Sister

He looks down at the police log of our calls. “DS Finborough didn’t return your call and you didn’t chase that?”

“No, because what could I tell him? That women had been paid, but no one I’d spoken to at the hospital thought that sinister or even strange; that Chrom-Med was floating on the stock market, but even my own fiance thought that was just a logical business decision. And Tess’s notes had gone missing, but the medical staff thought that pretty routine. I had nothing to go to him with.”

My mouth has become dry. I drink some water, then continue, “I thought that I’d been going down a dead end and should have kept going with my initial distrust of Emilio Codi and Simon. I knew most murders were domestic. I can’t remember where I heard that.”

But I remember thinking that domestic murder was an oxymoron. Doing the ironing on Sunday night and emptying the dishwasher is domestic, not murder.

“I thought Simon and Emilio were both capable of killing her. Emilio had an obvious motive and Simon was clearly obsessed by her; his photos were evidence of that. Both of them were connected to Tess through the college: Simon as a student there and Emilio as a tutor. So after I left the hospital I went to the college. I wanted to see if anyone there could tell me anything.”

Mr. Wright must think I was keen and energetic. But it wasn’t that. I was putting off going home. Partly because I didn’t want to return home without being any farther forward, but also because I wanted to avoid Todd. He’d phoned and offered to come to your funeral but I’d told him there was no need. So he planned to fly back to the States as soon as possible and would be coming to the flat to pick up his things. I didn’t want to be there.

The snow hadn’t been cleared from the paths up to the art college and most of the windows were in darkness.

The secretary with the German accent told me it was the last of three staff training days, so the students were absent. She agreed to my putting up a couple of notices. The first was information about your funeral. And the second asked your friends to meet me in a couple of weeks’ time at a cafe I’d seen opposite the college. It was an impulsive note, the date of the meeting chosen randomly, and as I pinned it up next to flat shares and equipment for sale I thought it looked like a ridiculous kind of notice and that nobody would come. But I left it anyway.

When I got home, I saw Todd waiting in the darkness, his hood pulled up against the sleet.

“I don’t have a key.”

I’d thought he’d taken one with him. “I’m sorry.”

I unlocked the door and he went into the bedroom.

I watched from the doorway as he packed his clothes, so meticulously. Suddenly he turned and it was as if he’d caught me off guard; for the first time we were properly looking at each other.

“Come back with me? Please.”

I faltered, looking at his immaculately packed clothes, remembering the order and neatness of our life in New York, a refuge from the maelstrom here. But my neatly contained life was in the past. I could never fly back to it.

“Beatrice?”

I shook my head and the small movement of denial made me vertiginous.

He offered to take the car back to the rental car people at the airport. After all, I clearly had no idea how long I’d be staying. And it was ludicrously expensive. The mundanity of our conversation, the attention to practical detail, was so soothingly familiar that I wanted to ask him to stay with me, plead with him to stay. But I couldn’t ask that of him.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to stay for the funeral?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you, though.”

I gave him the keys to the rental car and only when I heard the car start up realized I should have given him the engagement ring. Twisting it around my finger, I watched through the basement window as he drove away and continued watching long after his car had disappeared from sight, the sounds of cars now strangers’ cars.

I felt caged in loneliness.

I have told Mr. Wright about my notice at the college but not about Todd.

“Shall I go and get us some cakes?” he asks.

I am completely taken aback. “That would be nice.”

Nice—I should bring a thesaurus tomorrow. I wonder if he’s being kind. Or hungry. Or maybe it’s a romantic gesture—an old-fashioned tea together. I am surprised by how much I hope it’s the latter.

When he’s left, I dial Todd’s number at work. His PA answers the phone but doesn’t recognize my voice; it must be fully reanglicized. She puts me through to Todd. It’s still awkward between us but less so than it was. We’ve started the process of selling our apartment and discuss the sale. Then he abruptly changes the subject. “I saw you on the news,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Fine, thank you.”

“I’ve been meaning to apologize.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. Really, I’m the one who—”

“Of course I should apologize. You were right all along about your sister.”

There’s a silence between us, which I break. “So are you moving in with Karen?”