27

“Is he in?”

Abi shrugged.

“His car is still there.”

“He didn’t take it with him,” Abi said, recalling how Robert had walked straight past the vehicle after leaving.

“You said you’ve been watching him all day, so—”

Abi shook her head. “I went for a shower and a nap after he left. I was away for two hours, three at the most. He could have returned during that time.” She held an empty cup of coffee in her left hand, her phone in her right, but her eyes were fixed on the table in front of her, lost in contemplation.

“Well, it’s getting dark, most of the other houses in the street have their lights on. I can’t see his house from here, but the lights were off when I arrived.”

“So?” Abi wondered, her attention fixed ahead as the heard the curtains ruffle behind her.

“So, I think we should break in and see what he’s up to.”

“Are you kidding me? We can’t—”

“Why not? Let’s say he’s not the killer, which is looking like a slim chance at this point, he’s still up to something, right? He still has something on you. At best it’s an unhealthy obsession, at worst he wants you dead.”

Abi nodded, “I suppose.”

“Then we have to do it.”

“I can’t do that. That’s not me.”

“You don’t have to, I will.”

Abi looked up as Steven stopped twitching the curtains and stood in front of her, a comforting smile on his ever-friendly face. “You’re going to break into Robert’s house?”

Steven nodded.

“And what am I going to do?”

“You’re going to wait here, keep an eye out, and let me know if he returns. Drink some more coffee, stay alert—that’s all you need to do.” He grabbed the empty coffee cup from her hand and paused, staring at her wrist.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“What, where?” Abi said dismissively.

“Your wrist.”

“It’s nothing.”

Steven’s expression suggested that he didn’t believe her. He reached for her hand again and peeled back the sleeve of her jumper before she pulled away.

“Jesus Christ, Abi, that’s some pretty bad swelling.”

“It looks worse than it is.”

“Does it hurt?”

She shook her head and rotated her wrist. “It’s fine. Just a niggling pain, and it’s a little sore to the touch, but I’ll live. As my gran would probably say, ‘If it doesn’t stop you from wanking or writing, it’s all good.’”

Steven recoiled at that.

Abi shrugged. “She has a way with words.”

Abi took her cup to the kitchen with Steven hot on her heels.

“So?” he pushed. “How did you do it? If that’s a writing or masturbation injury, you’re doing it wrong.”

“I had a bad dream,” she told him. “I dreamt that my alarm was going off and I kept hitting my phone to turn it off. I must have been doing it for real because when I woke—” She turned to him, peeled back her sleeve and exposed the swelling. “I saw this.”

“You need to get that seen to.”

“I told you, it feels fine. It looks worse than it is.”

He wrapped his hands around her wrist and squeezed, studying Abi for a reaction. She didn’t flinch. He rubbed his fingers over the bump that had formed on her wrist and carefully felt each bone on her finger. “I don’t think anything’s broken, somehow, but it looks painful.”

“I don’t feel it, and I have a drawer full of painkillers if it starts to give me problems. I’ll be fine.”

“A drawer full?”

“Doctors these days, eh? You enter with a headache and leave with an opioid addiction.” She pulled away, allowed her sleeve to fall, and then hit the switch on the kettle. “So, back to the plan, what are we doing?”

“You’ve seen Rear Window, right?”

Abi’s eyes lit up. “I love that film.”

“Perfect!” Steven took the cup from Abi’s hand and gestured for her to take a seat as he took over. “Well, I’m going to sneak over there and see what he’s doing and you’re going to ring me if you see him returning.”

“This sounds like a bad idea. Shouldn’t we just phone the police?”

“And say what? We suspect our neighbor is a serial killer, so can you please search his house?”

“Good point.”

“We need proof, something substantial, something—” He paused just as the kettle reached its roaring crescendo. “Where’s your gran, anyway?”

“Asleep upstairs. She was out most of the day, gallivanting.”

“Gallivanting? How old are you?”

“Underneath these youthful good looks and energetic exuberance, there is a dull, old woman.”

Steven gave a gentle shake of his head.

“If this is Rear Window, doesn’t that make you Grace Kelly?”

“Pretty much,” he said. “Lots of milk, no sugar, right?”

“Black, three sugars.”

“Oh.” He looked from Abi to the cup and back again, shrugged, and then continued, “I only want to have a peek, maybe take some pictures. As soon as you see him return, ring me, I’ll put my phone on vibrate and—”

“You lost your phone, remember,” Abi told him. “That’s why you ignored my calls all day and scared me half to death.”

“Oh, shit, good point,” he said, not making eye contact.

Steven placed a steaming cup of black coffee in front of Abi, which she graciously accepted with a nod and a wink.

“I’ll take your phone in case I need to call the police,” Steven said. “If you see him and need to warn me …” He shrugged.

“If I see him, I’ll make a noise.”

Steven looked concerned. “We’re going old-school, eh? What kind of noise?”

“A bird noise?”

“You know, it doesn’t instill much confidence when you phrase it as a question. Do you know any bird noises?”

Abi cleared her throat and gave her best rendition.

“That’s a no then.”