She sits for a while, staring out across the grass in front of her, Anne-Marie’s words echoing in her ears, Kelly’s too. She inhales deeply, exhales, looking up at the clouds above scudding across the blue sky. More rowers run past, pulling her back to the moment, and she gets to her feet.
Of course it wasn’t going to be so easy. She had her lucky break finding Kelly’s sister – nothing else was going to be handed to her on a plate. But now she knows less than ever. None of it is making sense. It doesn’t mean she won’t find the answers, though. She’s just going to have to search for them a bit harder. It hasn’t put her off the challenge, though. It’s fired her up. Starting with those months that Kelly was missing. Her gut is telling her that this is the first thing that she should investigate.
But to do that, she’s going to need resources. Shelter, food. The internet. It’s time to go back to Tom’s house.
There’s no point in fighting it anymore.
Only a couple of streets to go, and Anna’s steps are picking up. She’ll ring the bell, Tom will answer, and once the initial awkwardness is over, he’ll welcome her in. Maybe he’ll make some more of that lovely coffee, and they can sit together, drink it. They might even share a laugh at her former prickliness. Perhaps later she’ll be able to move on from how it feels to hate herself so much, to feel such shame about what happened in the first place, how she ended up inside. Maybe she’ll talk about solving this mystery, working some cases for Tom. She’ll show she can be indispensable to his firm. She’s going to escape her past, build a better future. One in which she can be proud of herself, one day.
She goes round the final corner, looking up to see if there are any lights on at Tom’s place.
There’s nothing there.
No lights.
No house, either.
She must have it wrong, must be in the wrong street. Taken the wrong turn.
No. She knows Oxford. She knows the street she’s on.
And the house isn’t missing. Not all of it. Some of it remains, jagged black teeth against the darkening sky. Smoke still drifting up from one corner. Police tape cordoning it off, a patrol car parked across the front.
Her feet are stuck to the ground, heavy as lead.What the fuck?
39
Anna can’t stop shaking. Her knees have gone, her hands too, the tremors running deep through her. Now she’s alert to it, smoke is still acrid in the air around her, a sharper smell than bonfires of autumn leaves, harsh on her tongue.
‘You OK?’ It’s a man walking his dog. He stops next to her. ‘Are you ill? You look like you’re about to pass out.’
Anna can’t speak. She waves her hand in the direction of the smouldering ruin.
‘Oh yes, shocking, isn’t it? It took hold before anyone could do anything to stop it. Terrible business.’
She doesn’t reply, keeps staring up at it while the dog busies itself around her feet, snuffling at her trainers.
‘Friend of yours, was he?’
This catches her attention. Was? Does he mean . . .
‘Did he get out?’ she says.
‘Oh no,’ the man says, leaning forward and speaking to her in a low, confidential voice. ‘No one was going to get out of that one. Once it took hold.’ His teeth are pointed and yellow, his tongue darting over them from side to side. There’s a hunger in his eyes. ‘His dog barking outside, that’s what woke me up. Then the smell. I thought someone was having a barbecue.’
Anna turns away from him, repelled. He hangs around for a little longer but eventually, deterred, he wanders off, his dog trailing behind him. She’s still staring at the place where the house used to be, but it’s not what she’s seeing, not anymore. Tom’s face is dancing before her, the tentative smile, the lock of hair that kept flopping down across his forehead. He was trying to help her. And now he’s dead. At least the dog made it out alive.
But how the fuck has this happened? The whole house is gutted. Could it have been accidental? Her blood runs colder still. Was it her fault? Did she leave something plugged in? She wracks her brains, comes up with nothing. Not even neurosis could make this her fault. If the bedside lamp in her room was switched on, it wasn’t by her.
She needs to stop this. It’s bad enough already, she doesn’t need to make it worse.
As much as she wants to believe that whatever happened here was an accident, the presence of the police shows it’s suspicious. It must have been arson, petrol through the letterbox or something.
But that doesn’t make sense, either. Why should anyone want Tom dead? He was a nice man, someone willing to go the extra mile for his clients. There’s no reason at all that anyone would want to kill him.
Think, Anna. Think.
A screeching of brakes, pain radiating from her shoulder where she landed. She’s still carrying the bruises from the car hitting her outside the prison. It really isn’t looking like an accident anymore.
