” over and over. I think he was crying.’

Tabitha stopped but Piozzi didn’t speak, just waited, her eyes narrowed.

‘It was dark. We couldn’t see anything really. Andy got his mobile out of his pocket but dropped it on the ground and had to scrabble around to find it. Then he shone it downwards and there was a body. Andy had blood all over him, even on his face. I looked down at my hands and saw I did too.’ As she spoke, she could see it all: the little beam of the mobile’s torch picking out the stare of open eyes, the gaping wound in the neck, an unnatural twist of limbs.

‘Did you see who it was?’

‘I don’t know what I thought. Andy said it was Stuart, I realised he was right.’

‘Just to be clear, you knew Stuart Rees?’

‘Yes, he’s my neighbour now.’ She stopped. ‘I suppose I should say he was my neighbour. And years ago, he was one of my teachers.’

‘So you knew him well?’

‘What can I say? He was a teacher.’

‘Were you on good terms?’

‘We weren’t on bad terms. I didn’t really see him much though, just to say hello.’

‘What happened next?’

‘We went back inside. Andy called nine-nine-nine. We waited. The ambulance arrived and the police and it all started. You know the rest.’

Mora Piozzi closed her laptop.

‘So you see, it makes no sense,’ Tabitha continued urgently. ‘Why would I have sent Andy outside to look at the planks if I’d just killed someone out there and left the body for him to trip over? Why would I kill Stuart anyway? It’s just crazy. You see that, don’t you?’

The solicitor glanced at her watch. ‘We’ve made a good start. I’ll be back quite soon, by which time I hope to have a more detailed knowledge of the prosecution’s case against you.’

Tabitha nodded.

‘In the next few days you’ll have a medical assessment.’

‘Why? I’m not ill. I might be small but I’m strong. It’s that swimming.’ Her voice jarred. She tried to smile. She was cold and shaky and she didn’t want to go back to the central hall, where everyone watched her and shouts echoed, or to her cell, where she was trapped with herself. The day ahead seemed endless, but the day led to the night and that was even worse.

‘It’s just part of the process. And I want you to write down everything you can remember that you think might be useful.’

‘What kind of things?’

‘Timings. People you saw or talked to. Give me a list of the people in the village you’re friendly with.’

‘I only moved there a few weeks ago.’

‘You should tell me anything you think might be helpful to your case, or relevant. I would much rather hear things from you than from the prosecution.’

Tabitha nodded.

‘Make sure you arrange visitors. Family. Friends. Have you any of your things here?’

‘No.’

‘Get someone to bring them. Keep yourself occupied. Keep healthy.’

‘And you’ll get me out of here? Won’t you?’

‘That’s my job,’ said Mora Piozzi. ‘I’ll do it as best I can.’

Tabitha watched her leave, the door opening and then shutting. She imagined her going through a series of doors, each one locked behind her, until at last she reached the exit and stepped out in the world, breathing in the fresh air, free.

About the Author

NICCI FRENCH is the pseudonym of English wife-and-husband team Nicci Gerrard and Sean French. Their acclaimed novels of psychological suspense have sold more than 8 million copies around the world.

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Praise for Nicci French

“Razor-sharp writing by French expertly amps the tension.”

—People

“Genuine chills and page-turning suspense.”

—Entertainment Weekly

“Fabulous, unsettling, and riveting.”

—Louise Penny

“Nicci French is a specialist in the kind of evil that burrows from within.”

—The New York Times Book Review

“Fans of domestic thrillers will be rewarded.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Nicci French has become synonymous with suspense.”

—Daily News (New York)

“Complex. . . . Intriguing. . . . Truly unique.”

—Tami Hoag

“Longtime fans of French will find their high expectations rewarded, while newcomers will be motivated to explore the author’s backlist. I envy their discovery.”

—Book Reporter

“Psychological suspense at its brightest and most blazing.”

—A. J. Finn

“Unforgettable. Psychological dynamite.”

—Alan Bradley

Also by Nicci French

FRIEDA KLEIN NOVELS

Blue Monday

Tuesday’s Gone

Waiting for Wednesday

Thursday’s Child

Friday on My Mind